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Book Two in the Darien Grace Chronicles
"I couldn't hear the music. I knew that it was pulsing all around me, I could feel it vibrate through the air, but I couldn't hear it. I hadn't been able to hear it for a while now. I ju...
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Darien Grace
I woke with his name on my lips. I turned lazily in my sleep. My entire body was blissfully sore as I burrowed deeper into the soft bedding, reaching to pull the blanket higher up onto my shoulder. The quilt was heavier than I remembered, softer. Groggily, I opened my eyes. Pale moonlight filtered into the room—too much moonlight.
We never forgot to close the blinds.
I peeked up at the offending glow. The window was too large for the old brick building. The tale-tell lines of the fire escape I knew to be poorly adhered to the side of the building were nowhere to be seen. Instead of the cheap wooden blinds, it was bordered on either side by thick velvet curtains.
Confused, I turned back to examine the thick blanket. It wasn't a quilt at all, but rather a heavy down duvet with an embroidered, gold brocade. The sheets felt like satin, smooth and cool against my bare skin. A chandelier hung above the bed, set within the elegant relief decorating the ceiling. My heart rate increased. Where the hell was I? My memories of the night were hazy, dominated by emerald eyes and a searing touch.
Cautiously, I turned. My heart beat faster still as I examined the man sleeping next to me. I was simultaneously relieved and horrified. Where I'd been hoping to find silken, chocolate curls I was met with thick, coal-black hair. The dimples that puckered even as he slept were replaced with high arching cheekbones and a straight, proud nose. Long dark lashes, splayed across smooth olive skin much too dark to belong to fair-complected Brit.
The man I'd dreamt I'd spent the night with was nowhere to be found. Instead I lay next to Zayn.
My stomach churned with guilt, threatening to upend itself at the realization. Not over what I'd done; no, but rather who I'd dreamed I'd been it with. Who I'd been hoping to find when I opened my eyes. Why couldn't I just move past this already? Why was I determined to bring myself further pain?
There, sleeping so soundly next to me was a gorgeous, gentle man who truly seemed to care about me. Why couldn't I bring myself to feel the same way about him? I thought I had, but the more I fought to summon the images and feelings from the night before, the more sick I felt. My body may have been with Zayn, but my mind was across the city with Harry.
I lurched from the bed, scrambling to keep from waking him even as my chest threatened to explode. My breath came in short quick gasps, the hysteria building as I fought to locate my belongings. Our clothes were strewn throughout the apartment, breadcrumbs of the debauched and the damned.
I found my dress, discarded on the floor just inside the kitchen. As I bent to pick it up, a strange set of gouges in the wood of the doorframe caught my attention.
