Read Brighter Than the Sun Online
Authors: Darynda Jones
Brighter Than the Sun (13 page)
I hear boots echoing around me. Around my corporeal body. I jump back to the long-term care facility and hear her talking to O’Connell, the guard set to watch me. She’s here. In the flesh. How the fuck did she find me? How did she figure out who I am?
I’m stunned as I settle back inside my own skin. It’s a tight fit. I’m not sure they’re feeding me well. I sense it the moment her gaze lands on me, and it feels like a jury is out for deliberation, deciding my fate with a few, precarious votes.
Does she recognize me? Does she like what she sees?
She steps closer and her warmth is intoxicating. The attraction even more so. I feel the pull of her interest. The rush of her desire. Her hip brushes my arm. Then her fingertips brush over my shoulder.
“Reyes Farrow,” she says, her voice cracking with emotion. “Please wake up. They are going to turn this machine off if you don’t. Do you understand? Can you hear me? We have three days.”
She leans closer and I can smell the coconut shampoo she uses. The exotic perfume she dusts lightly on her skin. The underlying scent of her feminine being. I fight the pressure building under the sheets with a mental curse. I can’t even smell her without getting hard, for fuck’s sake.
Then she makes it even harder. Not my cock, but my ability to order him down. She lowers her head and puts her mouth on mine. Her lips are sweet and warm, but the electricity that passes between us is like lightning.
Images rush at me and I can’t tell if they’re in my head or hers. I replay the last month. The nights we had together. The unimaginable pleasure. The sense of surrealism.
Then I remember that night so long ago when Earl was beating the shit out of me. When I lost consciousness for a split second. When I swam back to the surface and spotted her. Glared. Furious that anyone would see the truth. Livid that it was displayed so openly and under such garish lights.
But then I see her up close. Her gold eyes. Her soft mouth. And I am stunned that she is real.
She begins to faint beside me. I can’t help her without giving up the ruse. I feel her limbs go slack and her mind open. Her light swallows me. Soaks inside. Illuminates every dark corner of my psyche. And I remember everything. In one great wave of enlightenment, I remember it all.
I begin with the first time I see her. A shimmering light in the vast blackness of the universe. How many centuries ago was that? How long have I been waiting for her? She turns and smiles at me and I am lost.
I abandon my mission. The one where I’m supposed to be there when the light is born a human on earth. The one where I’m supposed to kill her, the vessel, and capture her soul. The light. The portal to heaven. The preeminent power that is inherent in her kind.
I’m supposed to wrap her soul up with a bow and lay it at my father’s feet. Not the retched human who pretended to be my father, but my real one. The one who sent me to strangle the vessel and capture the light for his own machinations.
Instead, I wait. I plan. I find a family and give up my memory, my identity, to be born on earth as a human as well. To be raised near her. To meet her on common ground.
We should have gone to school together. We should have been high school sweethearts. We should have lived happily ever after.
Apparently, my father didn’t appreciate my changing his plan, so he threw a killer wrench into mine by means of Earl Walker. That’s what happens when your dad is public enemy number one. It certainly explains a lot. But I am not my father’s son. I am nothing like him. I am not evil.
If my father wants a war, if Satan wants a war, he’ll have one. He never should have created me. He never should have stoked the fires of hell and forged such a ghastly thing. Such a despicable beast.
Dutch collapses and O’Connell helps her to a chair. She didn’t see those last images. She doesn’t know what I am, and I have no intention of letting her find out.
I smile inwardly. She’s becoming a badass detective. And she wants me to wake up.
Maybe I should. Maybe she could actually help me in my quest. Help me find answers.
I’ve never understood how Earl died. Who did it. How I was so perfectly framed. I was hoping to get answers from Sarah. She flat-ass lied on the witness stand. Said Earl was afraid of me. That they both were. Afraid for their lives. Why would she say that unless Earl put her up to it? But why would he put her up to it? And why would she follow through with it after he died?
She didn’t want to. I felt every emotion running through her alcohol-abused body when she was on the stand, and the last thing she felt for me was fear. She still wanted me, even after all the years. I guess I should be grateful she never mentioned Kim. I know now why she didn’t. She liked Kim. Didn’t want her mixed up in any of this. In a way, Sarah set her free.
I went to see her—incorporeally, of course—a few months after I’d been convicted, but she was killed in a home invasion. That was when the niggling in the back of my mind began.
But the postcards are what nailed it for me. The scent of his cheap cologne. The sentimental garbage strewn across one of them.
Earl Walker is alive, and I’m going to find him.
D
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D
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D
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ONES.COM
FOR MORE!
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author
D
ARYNDA
J
ONES
won a Golden Heart and a RITA for her manuscript
First Grave on the Right
. A born storyteller, she grew up spinning tales of dashing damsels and heroes in distress for any unfortunate soul who happened by, annoying man and beast alike. Darynda lives in the Land of Enchantment, also known as New Mexico, with her husband and two beautiful sons, the Mighty, Mighty Jones Boys. Visit Darynda at
www.daryndajones.com
. Or sign up for email updates
here
.
Author photograph by Donita Massey Privett.
Also by
Darynda Jones
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Contents
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN.
Copyright © 2015 by Darynda Jones. All rights reserved. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Cover design by Danielle Fiorella
Cover image by Shutterstock
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e-ISBN 9781250090201
First Edition: October 2015