In The Devil's Stables (Spirited #1)

Chapter 13

Greyson looked into the face of the lad beneath him, stunned.

He had awoken in a blurry dreamstate, the feel of a hand stroking his hair, lingering on the slope of his nose and the curve of cheekbones. It was as if an angel were touching him, her lingering caresses feather soft, as comforting as if he were before a crackling fire, warming his fingers and ridding his body of chills.

A slight sting had come when his angel had probed his sore jaw. An ache settled deep atop his head. Another faint bruising on his forehead. It was forgotten when his angel had rested her head atop his chest. The gesture so trusting, Greyson knew it could only be a dream.

He knew better than anyone that his protection meant little enough.

It didn't matter. As long as the angel kept comforting him, the strands of her hair tickling his neck, surrounding him in a curtain of silky strands, he could bask in the glow a little while longer. He imagined her as a gently curved woman, her hair a mass of chestnut curls. And she smelled delectable. A floral fragrance that settled like a familiar blanket about him.

Lilac. The word whispered like an epiphany through his mind, but for the life of him, he couldn't place why it was significant. He didn't much care to, truth be told, when his dreams were this sweet.

This tempting.

He inhaled deeply, cherishing each lungful. The scent permeated into every bone, every follicle of hair. He didn't want to release his hold on it, have that delicious feeling of calmness mixed with anticipation disappear into smoke. Too many things did, he thought. Surely, God couldn't be so cruel as to deny him this even while sleeping.

With any of his dreams, however, his mind didn't focus on one thing for long.

His muscles were leaden, lax. His mouth stuffed with cotton. His ears with dust.

The tiny throbs around his head.

And yet, his veins pounded in his temple, his heart beat abnormally fast. He feared it would frighten the angel who touched him with such softness. As if she heard his wayward thoughts, as if seeking to comfort his doubts, tiny nails dug into the muscle of his shoulder. Latching on. The body shifted, a whisper of sound that made his senses buzz all the harder.

He struggled to open his eyes, ready to banish the dream so he could see her. The angel whose breathing had risen steadily with her absentminded caresses.

The stuttering of his angel's breath sounded...so close.

Greyson's eyes popped open. Where the devil was he?

Outside of the floral scent, he could smell hay...and horses? His brows furrowed. He couldn't be at his estate already, could he? Had he passed out in his stables? He twitched his fingers. A prickle bit into his fingertips, needles with pinpointed teeth. Greyson knew that feeling well. Why was he laying down in straw?

But then he asked himself, who was lying atop him?

The memories developed slowly, gently lapping. He remembered the Inn. His broken axle. The taste of whiskey on his tongue.

A mysterious boy with violet-colored eyes.

The shouts for help...

His arm snagged around a slim waist as Greyson rolled. The body gasped with surprise, as Greyson settled atop his unknown adversary, securing the body beneath him. Greyson's hands snagged a smooth wrist, pulling the creature's arms above its head and holding it in place. Greyson spread the other's legs apart, settling between, laying his whole weight down. He would know what had happened. Who he faced.