"I warned you, Kristina," he said, leaning closer to me, his hand scorching my wrist, his silver eyes darkening to a stormy grey. "I told you what would happen if you defied me."
Fire was racing up and down my arm. The rose necklace burned at my thr...
Song: Something to Believe in from the musical Newsies.
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~ Kriss Darcy ~
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He looked up at my sudden entrance, frowning, and then grinned when he saw it was me. I blinked rapidly. My mental images didn't do him justice.
I'd forgotten how the sharp angles of his face softened when he smiled, forgotten how simply mesmerizing his silver eyes were. Forgotten the precise shade of his hair, though what I'd been imagining for the past day was close enough.
I didn't expect him to be here this soon. I was thinking I'd have to wait another hour or two before he arrived.
He closed Wuthering Heights, placing it on my bedside table, stood up, stretched, and made his way over to me, his footsteps quiet and graceful. If I didn't know he was here, I would never have heard him coming.
He stopped a few feet away from me. "Angel," he murmured. "I've been waiting."
I eyed the book he'd been reading. "I didn't expect you to come until later."
He frowned. "I could say the same about you."
I wasn't sure if there was a question in that statement or not. Would he make me explain the events that made me retire to my room earlier than usual? What would I even say? Oh, yeah, my childhood friend tried to recreate the scene of our first kiss, and I almost let him, but then, weirdly enough, I thought about you and it kind of turned me off. Nothing to worry about.
Something told me that wouldn't go down very well. Especially considering how he reacted the last time I had mentioned Jase. I wasn't too sure, but I think he got jealous, and decided to reveal that he was not, in fact, a ghost, but a twenty-four-year-old man living underneath the manor. Also, there was the kidnapping - though he had let me go.
The question of why I wasn't more freaked out about this whole situation raced through my head.
When it became clear I wasn't going to respond to his statement, he went over to my dresser, picking up a stack of papers lying on the surface. As he did that, I went over to my bedside table, picking up Wuthering Heights, looking at which part he was reading, gently setting the white rose down as I did so.
