Awaken the Soul (Havenwood Falls High)(8)

“I need to go,” Vivienne interrupts, grabbing her bag and cell phone. “I’ll text you.”

A chorus of goodbyes follow as she heads my way, and I slip out the door before she reaches me, shifting back to visible and smacking into two guys from school.

“What the hell, Breckin? Where did you. . .” Their words fade as I grab their arms, implanting an alternate memory and sending them on their way as Vivienne appears.

A rush of energy washes over me at the sight of her. It’s exhilarating and confusing as hell. Most days, the two entities that make up who I am are separate, but more and more, my angelic side takes over. As my divine abilities strengthen, my humanity fades.

Vivienne makes me human.

She bites her lip when she spots me, then glances back over her shoulder, and my chest expands. I’ve all but lost the ability to feel over the past few years. Father hates humans—except when he wants them for satisfying his basic desires. He’s deemed them useless. It’s an attitude I picked up. I assumed my angel side felt indifference. It doesn’t. Not with her.

“You okay?” I ask, holding out my hand.

She lifts the strap of her bag over her head, bringing it across her chest, and shoves her hands in her jacket pockets as she looks about. It’s Saturday night, and the drive-in and parking lot are full of people coming and going. The reaper’s presence remains strong out here.

“Where’s your truck?”

Dropping the hand I’m still holding out to her like a fool, I turn and head around the back of the building. “We don’t need it.”

“We don’t need—” Vivienne’s boots crunch the gravel and snow as she follows. “Where are you going? Breckin?”

I duck behind the fence hiding the restaurant’s dumpsters.

She grumbles low, too low for human ears, but I hear every word. “What am I doing? Breckin Roberts graces me with his attention, and suddenly I’m swooning and following him into dark alleys, taking his word as gospel. I’m mental, truly mental.”

“Breckin?” she hisses, coming around the fence.

“Hold on tight,” I warn, and Vivienne screams as my arms go around her waist and we jump into the air. Her face tucks into my neck, a second scream vibrating against my skin as her feet kick at the air.

“Viv, it’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.” My hand shifts up her back, pressing her closer to my chest. “By the way, I don’t believe that qualified as an alley, and you’re not mental.”

Vivienne moans. “We’re . . . we’re . . .” She whimpers again, her anxiety skyrocketing.

“Flying?” I provide helpfully.

She whines.

“Open your eyes, Vivie,” I tease, slowing our ascent. Her head shakes beneath my chin, and I chuckle at her mumbled plea. “I already said you’re not crazy, and no, you’re not dreaming. You’re safe, I promise.” Lowering my lips to her ear, I whisper, “Open your eyes.”

Her arms tense—one around my neck, the other around my back. Her hand moves dangerously close to the joint of my wings and spine as she adjusts her body and lifts her head. Her face is a hair’s breadth from my lips as her chin tips up and her eyes open. Fear reflects at me.

“You’re wearing some sort of jet pack, right? I’ve seen those invention shows. The military make them, and rich people buy them as toys. You’re rich, your dad travels the world . . . he brings you expensive toys—” Her high-pitched rambling draws another smile to my lips. If she’d stop talking, she’d hear the beat of my wings against the air. She continues.

“Don’t drop me, Breckin. I’m not sure I’m a fan of this. I prefer driving. You have a cool vehicle, a classic even. Couldn’t we have driven? Can you put me down? I mean, can we go back down?” I shift, turning my body under hers as we head east, toward my house. Vivienne squeals, squeezing her eyes closed. “No, no, no. What are you doing? How high are we? Please tell me this is a nightmare. This isn’t real. You’re not here, I’m in bed—”

I kiss her.

It’s a simple brush of my lips against hers—one I must rip myself away from, because holy hell, I want more—but she shuts up.

“Was that not real?” I ask, winding my leg around her calf and locking her closer.

Her jaw works back and forth. “It couldn’t have been.”

We glide on the wind, my wings beating once every twenty feet. “Why not?”

She draws a shaky breath, her hand shifting at my spine, her nails digging into my skin as she clutches tighter. Her lips form a silent O.

“You’re shirtless,” Vivienne accuses.

It took her this long to notice? Removing my shirts when I fly is a must, unless I want to shop for new clothes every time my wings make an appearance and rip them in two.

“I am.” She tilts her head, though she still doesn’t look down. “I’m not wearing a jetpack, either. All you have to do is look beyond my face, and all your questions will be answered.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.” Wry humor clings to her words. Catching her bottom lip with her front teeth, her eyes slide left and go wide. I still, allowing her a good look at my wings. Her chest expands with her deep inhale.

“They’re real,” I say preemptively. “Not some expensive toy my father bought me.”