Zina and I respectfully washed each other in the shower.
She stood on her tippy toes and kissed my forehead. “You’re different than the others, Lucian.”
“I know.”
She smiled. “You’re hopeless.”
“I know,” I said, my voice barely audible.
Magic hour was ending, and I wanted to get back to Evey. When I hit the street, everything was moving fast. I was so dizzy I almost fell down.
“Shit,” I said, looking at my watch, which was frozen. It had stopped working.
“What’s wrong?” Zina said, standing beside me.
“How much time has passed since the magic hours ended?”
She checked her phone. “About forty-five minutes. I’m sure your souls will be fine. It’s early.”
“Soul,” I said mindlessly. “I gotta run.” I kissed her cheek and took flight.
MY DREAMS HAVEalways been nonsensical—until last night. I didn’t know I was dreaming. I kept thinking I was exactly where I should be. I was with a man, familiar but mysterious. He was sexy and cocky, and he was feeding me. We were on a date at a restaurant, laughing and having smart conversation. A minute later, he changed. His expression dropped, he squinted, and at once, he seemed lovesick and tormented. He was whispering to me, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I closed my eyes to try to listen closely, and when I opened them, we were standing side by side, still and naked like winter trees in a creek. There was nothing around us but darkness. When I shivered, he touched my hand and I was warm.
“Who are you?” I asked him.
“Lucian.”
I could hear his voice. It was rough, pained. That was the end.
When I woke up from the dream, I started crying because I remembered him. I knew him and I didn’t know how. I knew his scent, his voice, his angled features, his full lips, and his searching eyes. I knew his warmth, his touch, and the comfort I felt near him. But awake, I was longing for him. It was excruciating. I was losing my mind. I was being fanatical, paranoid, melodramatic. None of those things were typical of me. I had always been pragmatic and certain of what was and what wasn’t out there.
I went to the kitchen in my sweats and grabbed my keys. Brooklyn was sitting at the round table, slurping up cereal.
“You’re up early,” she said.
“I’m leaving. Going to Tracey’s house to work on the denim. I’m really behind and need to catch up on some things. I have to get going.”
“You look like shit, Pinky.”
“Hey, Brooklyn, I hate that nickname. I’ve always wanted to tell you that.”
“I thought you liked it,” she whined.
“I got pink eye from your house two days before our prom. I’m a little bitter about it.”
“Sheesh, I thought we were cycle sisters. You shouldn’t have PMS for another two weeks. Or are you just being emo cause you didn’t get laid the other night?”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. She was impossible. “Brooklyn, do we know someone named Lucian? Like a really good-looking guy, wears black, maybe longish hair, a touch of facial scruff.”
Through a mouthful of Cocoa Puffs, she mumbled, “No, sounds hot though.”
“Wings,” I said.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“He might have wings.”
She spit out her cereal. “Wings?”
