Page 9 of Learn For Me

The first tear fell, damning her.

Like a centuries-dormant volcano, sobs erupted viciously, hurting her chest with the force of them. Face already wet, she didn’t have the energy to wipe away the tears dripping off her chin.

One straw too many.

The organized heap of things to deal with at a later date tipped sharply to the left, crushing her shoulders with the weight of everything she’d fought to keep at bay.

“Olivia, open the damn door. Olivia!” More pounding, angry and insistent.

When her phone rang, she barely heard it. The sound was distant to her ears, on the other side of a barrier that kept her safe from the turmoil of her reality. It stopped, then started again. Stopped… and stayed quiet.

Struggling to breathe through the constriction in her chest, Olivia rolled onto her side. Her nose was stuffed up enough that the smell of damp carpet was almost bearable. Still, she lay there with her cheek pressed to it, gasping for air as the tears just kept coming.

Something beeped musically from a long way away.

She closed her eyes, wishing it was morning already. Night was the worst time for her emotions to claw to the surface, when her defenses were down, and the few reserves she had left dwindled into nothing. Somehow, she’d always pulled herself together, squashing the pain down again until it couldn’t control her.

Coming back was a mistake.

Keening quietly to herself, she stopped fighting. It only hurt her more, and for what purpose? Whoever said a person had the power to guide their life where they wanted it was full of shit. Rich, stinking, foolish shit.

If that were true, wouldn’t everyone steer themselves around the bad stuff? A vision of the world population skidding around corners in go-karts, trying not to crash into giant R.I.P headstones came into her head. There wouldn’t be death or crime or grief.

By the time the wave of mourning passed, Olivia was half-asleep, her mouth open, and her fingers kneading the carpet for comfort.

Footsteps clomped toward her, coming down the hall from her bedroom. The heavy, angry stomp of boots.

Thinking she was dreaming, she refused to open her eyes when sleep was within her reach. No one could get in without the alarm system screaming its tiny components out, so the only thing she needed to worry about—if she was of a mind to—was catching an illness from the germs probably crawling up her nose right now.

“Need a goddamn keeper, girl,” Zeke growled, his voice far too clear and close.

Chapter Two

Zeke

Why had no one warned him how difficult it would be not to touch her if he ever saw her again?

Zeke rolled his eyes at himself. No one warned him because he hadn’t told anyone about his overwhelming crush on a blue-haired angel with a bewitchingly innocent hazel gaze—no man wanted to be laughed at by his friends for lusting over a woman who was twenty-five years his junior.

In his head, Olivia was already scooped up in his arms, her face against his neck as he opened the door and carried her out to his truck.

In reality, he stood over her with his arms folded over his chest, assessing the situation to see if he stood a chance of getting her to Atticus without so much as a brush of his skin against hers.

Damn her, she hadn’t been taking care of herself, wherever she’d been hiding for two years. He’d seen healthier corpses, certainly ones with more color in their cheeks. The change to her hair had thrown him; the last time he saw her, her hair was royal blue, cut short and fashioned into little spikes.

In all honesty, he preferred the rich red it was now, and the length.

He liked a good handful to hold as he fucked a sub from behind.

Shaking that thought aside, he decided she wasn’t fit to walk. He didn’t think she even realized he was there; she likely believed her alarm system would keep him out, but one phone call to Atticus and one of his tech wizards was able to access and disable it remotely.

The bedroom window had been shut, but not locked. It was child’s play to crawl through it rather than attempt to break down a damn door. He was too old to throw himself into hard objects—his body tended to break instead of bend nowadays.

“G’way.”

An eyebrow lifted in disapproval. Cursing Atticus for begging this favor, Zeke rolled up his sleeves, exposing the fresh tattoo Loki had kindly done for him only a month ago. He stared at the slim line of a woman’s back, dressed in white. Her shoulders were bare of the material, but wings sprouted from them, draping down to frame her body.

Her hair was blue and pointed, her profile hidden.

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