Page 4 of The Immortal's One
Kayla squeals, almost falling back on the stool as she whips her hands up to clap. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
She wiggles in her seat before sliding off the stool. “Perfect! Let’s go to my parents’ house to pick out your outfit. I know you don’t have anything club-worthy in your closet.”
I want to object, but the truth is cozy sweaters and leggings don’t qualify as going-out clothes, even though they totally should.
“Don’t you have to work?” I ask even as I start to gather our dishes to move them to the sink.
“Not for a couple of hours,” she chimes. “We have plenty of time. Come on!”
Kayla hurries towards the front door and tugs on her fuzzy winter boots and puffy jacket. Knowing her, there’s no point in arguing. I follow her to the door, grab my jacket, and slip on my worn sneakers.
As we make the short walk to her childhood home, Kayla raves about everything she’s heard about Portland’s newestclub, swearing up and down that we will have the time of our lives.
I nod along, offering noncommittal hums as I focus more on avoiding hidden patches of ice on the recently cleared sidewalk than listening to her try to sell me on the club.
“Portland isthespot for people our age to party. There are going to be so many hot guys there.” Kayla fans her face and winks. “I bet you’ll be dancing all night.”
I swear I have the most overactive imagination. Because as Kayla goes on and on about our impending night out, the stunning green irises that haunt my mind flash with unexpected anger just before they narrow in stern disapproval.
2
Fatigue weighsdown my eyelids as I stand inside the Brunswick public library on Friday, staring at the paranormal and fantasy display at the end of the aisle. The vibrant covers blur together.
Suffice to say, I slept terribly last night.
Visions of green eyes, almost as familiar as my own, had starred in my dreams—just like they always do. But last night, they were accompanied by unsettling images, more vivid and troubling than usual.
A grand palace with a torn dress.
A toga smeared with blood.
A nightgown charred black.
Terror gripped my chest each time my subconscious hovered over the damaged clothes. My heart, pounding like a drum, yanked me from sleep after each scene, only for a new one to play when my head hit the pillow again.
Even now, the memory sends a chill racing down my spine. I need something to distract me from my lingering fear. Hence, I’m here, searching for escape in a book.
A shadowy image catches my eye. I pick up the cover of a novel titledShadowed Strengthand read the blurb on the back. It’s a shifter romance—one of my favorite genres. There’s just something about alpha males and strong heroines that gives me all the feels.
I add the book to my pile and then walk over to sit on one of the plush leather chairs tucked in the back corner of the library. Aside from the toddler story time in the community room and the library staff, I’m the only one here.
Not one to miss an opportunity to dive into a book, surrounded by the comforting smell of paper and ink, I tuck my legs underneath me and settle in for a relaxing read. This one tells the story of a mortal woman and her Fae love interest—yet another favorite genre.
I open to the first page, but a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. When I glance up, I'm startled to see someone sitting in the chair across from me.
Where did he come from?
A thick book rests on the man’s knee, his ankle crossed over his other leg. His chin rests in his hand as he skims the pages, absorbed in the text. But as if sensing my gaze, he lifts his head, and my breath hitches in my throat.
With rich auburn hair and piercing brown eyes, he's nothing short of striking. A subtle smirk tugs at his lips, acknowledging my stare with a confidence that leaves no doubt he’s fully aware he’s attractive.
I offer a polite smile, then drop my eyes to my book, hoping to hide the blush creeping up my neck.
A loud, jarring ring shatters the silence. I fumble my book, nearly dropping it, but catch it just in time, letting it settle onto my lap. My face burns as I scramble for my cell phone,which isn’t on silent despite the fact I could have sworn I switched it before entering the library.
I slide the phone out of my back pocket to silence it. Just as I’m about to hit the ignore button, my eyes catch the name flashing across the screen.
