Page 46 of Into Darkness (Night Prowler 6)
Then she and Mr. Gleam and his fan club began the long, winding ascent through the caves to the surface.
“Holy . . .”
It was the only word that came to mind.
The view that greeted Lu when she emerged from the gloom of the caves into the brilliance of the day was the single most spectacular thing she’d seen in her life.
Color, everywhere. So much color it stung her eyes. The gently sloping hillside where she now stood gaping was carpeted in emerald, and dotted with the darker forest green of trees. The sky was blazing, enamel blue, the clouds so white they shone like pearls. Even the air smelled like a color: green. Lush, verdant, and rich with life. Off in the distance, the moors teemed with wildflowers, lavender and sapphire and pink, and a gentle gray-blue mist rose from the peaks of the faraway mountains.
But none of that compared with the glory of the sun. She’d never imagined such a color could exist. Pictures couldn’t do the blinding golden-yellow-white-diamond of it justice.
Lu closed her eyes and tilted back her head, basking in the most profound pleasure she’d ever felt: sunlight on her face.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Even without opening her eyes, she recognized Magnus’s voice. And his scent. He’d approached so quietly she hadn’t heard him, and briefly wondered if that was another of his Gifts: Utter Silence.
“Good doesn’t even come close.” She was whispering, not wanting to break the spell. “An orgasm doesn’t feel this amazing.”
The minute the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to swallow them back. Idiot! What were you thinking? Heat spread across her cheeks to her ears, and it wasn’t from the sun. She opened her eyes, cleared her throat, and quickly changed the subject. “You didn’t let me properly thank you earlier, about the hangover thing. So . . . thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. Are you feeling any better?”
She chanced a glance at him. He wore a black jacket with a hood that partially obscured his face, but what she could see of it was, if possible, flushed an even deeper red than hers.
“No.” His tone was gruff, the word a clipped syllable. He wouldn’t look at her. Instead, he was paying close attention to a nearby clump of bluebells nodding cheerfully in the sun.
“Why aren’t you resting, then? I could barely sit up in bed earlier, how are you even—”
“I heard you’d come up. I wanted to be here. To keep an eye out.”
An eye out? Lu scanned the landscape with new dread. “Morgan said we were safe here.”
He finally turned his head and looked at her. The color still hadn’t left his cheeks, leaving the scarred side of his face blotchy, ruddy beneath the snarl of pale scar tissue. “Safe is a relative term. There are all kinds of ways to get into trouble.” He glanced away, and his gaze fell on Beckett and his group, who’d given her a moment alone and were waiting at a respectful distance by a nearby stand of pines.
Beckett was looking back at them without his trademark smile.
“You don’t like him?”
That eloquent muscle in Magnus’s jaw jumped. “I didn’t say that.”
“No, but judging by that death glare you’re shooting him, I’m making an educated guess.”
The bluebells were now subjected to the death glare. He said, “In case you haven’t noticed, this is my normal expression.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed.” This earned her a sharp glance, which she didn’t wilt under. “But this particular look is more severe than most. It’s borderline murderous. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were planning on committing a viol
ent act against Glowlight Gary over there.”
Magnus crossed his arms over his chest and looked into the distance. In profile, he was truly magnificent; the unscarred side of his face was all perfect planes and angles, high cheekbones and full lips and the serious slash of his brows. She wondered if he’d stood on her right side on purpose, and felt her heart give a little twinge of . . . what? Empathy? Is that what made her suddenly want to wind her arms around his shoulders and press herself against him?
Yes, she told herself firmly. It’s only empathy. And you are a terrible liar.
“Should I infer from your little nickname for Beckett that you haven’t been sucked into the bottomless chasm of his charm yet?”
The bitterness in Magnus’s tone stunned her. As did the final word he’d spoken: yet. He fully assumed she’d be looking at Beckett the way Kali, North, and Sayer looked at him. The way everyone probably looked at him: googly-eyed and drooling.
“Nah. I could never be interested in a man prettier than me. My ego’s way too fragile.”
She’d been joking, her tone light, but he turned and looked her fully in the face with an intensity even more surprising than his obvious dislike of Beckett. He said vehemently, “There isn’t a person who’s ever lived who’s prettier than you.”
