Page 13 of Stealing Embers
Popping up with a squeak, I promptly drop several feet and land with a muffledoof.I’m tangled in the bedding I pulled with me and my shoulder and hip throb from breaking my fall.
“Ow.”
Rubbing my bruised side, I peer up at a giant four-poster bed to my left.
“Who sleeps that far off the ground?” I mutter. “It’s unnatural.”
As I struggle to free myself from the bedding pretzel-twisted around my legs and torso, my mind scrambles to make sense of the situation.
Wannabe kidnappers. Getting chased by the shadow beasts. My would-be rescuer. A gigantic lion. An enormous bird. Getting dropped from the sky. A cocky jerk.
Yep, that about covers it.
Pulling a sheet off my head, I stand and suck in a lungful of fresh air.
“You must be feeling better.”
I yip and spin in a circle. Karen is watching me from an oversized chair in a darkened corner of the room.
Yeah, that isn’t creepy.
Standing up, she takes a few tentative steps toward me.
She looks . . . different.
Her hair waterfalls over her shoulders in sleek sheets. She’s ditched the mom jeans and sneakers for black leggings and ankle boots. The artfully distressed gray t-shirt she’s wearing—I’m an expert in what real distressed clothes look like—hangs off one shoulder. Her face is free of make-up except for a light dusting of blush, some mascara, and a rosy sheen on her lips.
The overall effect makes her appear ten years younger. She can’t be older than her mid-thirties. I don’t know how I ever thought she was middle-aged.
“Where am I?”
I scan the room, looking for something to use as a weapon. I’ve been taken against my will, after all.
The room looks like a fancy hotel suite. A glass vase is the most threatening object I can find. In a pinch, I can work with that.
I’m scrappy.
Karen sighs and indicates the bed. “Why don’t you sit down? It’s been a long day.”
Crossing my arms, I jut my hip to the side and stare her down. She’s right, ithasbeen a long day.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on,Karen?” I practically spit the name, which I’m beginning to doubt is real.
“Right. Okay then. Fair enough.” Bringing a hand to her face, she pinches the bridge of her nose. “First off, my name isn’t Karen, it’s Sable.”
“And where am I . . . Sable?”
“We’re in the Rockies, about three hours from Denver. Glenwood Springs. It’s an old mining town. We brought you to one of our academies. As you’ve probably worked out, I’m not a waitress. I’m actually the headmistress of this institution—Seraph Academy. This is a safe place for people like you. People like us.”
I cock an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘people like us’?”
Karen—Sable—gestures to the bed again. I continue to glare and she sighs when it becomes clear I’m not planning on moving.
“People with the blood of angels. Everyone here—”
“The blood of angels?” I rear back. My foot tangles in the forgotten bedding balled on the floor and I go down hard.
Stepping over the mess, Sable offers me a hand up. When I’m on my own two feet, she continues. “Nephilim to be exact.”