Page 1 of Lightning Angel

Prologue

Tristan Knight was not an ordinary boy. But only a handful of people knew that. And the high school girls gaping after him as he drove past them in his new—or not so new—SUV were not one of them.

This was his first time driving his new possession, although driving out of his neighborhood, especially into town, wasn’t part of the plan. But somehow, he ended up in the square of Harmony Hills.

There was no familiar face or usual spot for him to stop. So he kept driving.

The sky was bright and blue, not a single puff of cloud to spot. Since there hadn’t been a warning ping on his phone about upcoming rain or thunderstorms, he relaxed into the seat after another peek at the sky.

He would head back home in half an hour.

Though Tristan hadn’t been to the town square morethan a handful of times in all his years, he always knew his way back and forth. It was one of the perks of being, well,him—and no, it didn’t require knowing the directions.

But to his credit, he did know.

The townspeople bustled about their day. Coffee shops and restaurants were packed. School pupils walked or skateboarded on the sidewalks. A woman poked her head out of a flower shop and stared at him curiously as Tristan rode past her building.

He wouldn’t be surprised if she thought he was new to town, or that he was a passing tourist; that’s what everyone thought when they first saw him. And when they learned he was Dr. Knight’s son, their shock was always palpable.

He couldn’t blame them. He wasn’t an outdoorsy person. All his life, he had been isolated from the world as possible—thanks to his aunt.

Tristan grimaced and looked out the windshield. One thought of his aunt killed his mood; it always did, as rarely as he remembered her. In his frustration, he groped for another thought to distract him and sped up the car.

Right. His car.

Despite being twenty-one, knowing how to drive, and being the son of an infamous doctor, Tristan had never owned a car. Sure, he’d driven his dad’s sedan several times around their neighborhood. But that was it.

His dad had attempted to buy him one several times but Tristan had always protested. Why did an indoor person like him even want a car? The motorcycle his godfather gifted him on his eighteenth birthday still sat in the garage, barely ridden.

Besides, being him, Tristan didn’t really need a vehicle to go from one place to another—not that he went anywhere besides his cousins’ house.

So, it was a surprise when he saw an SUV roll into their courtyard yesterday afternoon. A tall boy, who seemed slightly younger than Tristan himself, with dark skin and icy-blonde hair, had been the driver. He shook hands with Dad, handed him the key and a file of papers, and left after one solemn look at the car.

Tristan didn’t realize what was going on until his dad told him that he bought the car from the daughter of one of his patients who passed away just the other day. The man’s family needed money for the funeral, and his daughter wanted to sell her car. Dad had jumped in to buy it from her, desperate to help them. The patient was an old friend of his.

The decision had been quick, and the car was now Tristan’s.

He felt immensely bad for the girl, whoever she was, losing her dad and her car in the span of one day.

Tristan sighed.

Another group of high school girls turned to look at him from the sidewalk as he took the right turn and rode past them, still not sure where he was going. They paused and stared, some dropping their jaws, and some gasping and whispering to each other.

Tristan listened to what they were saying about him. It was all the same everywhere he went. Every woman regardless of age thought he was drop-dead gorgeous, that even Edward Cullen couldn’t hold a candle to him.

He rolled his eyes.

Eventually, he passed a two-story, white and brick-red-painted building, with a wide courtyard surrounded by half walls. Tristan read the billboard and realized it was a church. Just as he was about to look away, he spotted his dad’s blue sedan. He would recognize it anywhere.

Tristan stopped the car. This must be where the funeral of his dad’s friend was being held.

He parked the car down the street and walked back toward the church building, rolling up the sleeves of his black button-down. The perk of black being your signature dress code was that you could stop in the middle of the road and walk into a funeral unplanned. Not that Tristan went around his neighborhood attending funerals. This was his first one in years; the last one being his mother’s and sister’s.

His chest tightened suddenly. It had been years, but the pain was still afresh. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath to compose himself.

When he reached the wide-open gates, Tristan hesitated for a moment before he stepped into the courtyard. He wasn’t a church-going person, or religious. Religion hadn’t gotten him or his family anywhere. God had never cared for him, so Tristan didn’t care about Him either. Though, his dad was a believer.

The speech from inside the building floated to him. Tristan climbed the steps to the portico and reached for the door.