Storm and Fury (The Harbinger, #1)

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

“I always look twice or maybe even three times at a pretty girl,” he said, and that easy grin was back, curving up one side of his lips. “I don’t think we’re supposed to admit that now, or do that, but it’s the truth.”

I lowered my hands. “Wow. You were really paying attention.” “I was.” Surprise stole my voice for a moment. “Why?” “Because I saw you over there, so I was paying attention.” “You didn’t even look at me until after Clay made an ass of himself.” That easy, teasing grin returned as he bit down on his lower lip. “So, you were also paying attention.” Warmth splashed across my cheeks. “No, I wasn’t.” He chuckled as he tucked a strand of blond hair behind his ear. “You’re ridiculous.”

‘Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.’”

“By the way, there’s a ghost sitting on your dresser,” I told him, and smiled evilly when I saw the blood drain from his face. “He’s name is Peanut, and he’s taken quite a liking to you. Have fun with that!”

“I lied.”

“I know what you want,” he said, squeezing me against his side. “You want to be wanted, and there’s nothing wrong with that, Trin. Not at all.”

“I’m guessing the sky is full of stars?” “It is, but the only ones that matter are the ones you see.”

“You are... You are incredibly strong.” The comment caught me off guard. “What?” “You’re standing here talking about losing your vision like it’s nothing. Like it’s no big deal, and it’s huge. You know that.” Reaching over, he placed his hand on mine, startling me. Gently, he untangled my fingers from my hair. “But you’re dealing with that. Living with that. If that’s not the definition of strength, I don’t know what is.”

it’s scary as Hell to really think that all of this will be gone and I’ll have to learn to live differently with the expectations of who I am and what I am, but I have to deal with it. And I do so by not letting it define me or consume every waking moment of my life. That’s not strength. That doesn’t make me special.” I shrugged. “It just means I’m...doing the best I can.”

“You’re maddening,” he said, pressing in, and a deep pulsing throb sent a shiver down my spine.

“You’re out of your mind.” One hand slid from my waist, over my hip, down to my thigh. His hand clenched, the sharp claws snagging the thin fabric of the leggings. Okay. He knew what he was doing. “You’re utterly reckless and completely impulsive,” he continued, and I tipped my head back against the shed, finding it difficult to get air into my lungs. “If you do something like that again...”

“If you got a leash for me, I’d choke you with it.”

So, stop acting like a stupid alpha male and let me help you.” His back tensed and then he looked over his shoulder at me. “Did you just call me a stupid alpha male?” “Yes. I did.”

Goes to church every Sunday. Comes from a long line of Baptist pastors. Married once, to his high school sweetheart, who passed away from breast cancer two years ago. Since then, he’s also been involved in health care reform and women’s services.” The corners of my lips turned down. “Why would you think he would be the first person?” “Because it’s always the last ones you suspect, in my experience. The ones who hide their dark souls rather than show the world what a shit ball they are,”

“Mistake?” At once, I remembered what Thierry and Matthew had said, what Peanut had overheard. Them speaking about a mistake. The same thing Misha had said my mother had been close to figuring out. “What mistake?”