I’m ready. I pop a lid, but before I can look around for my purse, I’m thrown backward by a force so strong that it knocks the wind out of me me. What the hell? Hot hands scorch my rib cage, strong and warm. A familiar scent—one I associate with danger—assaults my senses. “I swear to God, Rory. You better know how to fly, because if you fall, I’m coming with you.”
