Ascension, Laura Hall [black books to read .txt] 📗

I was on the cover of The Seattle Times. It wasn’t the greatest picture, but at least I hadn’t been caught picking my nose. In fact, I barely recognized myself as the glamorous creature in couture. Next to me stood Declan, looking dapper in his tux, his piercing, pale eyes fixed on some distant point.

My own expression couldn’t be mistaken for anything as collected. I was staring right at the camera looking terrified.

“It’s not that bad,” said Tabby.

I grunted, scanning the headline again. New Supernatural Species! The article went on to discuss eyewitness reports of my arms lighting up. Being a newspaper, they did a shameless background check and poured out my personal details to the public. My bartending job, family situation, even my long ago degree from UC Berkeley.

Wrapping up the article was a brief paragraph speculating on the Prime’s and my relationship and a potential love triangle with Samantha as the third spoke.

The gossip rags weren’t nearly as tasteful.

Seated next to me on the couch in the library, a pile of trashy magazines in her lap, Tabby made a choking noise and quickly shuffled her stack.

“Give it here,” I said grimly.

“It’s stupid,” she said quickly. “You don’t—”

I let sparks dance between my outstretched fingers. She rolled her eyes and tossed me the magazine. Samantha was on the cover, looking gorgeous in a cream gown, an emblazoned title above her: Former Lover of Prime Tells All.

My mouth dropped open as I glanced at Tabby. “Former?”

She nodded, grinning broadly. “Yesterday morning. It was glorious. Well, the aftermath was. Samantha stormed through the hall like a weretiger on a rampage, complete with snarling and hissing. She broke the front doors on her way out. I’ll say this for the bitch, she packs a wallop.”

My stomach was doing backflips. I rubbed it as I opened the magazine to the center spread. As I read, the flips evolved into nosedives.

“She . . .” I shook my head, looking up at the halfway point in the article. “She’s so full of shit. I’ve never even seen her shoe collection. And I do not walk around in my underwear!”

Tabby smirked. “It’s all bullshit. She probably did it for the money. Women like Samantha, they’re never heartbroken, just ego-bruised.” She inspected the hot pink manicure on her left hand. “You know, she never actually stayed the night at the compound. She was just a pressure-reliever for Connor, one in a line of many.”

I scrunched my nose. “Ew. Why are you telling me this?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t play dumb.”

“There’s nothing going on between us.”

If Tabby’s eyes narrowed any further, they’d be crossed. I sighed. “Okay, there’s chemistry, and the fact he’s the only person who can touch me. But I’m not about to throw myself on the tracks before that train.”

“Why the hell not?” she cried, blue eyes going comically round. “Are you blind or something? Good Lord, I’d jump Connor Thorne in a hot second!”

I grimaced. “It’s not that simple. I know it’s a dying ideal, but I’d rather not sleep with someone I don’t have feelings for.”

Or someone who was waiting for the return of his one true love, but I figured that information wasn’t for public consumption.

“You’re nuts,” she countered firmly.

I smiled. “That about sums it up.”

She grumbled something under her breath about delusions, which I ignored, and we spent another twenty minutes reading outrageous lies and conjecture about who I was, what I could and couldn’t do, and whether or not I had home-wrecked Connor and Samantha.

After tossing her final magazine to the floor, Tabby stretched and yawned. “What’s Declan doing?”

I glared, but she just smiled sweetly. Sighing in defeat, I closed my eyes and focused on the Alpha. “Working on the training room wall.”

Tabby whistled as she stood. “Remind me to stay on your good side. Same time and place tomorrow? You should ask Connor to put a television in here. We can watch movies. I’ll bring nail polish. Can you wear nail polish?”

As I was quickly learning, the best response to Tabby’s monologues was smiling and nodding. I did both and she grinned.

“Great. See you tomorrow, sparky.”

When the library door closed behind her, I dropped my magazine and stretched out on the couch. Late afternoon shadows danced on the ceiling as clouds ran from the winter sun.

Closing my eyes, I focused on my dad.

Nothing.

With the exceptions of my dad and Delilah—who, after our heart-to-heart, had blocked her location as well—I’d discovered that all I had to do was think of someone to know where they were and what they were doing. Mostly it was like flipping television channels from one boring reality show to the next.

The minimal, voyeuristic enjoyment of spying on people faded quickly, then died a fiery death when I saw something I couldn’t unsee. I’d never look at Adam or the Sapphire Mage named Molly the same way again.

My range, I’d learned, was also limited by memory. I couldn’t find Liberati-Bald-Guy because a certain level of physical detail was required. No doubt I’d recognize him if I saw him again, but I couldn’t recall enough specifics to get a read on his location. My only lead was Rosie, who I checked in on every few hours. She was still driving.

Where are you going, Rosie?

As much as I wanted to believe she was innocent, I was beginning to see her in a new light. For one, she’d dyed her brown hair blond, and instead of her usual pants and blouses, was now rocking flirty skirts and tank tops. If she was working for the Liberati, I hoped she was driving straight to Bald Guy. Or straight off a cliff.

I had yet to revisit the future. Given my apparent proclivity for thrashing and screaming, I wasn’t looking forward to another episode. Moreover, when I’d read the transcripts from my