The Ylem (The Ylem Trilogy, # 1)

By Tatiana Vila

An ancient book, a seventeen-year-old girl and an exotic boy from a supernatural world hold the key to freedom for a long-oppressed race, but that freedom could come at the cost of the human world.

Seventeen-year-old Kalista is suffering from a broken heart, so when her playwright father proposes they move their lives from New York to New Mexico because he is in need of inspiration Kalista is 100% on-board with him. New Mexico proves to be the perfect balm for her wounds and she is just starting to feel some of her old spunk when Tristan Winfield comes into her life and pulls all of her barriers down. Kalista is captivated by Tristan's unusual silver eyes and feels an inexplicable connection to him, which begins to manifest itself in her dreams with bizarre images of a waterfall and an orb.

While searching for an explanation for her troubling dreams, Kalista discovers an ancient book which holds the secrets of a supernatural race of creatures. But when Killings hit town, she realizes her finding has come at a high price. She's in the middle of a power struggle now, a struggle that seems to be linked to the secret wrapped within the pages of that book. A secret she and Tristan are part of...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tatiana Vila
• Release date: Nov 23, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458130082

Tatiana Vila

When not writing or doing book covers, Tatiana Vila can be found binge-watching series, painting cool abstract stuff, eating way too many candies, and fantasizing about interior design makeovers.Her motto: let the mind run wild.Check out some of her cool book cover designs at her website:www.viladesign.net

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The Ylem

Tatiana Vila

Published by Tatiana Vila at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Tatiana Vila

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1-Silver Eyes

Chapter 2-Magnetism

Chapter 3-The Mission

Chapter 4-The Wolfdog

Chapter 5-Expectation

Chapter 6-Bad Movement

Chapter 7-The Dreamcatcher Girl

Chapter 8-Rendezvous

Chapter 9-Ski Apache

Chapter 10-Bumps Along The Way

Chapter 11-Confusion

Chapter 12-Enigma

Chapter 13-At Long Last

Chapter 14-Water Crystals

Chapter 15-The Beginning

Chapter 16-Scornful Looks

Chapter 17-The Old Lady

Chapter 18-Breakthrough

Chapter 19-True Nature

Chapter 20-Disrupted Party

Chapter 21-White Sands

Chapter 22-Sweet Sacrifice

Chapter 23-Windfall

Chapter 24-Down Memory Lane

Chapter 25-Can of Worms

Chapter 26-Close Encounter

Chapter 27-Fiery Ordeal

Chapter 28-Deadly Nightshade

Chapter 29-Cast-Off

Chapter 30-Please

For Mom and Dad,

my guiding stars.

Love, unconquerable,

Waster of rich men, keeper

Of warm lights and all-night vigil

In the soft face of a girl

Sea-wanderer, forest-visitor!

Even the pure immortals cannot escape you,

And mortal man, in his one day's dusk,

Trembles before your glory.

Sophocles, Antigone.

PROLOGUE

Sherborne Abbey, Dorset, England

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, he whispered with hands folded in prayer, fingertips pointing at the fan-vaulted ceiling of the yawning church. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven, he continued with eyes closed, struggling to ignore the echoing footsteps growing near.

Every time Alec’s ears caught noises behind his back, anxiety swamped him, pulling him under a wave of fear. Ever since his grandfather shared with Alec the secret he’d kept hidden amid dusty shelves and tattered pages—Alec’s life was torn. Was he an ordinary English lit student or one of the few people harboring a world-shaking secret—the kind that one struggled to exorcise from one’s mind, the kind that roused wars and ambition among mortals and…immortals.

He flinched at that thought.

After his grandfather’s death, he’d taken refuge at the church, going whenever he could to lessen the fear chilling his blood. He knew they were searching for him, and that maybe one day they would find him. And kill him. Those images had been haunting his dreams every night, drawing purple rings that never seemed to fade under his eyes. The house of God was the only place he felt in peace, so there was no reason to fear those measured steps behind him, he thought to himself.

Give us this day our daily bread, he continued, steadying the hard thumps within his chest with the holy words. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us—

…not into temptation, a man said, trailing off his words. Alec turned around, startled. But deliver us from evil, the man continued, eyes aimed on him. Amen. He stopped a few feet away from Alec and cracked a twisted, vicious smile.

It was as if the church had been suddenly shrouded with a deep charcoal cloud, announcing the arrival of a dreadful storm. The dark clothes wrapping the man’s tall frame and the black tattoo on one side of his neck seemed to turn him into a creature of death. The threat in his eyes…Alec had never seen anything so downright feral. His whole body shouted at him to run away as fast as he could, until his lungs failed him.

Without thinking twice, he slid to the end of the pew but found the dark man already blocking his way. How did you— Alec’s voice trailed off.. He knew the answer already. His muscles tensed, anchoring his feet to the floor.

The dark man cracked that vicious smile again. Find you here? Why, your daily offering of prayer and praise, he said. How marvelous to catch a glimpse of the glory of God! He stretched his arms, as if being there filled him with extreme bliss and wonder.

The sarcasm playing in his voice however, told Alec otherwise.

Don’t you dare speak like that in here, Alec said, surprising himself. You’re standing on sacred ground.

The dark man chuckled and looked down at him. Are you giving me an order…boy? He cocked his head as if amused.

Boy? Alec spat the word. Anger and fear raged inside him. You’re no more than, what, five years older than me?

The dark man burst out in reedy laughter, soaking the serene air with danger. Alec swallowed. The moment he feared had finally arrived. He could feel it. The church would be his grave and the Lord his only witness.

Five years older? the dark man said. I thought you were smarter than that, surrounded by books and all. But what can I expect from a fragile human like you? He stepped closer, not taking his sharp eyes away from Alec’s. Oh, yes. How stupid of me! I almost forgot—I do expect something from you.

Alec had to swallow hard to speak again. The possibility of death made him slow with words. They had never been a problem. He managed them even better than breathing. I-I don’t have it.

You don’t? The dark man arched his eyebrows, voice calm and patient.

Alec shook his head.

Then where is it, Mr. Bostwick? Under your pillow? Beneath the floorboards of your room? Hiding in your grandfather’s grave by his rotting, worm-eaten body?

The man’s patience was slipping away, his face as hard as a cemetery slab. But Alec remained in silence. He refused to tell the man where it was. If he was going to die, he didn’t want his death to be in vain. Instead, Alec focused on his own rapid heartbeats, listening to them for what could be the last time.

The dark man pushed his face a few inches away from Alec’s, breathing hard. I don’t have time to play stupid games with you, Mr. Bostwick, so let’s cut the crap. The man’s eyes turned deep black, as a shark about to attack its prey.

Alec’s eyes locked with those dark pools, and his body froze. He was entranced by that vast, deep blackness, hopelessly lost in the night of that color.

Where is it? The dark man asked again, pitching his voice to a low, feral tone.

Words exploded from Alec’s mouth without giving him time to think. America. I went to America and gave it to an old woman.

On your grandfather’s instructions?

Yes. Sweat snaked down his forehead. He was struggling to keep his mouth shut. He wanted to save the secret his grandfather and several other Keepers had guarded for so long, risking their lives. But he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. Alec’s mouth seemed to have a mind of his own.

Where exactly?

Taos, New Mexico.

Her name?

Samantha Collins—but it’s fake. She just used it for the delivery.

Smart move, the dark man said as if it didn’t surprise him. What does she look like?

I don’t know, Alec answered.

The dark man groaned, crumpled Alec’s shirt with his right hand and pulled him up in a blur. In less than a second, Alec’s feet were suspended in the air. Tell me! he ordered, unleashing a paralyzing darkness over Alec’s eyes.

I didn’t see her! I talked with her through a confessional! he managed to say amid the choking trepidation of his heart. But more than fear, he felt disappointment. He’d betrayed all the Keepers, and most of all, his grandfather. Though the words had come out against his will, it was his mouth that had spoken them. He was going to die as a traitor.

A church again? The dark man held him higher, effortlessly. Well, I hope you enjoy dying in one, too. He smiled and shoved him into the air. Alec’s body crashed against a large pipe organ, head cracking as it bent the long metal tubes with echoing low notes of failure and death. His corpse fell to the ground, a limp bulge under the shadows of flickering candles. The light gone from his eyes.

The dark man turned and left, walking past the gaze of stained glass saints on either side of him. The condemnation in their glassy eyes produced not even a tug in his callous heart.

Five men dressed in black waited for him outside, fusing into the night as dark ghosts of death. He stopped in front of them. Well, you heard the boy. We know what to do.

Aren’t you going to consult first with Moyset? one of them asked.

No. He gave me a free pass on this. We’re leaving tomorrow. He started, striding through silent graves that clawed the earth, as if they were keeping a lid on the dead, blocking them from joining the living.

The ghostly men followed.

Leaving to where, Gavran? a younger voice said behind him.

Pay more attention, Caleb. Mooners aren’t welcome here, Gavran told him severely.

I'm not a mooner. Caleb said furiously, wrinkling his eyebrows in deep disapproval. I’ve earned my place in here more than anyone and you know it.

Gavran smirked, his smile full of wicked knowledge. You have. You have…That’s why I'm taking you to New Mexico.

1. SILVER EYES

KALISTA

I sat up in bed with a jerk, breathing in long, deep gasps. My heart drummed wildly within my chest and my hands tingled, as if small bolts of electricity dotted my fingers.

Taking a nap hadn’t been the best idea after all. Instead of resting on a white cloud of peace, a thunderstorm of dread had filled my head with shadowy images of creatures moving through the woods.

Weird.

It must be this town. Almost a week had passed since we’d moved from New York City. The sheer peacefulness that pervaded everything around here was still unreal to me—so unreal I needed ridiculous nightmares to compensate, apparently.

I released the striped comforter from my iron-grip, my fingers still tingling. I climbed out of the bed and looked around, confused by the brightness filling the room.

I’d fallen asleep with the lights on. Great. The curtains on the balcony doors were open, and the bathroom door was open, too, the light on there as well.

Jeez. Keep helping the world’s energy crisis, Kalista.

I reached the curtains to close them and a jolting shock struck my fingertip. I jerked back my hand with a frown and encircled the throbbing tip with my mouth. I hated when that happened. It was as if I was the human version of a battery, always releasing electrical charges.

I had a fat list of uncomfortable moments—some embarrassing enough to color my scalp a deep shade of red. Really. I didn’t know if I was dragging my feet too much or if I wasn’t using good dryer sheets, but static was a big bummer in my life. And this town only seemed to have increased the problem, turning my Rayovac-like body into a Duracell-like one. Doorknobs and car handles were a nightmare now. I had to think twice before touching them.

I turned off the bathroom and bedroom lights with no painful shocks. Thank God. The bed looked as if a tornado had cut a swath of destruction across it, but I—wait, why was I still looking at the bed under a full bright light? I stepped back and observed the switch with doubt. I’d flipped it off. It was down. So, why was the light still on? I pushed it up and, this time, a confusing darkness fell on me. I frowned. Maybe the light switch was installed backwards?

I shook my head. Enough with electrical nonsense. I ran down the stairs and found Dad in the living room. He was looking all around at the new furniture—and definitely wondering how many trees had died to build this house.

I know I did.

God, this is so beautiful... just what we needed, he said when I sat down next to him on the couch.

Sure, I replied with a sigh. To be honest, moving from New York into this place had been a big shock, even if I'd been the one who'd chosen this town. But the selection process hadn't been exactly normal, so having a result, well, not normal was expected.

He was the one who’d wanted to move out of New York, claiming he needed a change of atmosphere. Fifteen long years of working as a playwright in the fast paced world of Broadway had finally taken its toll. The exhilaration of the city that never slept wasn’t his grand source of inspiration anymore. So a new setting was needed, preferably a small, quiet town, and since he was the one inflicting that change of life on me, he’d let me choose the place.

The one thing he hadn’t known, though, was that I, too, needed a change of atmosphere. That I, too, wanted to leave the Big Apple. The reasons? Only one. One that lived in the opposite building right across from our apartment, reminding me of the ache within my chest every time my eyes caught its familiar shadowy outline behind the gauzy curtains. Stephen. He was the one that had pushed me away from the warm, familiar embrace of the city lights.

So one night, with that painful shadow moving right across from my window, I unfolded a map and trailed my fingers across the dry paper, trying to spot what would be our next home. It was kind of adventurous and I loved that sense of freedom and recklessness.

But something odd happened while tracing the bottom of that wide paper. My fingertips suddenly froze with a jolting shock—much like the one I’d had minutes ago—and fixed in a tiny black point on the state of New Mexico. I raised my finger and felt the skin pucker between my eyebrows when I spotted the name: Ruidoso. I didn’t know why or how this was happening, but I suddenly knew this was the place—our new home.

Of course, if I’d known I would be surrounded by massive chunks of trees and mountains, I would’ve thought twice before coming to Woodland.

I placed the unpacked books on the couch and stretched my fingers. The electric tingles still crowded my hands. Was this normal? It usually lasted just a few seconds after a discharge of energy and then it was gone. But it hadn’t this time. Why?

A cold gust of air seeped through the house and blasted on my face, like a slap telling me to stop wandering with my mind. I stood up and snapped the long, narrow window shut. Crazy mountain weather, I muttered. Perhaps this was the reason for my increased energy discharges. Mountain air wasn’t the same as city air, after all. And I bet that living next to a huge forest—Lincoln National Forest to be exact—had a lot to do with it.

Honey, could you please go upstairs and bring me the scissors. I need to cut this…stupid…bag. Dad said, tugging on the plastic that refused to yield.

Yep. Even my dad who never used bad language surrendered to the curse of blaspheming while unpacking. Why don’t you use a knife? I nodded to the kitchen.

Don’t you even go there, Kalista. You know my answer already.

Oh, I did. Knives were precious tools made for cutting and crafting delicacies—alias food—not for mundane activities—alias opening boxes or stupid bags.

Where are they? I sighed. The idea of looking for the scissors in his office was worse than searching for a needle in the garbage. He was the only one who could find things in that mess.

Next to my laptop.

I rolled my eyes and hurried upstairs.

The cabin-like house still looked like a warehouse. Unpacked boxes lined the hallway, and since Dad lacked time to do it—my guess was he didn’t want to do it and stayed a few extra hours at the Spencer Theater—there was no one left besides me to unpack things. With all the school material I had to catch up with, unpacking had been the least of my worries. Being a newbie around this time of the year was practically academic suicide, but we both needed the change, and change meant sacrifice.

I took in a deep breath, stepped inside his office and made my way through skyscrapers of papers and boxes. The long slab of oak that served as a desk stood imposingly at the end of the room. How can you be so messy, Dad? I said to myself while walking amid the city box-maze. Setting up this office was going to be a hell of a hard task.

Once the deed was done—the scissors hadn’t been next to the laptop but on top of a box lying beneath a pile of more towering boxes—good one dad—I rushed downstairs to find Dad was now in the kitchen and set the evil things on the pristine kitchen counter next to him.

Despite his organizational issues, he managed to keep the kitchen as spotless as a display case. "I hope dinner is really good tonight because after that expedition to your office…I am exhausted".

I knew dinner would be good, of course. Cooking was what I’d come to know as my dad's true passion. He loved writing plays and taking people to places they would never expect. He’d once said to me he couldn’t imagine doing something else. But the sparkle shining in his eyes every time he put on his Don’t mess with the Chef apron told otherwise. The kitchen was his Mount Olympus. He just hadn’t realized he could take people to unexpected places with his cooking, too. He was that good. The smell of his dishes could make anyone float to a Shangri-la of mouth-watering flavors, and whatever he was cooking right now fit the bill. It swirled wonderfully hot in the air, awakening my taste buds.

One would say I could’ve inherited his masterful cooking skills. But no. The chef gene was completely nonexistent in me. As far as spoons and pans and fire were involved, I was a lost cause. The microwave was the only thing that saved me from total ignorance. Pretty pathetic, I know.

Thank you for the scissors, honey, he said, giving me a quick glance as he stirred something that looked like…rice with mushrooms? Yeah, definitely rice. It is pretty messy, isn’t it?

"Sorry, Dad, but messy is an understatement. The whole place made me feel claustrophobic."

That means you’re not going to help me with the place, huh? He poured a bit of white wine on the rice and added some parmesan cheese. The poised grin flashing above his chin told me this was a dish he’d mastered to perfection.

I'm not going to stick my fingers in your office. I’ll do the rest of the house. Like if that was easier. Or maybe it was. Hard to tell.

No risotto for you, then.

Risotto. You're making risotto? He didn’t need his chef’s ego to be pampered, God knows he had it of the size of Brazil, but I couldn’t deny the truth. I loved that thing.

I guess you'll stick your fingers in the office after all, he said with a satisfied smile.

I rolled my eyes.

Bribed with food. I was so pathetic.

After the heavenly rice feast, I pulled up the heavy pile of books from the leather couch and climbed up the stairs to go to my room. With a relieved sigh, I settled the tower of paperbacks on my wooden desk and walked up to the wide, wooden armoire in the far corner. God, everything in this house screamed wood all over. It felt as if I was living in a huge tomb of mutilated trees, which, to top it all, was surrounded by a vast sea of still breathing trees. Talk about irony.

I put on my night clothes and skipped the bathroom. I wasn’t in the mood to wash my face and catch my reflection in the mirror. After so many years, I still hadn’t grown fond of the light smattering of freckles across my nose and cheekbones.

Bleaching creams, oatmeal facials, rubbing lemon juice on my face—none of that had helped to get rid of them. Though considered cute, to me, freckles were the dirty little demons that kept me away from having smooth, spotless skin.

I pulled off my long chocolate-brown hair from its tight clasp, turned off the lights and strode to bed. A sense of peace started settling all over my body. The four walls and balcony doors were no lid to my ears; they caught the sounds of the night as if I was standing outside. I listened to the trees whisper, unfolding and dancing in the wind, pulling me under a wave of harmony. I imagined the dew falling and moistening the blades of the grass, coating the tips with diluted tears.

I opened my eyes and gazed at my ceiling, dotted with stars that glowed as diamonds on black velvet. So beautiful…mesmerizing…and then, everything went dark, my mind lost in faraway dreams.

Let’s go, honey. I’m running late, my dad said, grabbing his car keys from the breakfast counter. He'd woken up late and hadn't even grabbed a bite for breakfast.

Luckily, I wasn't the type of girl who freaked out over clothes because she didn’t find a matching shirt, or the type that followed trends in fashion magazines with half-starved girls on the cover—I wouldn't have the time for long morning showers if that was the case and God forbid if I didn't stay twenty minutes under that cascade of water. Me? It was always the same for school: a tight tee, a pair of skinny jeans and my favorite mud-crusted white converses. Quick and easy. So I had time to spare.

Running late? I arched one eyebrow. Has the stage cracked or something? I teased. My dad spent a couple of hours at the Spencer Theater every day. It’d been recently built and needed people to bring it to life. Dad had offered his help and, of course, it’d been accepted right away because, who would've denied the precious help of the great playwright, Peter Hamilton?

Kalista, he pointed his eyes at me.

Okay, okay. I sipped the last puddle of milk and dashed to grasp my sporty biker jacket from the hook behind the door. The day wasn’t really cold so I wasn’t in need of a heavy coat.

We slipped inside the blue Escape and I couldn't help but feel a small shiver as I buckled my seatbelt. Dad said this new hybrid was friendly on the gas mileage, but I was more interested in its friendly side while rolling on the road. In other words, I was more interested in the will-I-get-squelched-like-a-cockroach-if-the-car-crashes than in the benefits of hybrid electric technology.

Feeling safe in a speedy four-wheeled machine wasn’t easy for me, especially when I was the one driving. The anxiety and fear that swamped my body whenever I was behind the wheel defied the strength of a tsunami.

It’d been a complete hell when I’d had to take the driver’s license test months ago. My whole body had been shaking and sweating, my feet accelerating at the wrong points when turning…It’d been a disaster, an atomic disaster, more like the Hiroshima type.

How is it possible that I passed my driver’s license test? I said in awe, looking at the sea of trees edging the road.

Miracles do happen, honey, my dad said with a smile.

Very funny, Dad. With this kind of support I'm never going to be behind a wheel again. He was right, though. It was a miracle.

Grab the Escape and go for a run then. It’s a small town…light traffic…perfect for practice, don’t you think?

I don’t know…We’ll see.

Why is it so hard for you? I don’t understand. Most kids your age would kill to have a car and drive around.

I'm not like most of the kids, Dad, I reminded him through clenched teeth. It’s just—just the fact of having other cars around…

Meaning?

I hesitated for a moment and sighed. I'm scared that they will...well…that they’ll crash against me or something, I confessed, lowering my head. I knew my last words would arouse painful memories of Mom’s death, which is why I didn’t talk about this with him.

She died twelve years ago. She was a doctor and loved volunteering in mountain villages in Central and South America. She was in Peru the day she made the wrong choice and decided to go for the quickest road. She didn’t see the car that took the curve too fast and, well, you can guess the story. It was a very difficult time for my dad, and I was too little, I guess. The only things to remind me of her were old pictures, faded memories and fairy tales.

Don’t be silly honey, that’s not going to happen. I looked up at him. If you practice enough, he added, glancing at me.

Of course, I thought to myself. But practice was nerve-racking. Cars were moving deathtraps! Maybe I’ll give it a shot someday. But not soon, definitely not soon.

He smiled and kissed the top of my head. That’s my girl.

It took us fifteen minutes to get to Ruidoso High School. The day was sun-soaked, painting the landscape with bright golden light. Jagged outlines of green- and brown-hued mountains rested in the deep blue background, with a heavenly white spreading on the peaks, creating a beautiful contrast of colors. A gentle breeze whispering through the foliage of high trees seemed to cast a spell as it passed, waking them up so they would wave at us. Everything looked alive and full of energy, as if Mother Nature was smiling at us.

The school blended flawlessly with its surroundings, as if it was part of the scenery. And though I understood the reason behind the use of earthy colors, I didn’t like the overall image it gave to the school’s structure. The three buildings looked like three long boxes with windows, which reminded me of what was waiting for me back home.

See you, Dad, I said as I climbed out of the car.

Bye, honey, he called, and then added, "Remember the trip to the supermarché!"

Make it a date! I waved good bye and turned around.

A date, huh? Valerie’s voice suddenly asked behind me.

I turned around, startled. Oh, I—I'm just going to the supermarket with my dad.

Wow…that’s exciting, she said, the tone in her voice telling the exact opposite. "Come with Owen and me after school if you want to. It’s Friday… movie night—and my turn to choose, which translates into chick flick overdose for Owen." She said with a sly, muted giggle.

I met Valerie on my first day at school. She was assigned to give me a tour of the grounds, but, surprisingly, it ended up with me giving her a tour of my life in New York. Normally, I wouldn’t have opened up so fast to a stranger. It took a lot to seep through my walls. But her enthusiasm was kind of contagious, and she treated me like a longtime friend, making it really easy to talk to her. So the rest came naturally.

Owen, her boyfriend, was incredibly fun and nice, too. They were one of those couples who looked perfect together, meant for each other, like those dreamy people on a Hallmark card.

I really have to go—maybe some other time, I told her with a smile.

Okay, she agreed, flipping her brown hair to the side, her highlights a golden glow under the sun. Talking about excitement. Remember the guy I told you the other day?

The gorgeous guy?

Yep, that one, she said with a cheery nod. I can tell you're excited. Your eyes got greener.

I held back a roll of eyes. It’s just the sunlight, Valerie. I don’t even know the guy. And wasn’t interested in meeting him. Guys weren’t on my priority list at the moment. They hadn’t been for a long time now, not since Stephen had cut my heart to shreds.

Oh, but you will meet him. He came back yesterday evening.

Her knowing wasn’t a surprise. Living in a small town encouraged everyone to gossip. It was normal to make a fuss for anything. They’d even made a fuss for my arrival, and that was just plain ridiculous.

Really? Wow, I didn’t share her enthusiasm, of course.

Guy-talking always had me feeling down, because it left me struggling with one buried memory that popped up its head whenever a conversation of this kind presented itself. Really, why couldn't I—

Hey, City Girl! a deep voice called, cutting off my thoughts. Spacing out again?

I…yeah, kind of. I blushed.

You do that pretty often, Owen said, his hazel eyes smiling at me. He looked like the boy next door, the perfect guy to bring home to parents. His face displayed innocence and tenderness, and it made me want to fuzzle his hair, like a sister to his baby brother. But once he twisted his