The graveyard comes into view, and I start to run to it, needing to get to the stone gazebo to use it as shelter until the rain lets up.
My feet squish into the muddy grass as I try not to slip on my ass.
“Thank fuck,” I breathe as I drop my backpack on the ground. Stripping off my jacket, I toss it next to my bag, needing to get out of these cold wet clothes. I unbutton my shirt, leaving me in my black lace bra, and wring out the excess water from my shirt, so I’m not dripping.
“Do you always strip in public places, or is there just something about this place?” a deep whiskey smooth voice asks.
I let out a surprised shriek, bringing my top up to cover my boobs from this random stranger. Spinning around to tell him where to go and how to get there, I stop, lips parted as my eyes lock on one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen.
He cocks a brow at me, a playful smirk hitching at the corner of his lip as he takes a drag from the cigarette he's smoking. He tips his head back, blowing the smoke straight up over his head.
“Do you speak?” he asks. My eyes catch on his black nail polish as he brings the cigarette up to his lips again, taking another hit.
“Smoking kills,” I blurt, my brain not able to function right for some reason. The air crackles between us, and my body shivers involuntarily.
He lets out a deep chuckle that does funny things to my body. “So I’ve heard. But lucky for me, I can’t die so easily. And definitely not from this.” He winks, holding up the cig.
“What are you?” I ask, as my eyes roam over his body. He’s gotta be at least six feet tall. His hair is black as night, light stubble on his face, and eyes that are brighter than the sky. The leather jacket he's wearing is unzipped, showing a black T-shirt with tattoos peeking out of the top, stopping at his neck.
“A blunt one, you are.” He shakes his head, but he doesn’t seem to be upset by the question.
“You're not a pure blood, I can tell,” I say, proving his point further. He’s not wrong. When I’m in an awkward situation, I tend to just say what's on my mind. I’m not really a social person.
“And I could say the same thing about you,” he says with a smirk, his heated eyes taking in my body. My brows furrow.
“How would you know that?”
“Because those goodie two-shoes would never be caught dead here. Or taking off their clothes somewhere they are at risk of getting caught.”
A giggle bubbles out, and I probably look like a crazy person.
“What is so funny?” he asks, and he smiles a genuine smile.
“You said they would never be caught dead here. It’s a graveyard, it's the perfect place to be dead.”
He grins, shaking his head. “You have a point.” He laughs.
“So, what are you?” I ask again. I think I know what he is, but I’m not gonna out right assume it, that would be rude.
“A dark angel,” he says, watching me as he waits for me to react.
“Thought so.” I nod. Just looking at him I can tell he’s nothing like my stepbrother and his friends.
“And you are?” He cocks that black brow of his.
“Half breed, I guess is one way to put it.”
He cocks his head to the side. “So, you're part pure blood, part dark? Haven’t met many of those.”
“Part pure blood, part fallen,” I correct. Dark angels are descendants of fallen angels, their bloodline watered down over time, but because my father is a fallen angel himself, I’m considered part fallen. My grandkids would start to be considered dark angels.
His eyes widen slightly, before a confused look takes over his face. “But, all the fallen angels are in Hell. They haven’t been top side in... well, thousands of years.”
“Well, that's not quite true, or I wouldn’t exist,” I shrug.
“Do you know your father?” he asks.
“That's kind of a personal question,” I say, raising a brow.