Chapter 3
Thesweetestdreamslingeras I come to. In them, a man smelling of pine and citrus carried me through a starry night in his arms. We didn’t walk; we flew. I can’t see his face no matter how tightly I close my eyes and will myself to remember. He’s just out of reach, a shadow in the corner of my eye that I can’t quite make out. Shivers race across my skin. But I remember the gentle breeze, the lightness in my heart, and the lack of fear as he cradled me close, far above the forest floor.
I sigh, stretching my arms above my head. Every inch of me feels great—loose, limber, rested. When did my bed become so comfortable?
The light nearly blinds me as I crack open my eyes. I groan, squeezing my lids shut, and curl up on my side. I must have left the curtains open again. It’s probably noon by now, but the urge to sink back down in the covers is far too strong.
I reach for my quilt to tug it over my head, and my fingers graze fur.
I suck in a breath and go utterly still. The night before crashes back over me, memories slamming into my chest with enough force that I gasp for air.
Closing up at Jolene’s. The robbery.
My breaths come short and quick.
Gunfire. Running through the woods. Falling.
A stranger with wings.
My stomach clenches. I really must be dead. Otherwise, I’d be a mess of wet clothes, bruises, scrapes, and who knows what else.
My legs slide against sheets far too smooth and soft to be mine. I roll my ankle, waiting for pain that doesn’t come. My clothes… Hesitantly, I touch my stomach, my hip. A nightgown, maybe? Underwear, similar to my style, but so soft I nearly sigh. At least heaven comes with clothes. I reach for the necklace around my neck, one that’s rarely left it since my parents died over a decade ago. I find the little silver bird, a wren, just like my name. It was one of the last gifts they gave me before they died. Thank goodness it came with me to wherever this is.
I crack my eyes and take in the view as they adjust to the blinding light. Polished, gray stone walls greet me. A ball of light literally hovers on a sconce built into the wall. No wires. No bulb. No flickering flame. I suck in a deep breath.
Holy, sweet baby Jesus. I’ve never thought much about what the afterlife would look like, but it doesn’t disappoint. An ornate wooden side table sits next to the bed, bedecked in crystal glasses. The ceiling, or lack thereof, catches my attention at the edge of my vision. No wonder it’s so bright. A blue sky looms above. Spots of something mar what must be a clear glass roof many feet above.
“Wow.” There’s no other word for it.
“I’m glad you like it.”
I scream and bolt upright in the bed.
A man lounges in a chair near the foot of the bed. Thin, white curtains float behind him, separating the room from a sweeping balcony beyond. Dark hair frames a strong face that somehow manages to be sharp and smooth all at once. His attire is a few shades darker than the walls, accented with silver and blue. Sinful lips quirk up in one corner as he lowers the glass of cut crystal he’d been sipping from. His grin grows as he swirls a splash of dark liquid—maybe whiskey—around in the glass.
If this is heaven, he might as well be a devil for the way he lounges as a dark spot in the bright room.
His sharp gaze dips to my chest. Heat floods my face as I grab at the heavy fur and pull it up to my neck. Pervert.
“Where am I?” This cannot be the afterlife. Unless I’m somewhere in between, being tempted by my vices: alcohol and seductive men. He’s certainly that. I frown. The last time I admired pretty eyes, I nearly got shot. Or maybe I did.
“This is my home.” He takes another slow, careful sip.
“Right, well, it’s peachy, but who the heck are you?” Sitting under these heavy furs, I should be sweltering. The softest breeze ruffles the sheer curtains, making it all too obvious that one side of the room is wide open to the elements. But the air is light and crisp, lacking all the soup-like humidity that fills southern summers.
“Peachy?” He raises one brow.
My fingertips dig into the fur. “I’m dead, aren’t I? Just rip the Band-Aid off and tell me.”
“Dead? Certainly not. My master healer saw to your wounds herself.”
Master healer.I mouth the words, my brows wrinkling. Like a doctor? A heavy weight settles into my stomach. I hit my head when I fell. That’s it. I’m probably lying in the wet woods unconscious somewhere, and this is a dream. At some point, I’ll wake up sore and miserable but alive and…normal.
A light thump sounds as he sets the glass on the table at his side—a white and willowy thing that doesn’t look like it should be able to stand, much less hold anything. “You seem doubtful.”
A small, humorless laugh bubbles from my lips. “I wonder why. Well,” I start as I slide down into the sheets, “good night.” I squeeze my eyes shut and curl up on my side. If I sleep in this dream, I can wake up, right?
Let me out, let me out, let me out.