Ascension - Laura Hall (books for 20 year olds TXT) 📗

Reality crashed my pity-party fast. Before the Prime’s shirt could absorb more than a few of my tears, I jumped from his arms and raced into the bathroom. Locking the door behind me, I cranked on the water in a massive, glass-enclosed shower, tore off my smelly clothes, and inserted myself into the scalding flow.

I let the water rinse the final tears from my face, breathing in short bursts until the wall around my emotions was rebuilt—a familiar exercise that didn’t take long.

Growing up with a single male parent, a police detective to boot, hadn’t afforded me much leeway for feminine hysterics. From a young age, I’d recognized the deep sadness my stalwart father concealed and modified my behavior accordingly.

The older I grew, the more my role evolved. As soon as I arrived home from school, I started cooking a healthy dinner for the two of us. I did the laundry, cleaned the house, and made sure his favorite magazines were stocked beside his recliner. I was too busy for teenaged tantrums, moping, or lovesickness. By self-appointment, I was his rock.

When the time arrived for me to fill out college applications, my dad had expressly forbidden me from applying to schools in Los Angeles. I’d been shocked by the pronouncement. Hurt and betrayed. He’d decided he didn’t need me anymore—didn’t want me anymore.

It took a few years for me to understand that, in his stoic way, he’d given me a gift. I’d gone north to Berkeley and had the best four years of my life. The most important lesson I’d learned was that sometimes the greatest act of love was letting someone go.

God, I really hoped he was okay.

It had been a long time since I’d showered minus sparks. So long that at first, the lack of electricity was disconcerting. Eventually, though, I resigned myself to somatic pleasure. I’d never experienced a waterfall showerhead before.

When my skin was red and puckered, I turned my attention to the row of bath products displayed on a cutout shelf. I scrubbed my body until it was raw, shaved my legs, and washed and conditioned my hair until it was a silky sheet down my back. When there was nothing else to do except wait for the water to go cold, I regretfully turned off the flow.

The largest, fluffiest towels I’d ever seen waited on a heated rack. I wrapped one around my head and the other around my body, then unzipped the overnight bag left by the door.

“Jesus, Mal,” I muttered as I pulled out the third sports bra.

Clearly, my uncle hadn’t been able to bring himself to open my actual underwear drawer, as there were no panties or regular bras. There were two tank tops, two pairs of leggings I ran in, and three long-sleeved shirts. Tennis shoes but no socks. A pair of flip-flops. No jacket or sweatshirt for the cooler climate. At least he’d packed deodorant, though that was the limit of personal hygiene products.

Thanks a bunch, Mal.

I settled on black leggings and a long-sleeved black shirt. The color suited my frame of mind. Dark and determined.

Sometime between shaving my legs and conditioning my hair, I’d come to a conclusion. I wanted my lightning back. As far as I saw it, the only way that was going to happen was if I let the Prime teach me discipline. Whatever that entailed. I wasn’t convinced he could or that it was even possible, but after weighing my options, it was the only chance I had of getting what I wanted.

For starters, my life back.

By the time I finished dressing, I had barely enough energy to towel-dry my hair. Two days in a magical coma probably had something to do with it; either that, or I was experiencing the side effects Adam had mentioned.

Slipping my feet into flip-flops, I unlocked the bathroom door and peeked out, immediately heaving a sigh of relief at the sight of an empty room. No alluring, mind-reading vamps or white-eyed mages in the vicinity.

Every step toward the closed bedroom door ratcheted up my anxiety. From a quick survey out the windows at a heavily forested, twilit terrain, I was relatively certain I was at the Prime’s compound outside Seattle. If so, and if the gossip rags were correct, I was surrounded by not only vamps and mages, but the third spoke of the Prime’s triumvirate, the Alpha, and his pack of werewolves.

I considered crawling back into bed and waiting for someone to make sure I was still alive, but gnawing hunger pains won out.

With a deep breath for courage, I swung open the bedroom door and abruptly loosed an undignified yelp. An unfamiliar, scowling man stood directly opposite me, his fist raised to knock. He was built like a lumberjack, with unkempt dark hair, a trimmed beard, and piercing, pale blue eyes. Power leaked from him in a continuous stream, thick and pulsing like a heartbeat.

Icy eyes surveyed me from head to toe, stalling a few moments on my messy, wet hair before settling on my face. The scowl never faltered as he growled, “I’m Declan.”

Declan Thomas, the Western Alpha.

I sighed. “I really can’t catch a break, can I?”

To my everlasting shock, the scowl melted from Declan’s features. A wide grin looked much more at home on his face. It also radically altered my first impression of him, as well as his overall attractiveness.

I stuck out my hand, figuring I might as well take advantage of being able to touch people. “I’m Fiona Sullivan. Nice to meet you.”

He looked at my hand, then glanced up with a wicked glint in