True Intentions (14 page)

Part of what he's saying makes sense. But I frown, not fully understanding the twice comment.

Sam turns around and faces me as he finishes his explanation. The shame remains in his astonishingly beautiful, teal eyes. His voice is cold and dry as he reveals the truth.

"That morning in the woods, I knew Walter was waiting up ahead and you were running right toward him. That's why I sent you back. Not because I was a lookout or a rapist like you theorized. Rather, I knew
what
he was planning to do to you . . ."

I finally understand.

Tonight, my reality and my imaginary world have collided—head on.

I asked him to be honest. Shouldn't I do the same?

After all, he saved my life—
twice.

I need to show Sam exactly how I see him.

I sigh and look at him directly in the eyes. My jaw trembles as I search for the right words.

I clear my throat, making sure my tone has changed from inquisitive to more serious.

"Sam, you didn't actually
create
him. You're
not
God. You may have tempted him with your thoughts, but it would have been no different than if you were out to dinner together and told him how great rough sex is. Those words could have put tempting thoughts in his mind, and those thoughts may have caused him to decide to rape. But ultimately, it is
his
decision to act and
his
choice,
not yours
. It's not like you put a gun to his head."

I was surprised with how easily my rationalization came out, although, it's true.

Even if Sam is an atrocious and sadistic person—or should I say,
a dark angel
; each human ultimately has the choice. Fate may have brought them together, but God gives us freewill. Ultimately, we decide to do right or wrong. Sam didn't force Walter to make the wrong decision.

I look toward Sam, who is staring at me. Maybe he's never looked at it that way before. He relaxes slightly, the guilty, ashamed look disappearing from his gorgeous face. For the first time since seeing him in English class, I feel like he doesn't despise me.

My voice lowers to a whisper. My eyes easily bestow my feelings, even without my words that follow. "I want to say thank you . . . for
both
times you saved me."

He glares down, refusing to make eye contact.

Then, without warning, his demeanor changes before another word can leave my mouth. Alarm and desperation appear in his eyes. He stands up and walks away from me, yet this time he's definitely deep in thought. His fierce eyes give me the impression it's something pretty significant.

His words send a chill down my spine.

"Ava, were going to have to come up with a plan. You're still in serious danger."

Chapter Seventeen – Multiple Plans

Sam drives my Jeep down the mountain roads as he explains his recent conversation with the correspondent, Matthew. By now, Matthew would have certainly reported my survival to Lucifer—or as I've always known him in church, Satan.

Matthew must have been instructed to destroy me. This type of order would only come directly from the top—from Lucifer.

Since the first attempt to kill me failed, another will be made. It's only a matter of time. My existence will continue to be in jeopardy.

Sam thinks Chicago is the most logical place for another attempt. That is where I'll be the most vulnerable—away from my family and from
him.

I can't fake it, I'm completely terrified.

"There is no way you can go to Chicago," he insists. He isn't about to negotiate.

Believe me, just the look in his amazing, teal eyes would convince me not to go—if only it was that easy.

"I have to go. What would I tell my mom? I begged to go for weeks. She'll have me committed to a psych ward if I suddenly change my mind."

"I know this is hard. This has to be overwhelming. But, I have to keep you safe and Chicago won't work as part of that safety plan."

I sit in silence, struggling to keep up with everything that has happened today.

Sam is right—I'm in shock. Although the never-ending danger of Satan and his followers hunting me like a predator hunts prey hangs over my head, that's not what is monopolizing my thoughts.

Instead, I'm focused on the incredible non-human sitting next to me.

I'm obsessed with an angel of darkness—Satan's soldier . . . .

Can this really be happening?

It is surreal.

My mind swiftly drifts back to the hazard facing us: several unanswered questions remain.

Where will I go from here?

How long will I be in danger?

What will happen to Sam for protecting me?

I dare not think about it.

My skin breaks out in goose bumps at the mere thought. My hands tremble like I drank an energy drink or something.

Sam picks up on my anxiety. He reaches across the stick shift and grabs my hand. I feel him give a gentle squeeze. Yet, it's only a matter of time before he'll need to shift into another gear. I grimace, knowing his reassuring touch will be soon taken away.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks, breaking my train of thought.

"I think my blood sugar could be getting low, I haven't eaten anything since this morning," I explain, as an excuse for the trembling.

Luckily, it works.

"With everything going on, I never thought about eating. Let's grab something before I take you home."

I stare at the clock on the dash. It's already 9:00 p.m., and if I'm not home by eleven o'clock I might as well hand over my Chicago plane ticket. It's either that or I'll be grounded for life. Maybe that is exactly what he wants.

We stop at the restaurant
Bin 189
, which I didn't know existed. Sam opens the restaurant's door, and we're greeted by a small, older woman who looks like she is at least seventy years old. This restaurant seems very high class. I look down at my Cal-Poly sweatshirt and cringe. I'm way underdressed for such a fancy place. Luckily, the restaurant has only one other couple inside.

I glare at the expensive menu and realize I'm starving.

"Hi, my name is Erica. What can I get you to drink?" A young, petite blonde asks as she approaches our table.

She is extremely thin—anorexic looking. I can't help but assume she is around our age, but her make-up is so thick it ages her.

"A water, please."

"Make it two waters. Will you please add lemon to both?" Sam says.

"Two waters with lemon, coming up," Erica repeats and then heads to the kitchen. She doesn't look back.

I watch her leave, her mini-skirt barely staying around her thin waistline. One tug of someone's hand and it would fall to her ankles. Sam seems more interested in my curiosity toward Erica than anything else.

I notice him watching me, and my cheeks blush to a deep rose.

"So tell me, what does an immortal
monster
eat—human blood?" I ask him once Erica is out of range. I can't stop myself from giggling.

"Like I've never thought of that one before." He reaches across the table and traces the top of my hand with his index finger. A chill moves down my back. Why does his touch electrify me so darn much?

"Believe it or not, I eat mostly fruits and vegetables."

"Only fruits and veggies? Are you being serious?" A smile washes over my face.

"Correct. Fruits and veggies, that's mainly it," he repeats without giving any further explanation.

He intertwines his fingers with mine. I look closer at his skin, acknowledging no one would ever question the human factor. Besides the pulse, and no injury part, his other characteristics are unmistakably human.

I turn my focus back to our conversation.

"Why?" I ask, looking for more clarification. Curiosity is getting the best of me. I want to know absolutely everything.

Sam frowns, bringing his eyebrows close together.

"Well, the antioxidants inside the fruits and vegetables help keep our bodies preserved. Without it, I'd lose a majority of my powers due to oxidation. I don't have any circulation from a heart."

I smile as a goofy thought enters my mind. Unable to help myself, I giggle then insist, "So, what your saying is that you're like Popeye the Sailor?"

Sam grins.

"Maybe," he says in a joking tone.

"I guess Mother was right, kids should eat their fruits and vegetables." I have to make light of the situation—I'm sitting at a restaurant with an immortal.

Sam rolls his eyes while shaking his head. He casually runs his fingers through his hair. I'm grateful he doesn't know what I'm thinking.

"You're unbelievable, Ava O'Brian."

Before I can respond, Erica returns with our waters and proceeds to take our order.

Sam lets go of my hand. I feel a wave disappointment wash over me.

"Hungarian Goulash," I request, trying not to let my discontentment show.

"Tomato salad and organic, baby greens, please."

After she walks away, Sam reaches for my left hand and pulls it to his lips. They feel warm against my chilled skin.

"You're amazing, you know that?" He kisses my hand ever so softly.

"Thank you, you're not so bad yourself," I answer, the words travel slowly out of my mouth. Yet I mean every word. It's like I'm in a trance. I have to admit I'm madly in love with Sam Perry, and if he is trying to tempt me, it is working without a doubt. I'm heading straight to hell on an express train.

I blush at the thought.

"We need to talk about Chicago," he whispers, reminding me of the danger up ahead
.

Danger for both of us.

"I know," I grunt. "What do you suggest?"

I'd rather the
danger
part not be an element of this new reality for me.

I want Samuel Perry in my life, even if he is an angel for Satan. I wish death wasn't lurking around every corner.

"Would your friend Mallory lie for you and tell your mom you were in Chicago when you weren't?" he asks.

My eyes widen at that idea.

Is he serious?

"This may be hard for you to understand,
being a dark angel and everything
, but I am not going to ask Mallory to lie for me. It's one of the Ten Commandments, you know?"

Sam's eyes narrow at my remark. He obviously doesn't understand my unwillingness to have my friend lie for me.

"Well, then I guess
you're
going to have to be the person to break the commandment,
thou shall not lie,
because I'm intrigued to see you tell your mom you need to stay local, so you can be protected from the devil by a boy who's a demon."

"True," I agree halfheartedly. Then I smile wickedly and add, "At least I wouldn't be making Mallory sin."

The corner of his lips curve upward in a playful grin. I wonder if he feels the same chemistry I do.

Then, without warning, his face goes blank. His eyes give him away. He's deep in thought. I wonder if he's coming up with our game plan, yet I fear something else.

What if he's changed his mind and thinks I'm not worth all this?

We sit in silence for a few minutes while I pray he's coming up with a plan versus my other theory.

I don't dare speak.

"I have an idea," he says, breaking the awkward silence.

"You're not going to like it, but I think it will work."

"What?"

"We fake you getting in an accident," he blurts out.

"Fake an accident?"

Is he expecting me to jump off the mountain or something?

I stare at him in disbelief. How will faking an accident help this situation? I study his expression. His cheekbones look defined in the amber light of the restaurant. I know he's being serious about this
accident
plan by the look in his eyes.

Asking Mallory to lie doesn't seem so bad after all.

He continues his explanation, going into more detail.

"Here's my idea. We . . . well, actually,
I
crash your Jeep into a tree. The seatbelt will fit perfectly to explain why you have some bruising on your neck. Plus, you already have a small cut on the back of your head," he adds, smirking.

"So, if you've been in an accident and act like you're extremely sore—really pretending to feel miserable—your mom will
never
expect you to get on that plane."

He gives a confident nod and smiles.

I unconsciously roll my eyes in disapproval.

"True, but there's one problem with your great plan," I reveal, unsure of how I should explain my family history.

"Okay, don't get me wrong, it may work, but I'd also be stuck in lockdown until I turn forty."

Sam stares, completely dumbfounded by my lockdown remark. He watches me closely from across the table with his eyes squinting tightly then raises one brow. He is either puzzled or has concluded I'm insane.

I elaborate further, "You see, I was involved a car accident with my dad and twin brother back in Chicago last October. Both of them died. If I got in another car accident, my mom would flip out and not let me drive ever again, much less ever leave the house.

"I see," He sighs then frowns. "Is that why you moved here, because of the accident?"

"Sort of." I pause for a moment. I hate talking about their deaths, but I need to tell him.

"After the accident, my mom struggled. She couldn't cope with living in the same house . . . . Well, even the same town for that matter. We moved out here to be closer by my grandparents. She is finally acting more like herself. I'm afraid my involvement in another accident may cause her to regress; if you know what I mean."

He nods as he considers my explanation.

"I get it. In that case, let's not 'rock the boat'. I have an alternative idea." He forces a smile, which makes me wonder what he really thinks of my situation.

Just as his mouth opens to reveal his second plan, Erica returns to the table with our orders.

"These plates may be hot," she says in a tone that makes the line sound rehearsed.

"Can I get you both anything else?" she asks, looking toward the kitchen instead of at us.

"No, thank you. That will be all for now." He doesn't say anything else, but doesn't take his eyes off her.