Breathless by Kelly Martin Read Free Book Online

determined, we can do anything. Who knew bacon was a metaphor for life?
    Lucien grabs his plate and fills it up so much there isn’t any white left. I do the same.
    I start to dig in when he clears his throat.
    When I look up, his hands are folded neatly on the table… in a praying position.
    “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
    “It’s tradition.”
    “It’s stupid.”
    “I’m an angel.”
    “You’re a human. We’re screwed, and I don’t think any amount of praying is going to help.” I choose not to tell him that I’ve prayed in the past. What self-respecting demon prayed? Or at the very least admitted to it. It isn’t like God hears us. Or if He does, He probably laughs. Silly little demons had their shot…
    Lucien glares at me. He has on his determined face. Good glory. “I’m praying.”
    “Good for you.” I pick up a piece of bacon, but the invisible darts his eyes are flinging toward me make me stop. “Whatever.” I grumble as I toss the bacon on my overflowing plate and bow my head.
    I look up through my eyelashes enough to see Lucien smile. I’m glad I made him happy. I really am. No sarcasm intended. That’s one good deed for the day.
    Mark that off the list.
    “Our dear Heavenly Father, thank you for this food. Thank you for bringing us back together. Thank you for taking care of us. God, we pray that everything works out with… everything. We pray that things get resolved quickly and everything returns as it should be. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.”
    “Amen,” I say because it seems polite.
    If only He would hear and respond. I doubt it, though. Lucien has demon blood in him. He mixed his with mine, and I don’t know if that got overridden when we became human, but I’d doubt it.
    If Lucien wants to believe, that’s fine. He’s seen Heaven. I’ve seen Hell.
    I don’t want to go back.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
    Hart
    I CAN’T REMEMBER A BETTER MEAL.
    Seriously.
    Who knew my brother was such a good cook. I know I didn’t.
    He must have picked up some pointers in the human world.
    I can cook.
    I mean, I’m fairly good at grilled cheese, the occasional fried egg.
    I make a mean meatloaf.
    How random is that?
    We finish up and my stomach, my poor stomach that hasn’t had anything in it in years, feels like it’s going to explode. So much for keeping my awesome figure if I continue. I’ll just end up a before picture in one of those weight loss infomercials I used to watch while Gracen slept. Ugh.
    I miss watching her sleep.
    I don’t miss hurting her.
    I hated the things she had me do.
    I hated them.
    I hated myself for having to do it…
    Again with the whining!
    “Eat some more.” Lucien tries to hand me a bowl of scrambled eggs, but I hold my hand up. If I have to look at food again, my poor stomach might revolt. And it’ll be messy.
    Shiver.
    “No… no. I’m full. I can’t even stand to look at food.”
    The sky is still dark outside. The purple lightning is still flashing.
    We’re eating in a nice cheery kitchen, in a house we don’t own, but it’s nice. Homey. The kitchen isn’t one of those modern things people tend to love on HGTV. Yeah, I admit to watching it when Gracen wasn’t around. They would all buy old houses for the charm and then put in this super modern kitchen, which didn’t work for the time or the feel of the house. This kitchen isn’t old. I can tell by the state of the appliances, but it fits the farmhouse. There is a big white sink under the big window overlooking, well, darkness. There is a white stove that looks like it would fit in the 40s. A really cool retro refrigerator.
    I have to laugh at myself calling anything retro.
    I’m the oldest thing here.
    Well, Lucien is.
    I’m the second oldest thing here.
    Retro.
    Antique.
    Ancient.
    I fit all those labels.
    I also fit the worst label of all… evil former demon who killed his brother.
    Yay for labels.
    My stomach is full, and my eyes are tired. A nap would be lovely, but I can’t.