Protecting Truth by Michelle Warren Read Free Book Online Page A

walkway toward the water. Shrouded in twinkling blue lights, a row of trees guides my eyes to the end of the park. Before us stands the very tall London Eye. The tallest Ferris wheel I have ever seen glows in beautiful ocean hues of aqua and cerulean. Enormous enclosed crystal capsules, instead of seats, rotate slowly around the outside of the wheel.
    We reach the base and Bishop tugs me up the ramp.
    “Uh, what are we doing?”
    “I thought we’d take a ride.”
    “Bishop, I know you haven’t seen me in a few months, but I doubt you’ve forgotten about my fear of heights.” I giggle nervously.
    He stops. “Sera, I’m your Protector. Trust me, please.” His green eyes plead as he squeezes my hands.
    Completely helpless against his will, I shrug, consenting, and halfway smile. He drapes his arm around my shoulders and drags me up the ramp. Bishop steps up to the ticket window and chats with the girl behind the glass. I mill around, farther away, holding my stomach in anticipation of the flips it will be taking.
    Bishop’s conversation ends with a chuckle. He turns. “Are you ready?”
    “If this is really expensive, we should skip it,” I suggest. But really, it’s my last-ditch effort to change his mind.
    “Lucky for you, I know the girl behind the counter. We ride for free,” he announces proudly. We step to the capsule entrance. The doors part to either side and he guides me in.
    Anxious tingles spread from the heels of my feet, up my legs, and swirl around my stomach. I double over with a cramp and reach for his arm.
    “Sera, we haven’t even left the ground yet!” He pulls me to the center of the oval room toward a wood-slatted bench where we sit. “Just relax,” he whispers and rubs my back.
    I groan. “How do you know everyone in a city this large?” If he didn’t know the girl, we wouldn’t be riding for free. And just maybe, we wouldn’t even be here.
    “Old girlfriend.” He smiles.
    I stiffen. A hint of jealously flits around my brain. “Old girlfriend?” It’s not like he isn’t hunky enough to have those—probably a lot of those. Strangely, with our perfect relationship the notion never crept into my thoughts. But now, here it is, the aching sting of jealousy, ripe and ready for the picking.
    “Don’t worry, love. She dumped me,” he consoles.
    “What’s her name?” I ask, attempting to hide the edge in my voice.
    “Claire.” He smirks. Clearly, he’s enjoying my discomfort.
    “How long ago?” I whisper, letting my gaze drift to the floor.
    “About ten years.”
    I quickly calculate with confusion. “You would have been seven!”
    “She was quite overwhelmed with choosing between Turner and me. He had a new red bicycle, and I just couldn’t compete with my tattered roller skates.”
    We laugh together—I, for my stupidity, and he at me.
    “I’m sorry,” I say. “She just doesn’t know what she’s missed.” Now I feel bad for Claire, who never knew the amazing person sitting next to me.
    “Doesn’t matter. I won the girl that matters.” He leans in and traces his finger along my jaw, then nuzzles his nose at my ear. “My Seraphina,” he whispers. His breath tickles my cheek. I squeeze my shoulders upward, pinching them to my ears, and giggle. I turn my back into his chest, and we meld into each other. When I look up, we’re moving. I freeze.
    “Here’s the good thing about this ride.” He snuggles closer around my now rigid body. “It takes thirty minutes to get all the way around—”
    “That’s not good!”
    “I wasn’t finished,” he chides. “And we’ll be completely alone .” He wraps his arms around me. My stiffness diffuses. He pulls tighter. Playfully, his lips brush against my neck.
    •
    When we leave the London Eye, exhaustion consumes my body and my legs fail to function. I trip clumsily on my own feet. It’s late, and I’ve been here for hours. And now, time-traveling jet lag—or schlag—is settling in quickly.
    “I think