Light of the Sky (Of the Gods Book 2) Read online

  “Darrell?” She paused before releasing a deep sigh. “Sure, Novalee, let me check.”

  Through the phone, I heard the heavy clink of Ellis’s fingernails on her keyboard, pounding along with the throb in my temples. Darrell brought out aggression in everyone.

  After a short wait, Darrell must have replied because Ellis muttered a faint “good luck” before transferring the call. She knew I’d need it.

  As president of one of the region’s leading corporate law firms, Darrell demanded the best of everything, and nothing but the best from everyone. Valet parking, top floor, corner unit. Top recruits, long hours… your soul.

  Not mine, not anymore.

  “Hang on, Nova,” Darrell spat once the line connected. When he spoke next, I knew his words were directed at the unlucky associate in his office, but they still made me sit up straighter in my chair.

  “No, unacceptable.” Darrell’s firm voice held its usual edge of annoyance. I’d been on the receiving end of it many times.

  A smile tugged at my lips. This may be one of the last conversations I’d have with the senior partner and president of Loft and Associates.

  “Tomorrow, nine sharp. We’re done.” Darrell dismissed whoever was in his office without a goodbye or thank you. No small talk or pleasantries when it came to my boss. His voice came full throttle through the line as he switched his focus to me. “Well, this is unexpected. Has Mackroy contacted you?”

  Pete Mackroy, a litigation lawyer and family friend of Darrell’s, had reached out several times over the last few days, but I’d sent each call to voicemail. “Yes, thanks again for passing my phone number to Pete.”

  “He’s the cream of the crop, and I only want the best representing you.”

  Darrell’s sudden concern threw me off. He only cared about one thing—himself. The female interns in the office may have the hots for him, coining him the “silver fox”, but they rarely got a glimpse of the ruthless man behind closed doors. Sure, I could see his appeal from their naïve perspective. Darrell Loft was the epitome of money, power, and success.

  But he was cold, ruthless. And he’d cheated on his wife.

  “Nova?” he asked impatiently, snapping me back to the conversation.

  I cleared my throat. “He’s been quite responsive. I appreciate your concern.”

  “I understand you want more time off. I’ll be frank, unless it’s medically required, I need you back in the office next week.” Arrogance tinged his voice, and it confirmed I was making the right decision.

  When Darrell didn’t respond to the text I’d sent the previous night requesting more time off, I knew what I had to do. I’d accumulated weeks—months—of vacation time over the course of my career with Loft, yet I had a hunch Darrell would not be open to an extended leave of absence.

  “I’m leaving.” The words fumbled from my lips, even though I’d prepared a long, eloquent speech, much like I would before an important meeting. I took a calming breath and squared my shoulders, personifying the lawyer that still lived somewhere in my broken mind, but Darrell interrupted before I could continue.

  “Where are you going? I thought you wanted the extra time to recover?” Recover rolled off his tongue sarcastically.

  “That’s not what I mean. I mean, I’m leaving.” I should have just emailed him. “I’m quitting, Darrell. I’m done.” The neatly folded piece of paper that contained the words I wished to spit out burned under my fingertips.

  The accident caused more damage than a concussion and bruised ribs. It knocked out an entire part of me—the part that held my fierceness, confidence, and poise—everything that allowed me to excel at my job. I felt different, indescribably so, as if parts of my mind and body were paralyzed.

  “Well, this is a surprise. Explain,” he commanded.

  “No, there’s no use. I’m sending written notice, but I wanted to talk to you before I slip it in the mail. I would have done this in person, but I’m not feeling quite up to it. I understand you’ve already reassigned my project, but I want to give you as much notice as I can, all things considered. I’m leaving,” I repeated with finality.

  “You have a non-compete agreement, you realize.”

  I nodded and muttered, “Yep.” I didn’t plan to practice, at least not for a long time.

  Maybe never.

  “What are you doing, Nova?” I didn’t recognize Darrell’s tone, but it sent a chill down my spine.

  “I don’t know, but I need to figure things out. Call it a near-death experience, but,” I shrugged, “something’s off.”

  After dropping the letter in the outgoing mail bin in my apartment building’s lobby, I waited impatiently for the snail-paced elevator to deposit me back on my floor.

  The elevator door groaned open, and I stopped mid-step. The noise and my movement sent a sharp jolt to my temple. The never-ending headache. Leaning into the wall, I waited for the pain to pass, then rounded the corner only to stop again.

  An unfamiliar figure hovered outside of my neighbor’s apartment door, crouched over a pile of crisp, unread newspapers. The man peered up, and his aqua-blue eyes met mine.

  “Hey, you read this stuff?” he asked in a low voice. A chunk of black hair flopped over his forehead, and he lifted a tanned hand to brush it off. His eyes didn’t leave mine.

  “Excuse me?” I blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. My arms instinctively wrapped around my torso. “The newspaper?”

  “Yeah, I try to avoid current events, the news…depressing shit. Ignorance is bliss, you know?” He cocked his head and grinned, flashing perfectly straight, white teeth. They popped against his dark summer tan.

  Everything about him was dark. His tan, his hair, his clothes—everything except those aqua-blue eyes and flawless, white teeth. He had an edge, like he was dangerous.

  But in a good way—an exciting way.

  “Right.” I blushed, realizing I’d been staring. Although, a guy like him was probably used to being ogled by the opposite sex. He was the perfect combination of rugged and handsome. Full lips, square jaw, striking eyes. His fitted T-shirt showed off biceps that could put Chris Hemsworth to shame.

  “You live on this floor?” He stood up, towering over me, which wasn’t hard considering I barely hit five-two when barefoot. The flip-flops I’d slipped on before heading to the lobby added nothing. “Oh, that probably sounds creepy.” His smile widened, crinkling the edges of his eyes. Extending a hand, he jerked his chin toward the door. “I’m Dane Killbane. Just moved in.”

  “Oh.” I looked from his eyes to his outstretched hand. A nervous flutter in my belly prevented me from taking it. The guy might be hot, but he might actually be dangerous. “What happened to the lady that lived here, with the little girl?”

  Work kept me busy, leaving little time to socialize, but thinking of that sweet kid brought a smile to my face. Flowers and giggles.

  “No idea.” Dane shoved his extended hand into his pocket and dug out keys. “If you have their number, let them know they need to forward their paper.” He glanced back to me as he opened the door, pointedly allowing a glimpse into the cleared-out loft, which mirrored mine in layout. The strong scent of fresh carpeting wafted into the hall.

  This guy would be my new neighbor.

  My gorgeous new neighbor.

  “Sorry, I’m Nova.” Now it was me extending my hand. “Novalee Nixon. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “No problem, I get it. Can’t be too careful these days.” Dane took my hand and gave a gentle shake. “Nice to meet you.” His fingers seemed to linger, warming my skin before dropping down to his side.

  “I live next door.” I nodded toward my door.

  “Cool. Now I know who to go to for a cup of sugar or some milk.” His easy grin took the edge off the sharp angles and dark gruff of his jawline.

  “Oh, that wouldn’t be me. I don’t bake. Or cook.”

  “Really? I find baking therapeutic, especially cookies.�
�� He chuckled and ran a hand over his flat abdomen. “Even if it means a few extra push-ups at the gym.”

  It appeared he spent plenty of time in the gym. The image popped in my head… him on all fours, fingers splayed, pushing up, his muscles taught as he lowered his body again, a droplet of sweat slowly trailing between his shoulder blades… Get a grip, girl. Waking up to that suitcase every morning was giving me a complex. I gave a shake of my head and took a step back, creating extra space between us.

  “That’s a nasty bruise on your forehead?” Dane’s observation pitched from a statement into a question, and my fingers flew to the yellowish bruise that encircled the gash. It wasn’t nearly as tender to the touch, but the headache beneath the blemish remained a constant reminder of the accident.

  “Yeah. I was in a car wreck last week. Hit a pole,” I whispered, the memory still too raw.

  “You hit a pole?” Dane asked.

  “Well, I was side-swiped, and then I hit a telephone pole. Corner of Clybourn and Lincoln Memorial Drive.”

  “Seriously?” Dane’s eyes darted to my forehead. “I heard it. I mean, I literally heard it—I was staying at the Hilton on Clybourn. Bad lightning storm that night. Saw the fire trucks, police, everything. That was a nasty accident. You’re okay?”

  I nodded again and resisted the urge to shiver. “Yep, the doctor said I must have a guardian angel.”

  “Wow.”

  I gingerly traced a finger along the cut.

  “Crazy.” Dane eyed the bruise again, then his gaze lowered to meet mine. Thick black lashes contrasted with the striking blue of his eyes, and his pupils pulsed in and out as his focus intensified.

  Strangers often stopped to comment on my eyes—also blue—and their compliments would throw me off guard. Now I understood. Sometimes you can’t help yourself when it comes to pretty, shiny objects.

  The corner of Dane’s lip twitched up, dimpling his cheek. “So, have any of those ambulance-chasing lawyers found you yet?”

  I laughed. “Hey watch it, Dane. I happen to be a lawyer.” Former. I internally corrected myself, although the signature on my resignation letter was barely dry.

  “A lawyer, really?” His eyes rolled from the messy ponytail at the nape of my neck to the sleep shorts I’d worn the last several days. I’m sure I looked like I’d just rolled out of bed, which wasn’t far from the truth.

  “Well, a former lawyer, I guess.” I tugged the hem of my wrinkled shirt. “That’s a whole other story.”

  “I’d love to hear it sometime.” Dane took the hint. He tipped his head toward me. “See you around, neighbor.”

  “Nice to meet you, Dane,” I replied softly, giving a small wave as he stepped into his apartment.

  It’d been a terrible morning, a terrible week, but something about Dane’s voice, his smile, those eyes. The migraine was gone.

  Two

  I shut the door behind me, and my hand lingered on the knob as I glimpsed around my sterile, gray loft. No pictures of family, no personal effects. Neat and tidy, without a chair or pillow out of place. A cleaning crew came once a week to dust and vacuum, even during the long stretches when I traveled for work.

  I’d have to cancel their service. Being unemployed meant trimming the fat, although money wouldn’t be an immediate concern. Loft and Associates paid generously, and I’d accumulated a solid nest egg over the last several years. I could thank Aunt Lu, who raised my twin brother and me, for that. She taught us from a young age to live without material things. Although, admittedly, my wardrobe now included ridiculously over-priced Christian Louboutin shoes and Louis Vuitton handbags.

  You’ll be tempted, Novalee, but profit and gain aren’t worth the forfeit of the soul.

  With my hand still grazing the knob, I sucked in a breath. I hadn’t thought of Aunt Lu in a long time. Or Neal. But since the accident, they seemed to be all I could think about.

  Aunt Lu had been gone for well over a decade. So long, I could hardly envision her. And Neal, just as long.

  With Lu I had warning, so I had made peace with her passing. Neal, however, slipped quickly and quietly out of my life. Last I knew, he was still strumming his guitar and riding the waves somewhere along the California coast. My blond-haired, blue-eyed, free-spirited twin wished for nothing more in life than to surf, sing, and sleep.

  Twins, yet we couldn’t be more different.

  As children, Neal and I shared more than looks. Closer than brother and sister, we had our own special language, an impenetrable bond. A mental and physical connection. When Neal was learning to ride a bike and he fell, scraping his knee, I cried along with him for his pain and frustration.

  Years later, I still remember the stinging sensation in my own knee as blood and dirt caked his.

  Now, Neal was but a stranger.

  If only he’d felt my pain, a fraction of my sorrow, when Aunt Lu died. If only he’d helped me sort through the grief and loneliness. Turning nineteen and being orphaned by the only family I’d ever known was a harsh reality.

  I sighed, feeling almost as alone now as I had then.

  When Neal fell off his bike, I thought I’d absorbed his pain, helped him cope. I figured he’d do the same for me, but either Neal didn’t feel it, or he didn’t care. The ease with which he’d discarded me from his life stung a million times more than any skinned knee.

  I decided to forget about him just as he’d forgotten about me. For years, Neal rarely entered my thoughts. But now, he weighed heavy on my conscience. I could have died never having made amends with my twin.

  Maybe it was my guilt playing tricks on me, because my distorted memory of the wreck starred Neal instead of the anonymous other driver.

  The hours surrounding the collision were fuzzy—a symptom of the concussion—yet I had a clear picture of myself behind the wheel of my BMW X3, driving the short, familiar route from the airport to my studio. Rain clouds crowded the moon as I rolled toward the intersection of Clybourn and Lincoln Memorial Drive. Unusually rough waves had crashed against the rocky shoreline. Lightning bounced off the water, momentarily blinding me as I pushed against the accelerator and entered the intersection, just as a gray sedan snuck into my peripheral. My eyes had snapped left then right, catching a glimpse of a pedestrian—a young woman standing by a telephone pole—before shooting up to a crystal-clear windshield where I met the face of the driver.

  In my warped nightmare of the accident, instead of a stranger behind the wheel, it was Neal. His eyes widened with horror as his car smashed into my driver’s side.

  In reality, I don’t remember my car spinning out or colliding with the telephone pole—it’d happened in a blink. But I’d never forget the sound of screeching metal or the vivid cracks of lightning that seemed to shake me to my core.

  After the vibrations settled, an eerie silence fell, and I distinctly remember the metallic taste of blood in my mouth and a unique, nauseating stench in my nostrils. It had taken a bit for me to place it… singed skin.

  I still didn’t know if it was mine, or hers.

  I had tried to scream, but no noise came out. I had tried to move, but my limbs were trapped in a tangle of steel.

  As lightning continued to crackle and thunder shook the ground, my fear threatened to engulf me. But then I had the strangest feeling of comfort, as if I weren’t alone. I’d thought death itself had come to relieve me.

  But then I felt it—feather-soft touches stroking my cheeks, hushing my fears, sheltering me from the darkness. Blanketed in its warmth, my eyes had fluttered closed as I’d settled into the confines of unconsciousness. I’d been saved.

  The doctors said I must have had a guardian angel to survive the wreck.

  I may have been spared, but what about the woman by the telephone pole?

  Three

  That evening, I crawled into bed with lingering thoughts of Neal and the accident on my mind. After tossing and turning, I gave up on my futile attempt to sleep and climbed out of bed to make a cup of chamo
mile tea.

  While water warmed in the microwave, I went to the patio door. Another starless night. Even with the street lights, I could barely make out the park across the street.

  Sliding the glass door open, I stepped onto the wet wooden planks. My bare feet cooled from the afternoon’s leftover rain. I peeked over the balcony, and my eyes dropped to the fountain anchoring the park. Faint traces of water trickling into its basin sounded from below.

  The flood light from a neighboring building blinked on, casting a yellowish, creepy spotlight over the fountain. Instant goosebumps rose along my arms. My eyes darted around the four corners of the park. An unsettling awareness spread through me, a feeling I wasn’t alone. I was being watched. The wispy hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my heart began to pound, thumping so loud it drowned out the distant sound of splashing water. Fear fogged the air, thickening in my lungs and fuzzing my vision.

  My eyes adjusted, zoning in on a blackbird that perched atop the stone figure of the fountain. As if sensing my stare, it took flight, bounding into the air and careening toward my patio. Its harsh, raspy caw echoed like a warning cry, and I stumbled back. My arms reached for the door behind me to steady my footing, but instead of finding the glass panel, I leaned into air, and slipped backward. A startled scream slipped from my lips as I landed on my butt.

  Now my neighbor’s patio light blinked on, followed by the swoosh of his door.

  Dane stepped out and looked side to side, spotting me red-faced on my deck floor. He moved to the edge of his balcony and peered over. “You okay?”

  I groaned, both from pain and embarrassment. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to calm my racing heart and steady my breathing before clamoring to my feet. “Yes, oh my gosh.”

  Dane eyed me, and then shifted his focus to the park, assessing it as if he also sensed something amiss. When his eyes returned to meet mine, concern softened his intense gaze.

  “Sorry if I disturbed you,” I offered, my face flaming.