Everlong by Hailey Edwards Page A

I’d never seen or spoken to him but she was always fresh from a meeting with the mysterious colony leader. But he felt real enough to me now.
    His wet shirt hugged a hard body. My hands rested on his waist, his on my shoulders. His heat radiated through the damp fabric into my palms, heating me to my core. “Jacob—”
    “Is being dealt with in accordance with the laws of the colony.” Clayton’s thumbs worked over my shoulder so lightly I wondered if he even realized what he was doing. The touch was affectionate, soothing, and I wanted to blame the connection I felt on his voice, but couldn’t. There was much more to this male than anyone had let on. Of that I was certain.
    “Your sister shouldn’t have allowed you to come alone today.” His soft touch hardened. “She nearly cost you your life.”
    I bristled, hackles lifting as I rose to her defense. Although I’d harbored similar thoughts myself, this was between Emma and I to resolve. He had no stake in the matter.
    “Emma was allowing me time to grieve.”
    “Time you didn’t have.” His teeth snapped closed. His sweet breath filled my water-logged lungs. “I’m going to lift you. Just hold on to me.”
    I obeyed as Clayton scooped an arm beneath the bend of my knees. The broken leg bent at an odd angle. “What did he do to you?” He brushed a hand down my thigh, leaving a tingling trail in its wake. His fingers whispered over broken bone and shredded flesh. “He will pay for this, deshiel. ”
    I frowned at his use of the unexpected endearment until his other arm wrapped around my back, resting just below my shoulder blades. His fingers hesitated as they smoothed over the bumps he found there. He swore under his breath, jerking his hand farther down my back before lifting me up.
    Heat flushed my cheeks. Harper had overlooked my physical imperfections. It hurt that this near-stranger couldn’t. Shame cut away the worst of my disorientation. Clayton’s disgust with my deformity pricked my pride for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely.
    He cradled me against his chest, tucking his chin over the crown of my head. I felt the ripple of his muscles as they tensed, then the rush of air—a tantalizing taste of flight—as he used his wings, suddenly in evidence, to lift us from the gutter and back onto the level pavement.
    Clayton carried me around to the passenger side of my truck, shifting me gently until he managed to open the door and settle me on the bench seat. The interior light cast a soft glow around me, revealing filthy jeans and soggy shoes. And blood, lots of blood. It couldn’t all be mine, could it?
    I flinched when I caught the gleam of metal reflecting in Clayton’s hand. His face was cast in shadow, and he seemed content to stay there. Across his palm, he revealed a small pocketknife. “I need to cut the fabric away from the wound so I can see what we’re dealing with.”
    With one clean swipe, he cleaved the denim of my jeans leg in two, revealing the worst of the already-healing wounds. “The bone pierced through your skin.” He bent down to examine the break. His head lowered, exposing slicked-back ebony hair curling just below his ears. No wonder he blended so well into the night. The color was natural, although the cut might not be. His glamour was a low hum moving over my skin everywhere his fingers touched.
    Clayton’s silence drew my attention. I coughed to clear my sore throat and tried to assure him. “I’ll be fine, really.”
    “You’re hardly bleeding.” He sounded confused by the lack of flowing blood, but I didn’t feel like explaining my whacked-out physiology just then. He cupped my ankle in hand and helped me pivot until my knees faced forward and my back flexed comfortably into the seat. “Good girl. Just sit tight and I’ll get you home.”
    Clayton leaned over me, putting us chest to chest as he fastened my seat belt. He glanced up and I saw his face fully for the first time. My tortured