Black Fallen Read Online Free PDF Page B

Riley on our team.
    —Sydney Maspeth
    B ene’s proves to be a potential favorite place to eat in Edinburgh. Just enough room
     in the small take-out spot to step inside, drool over the selection of foods (excluding
     haggis—um, no, thank you), give your order, and either step back outside or hug the
     wall and wait. The guys behind the counter were superfriendly and fast. Both only
     briefly glimpsed at my inked wings and then continued on with their cheerful, brogue-tinged
     conversation. I like that, and it makes me think Edinburgh is as diverse as any other
     city; even the folks at Bene’s aren’t surprised by a girl with tattooed black wings
     on her face. I haven’t explored other eateries yet, but, man—Bene’s big batter-fried
     slabs of haddock, and mountain of chips dowsed in malt vinegar and some weird-looking
     but delicious brown sauce? Let’s just say the voracious appetite that is now part
     of my Frankenstein-like genetic makeup overdid itself. I ate like a freaking hog.
     And I’m feeling it. I almost want to let out the top two buttons on my jeans.
    It was
so
good.
    We’re getting ready to start training with the swords, and I don’t want to be impaled
     because I can’t breathe from too much Bene’s. I leave Eli, who is talking to Jake
     about the layout of Edinburgh, in the kitchen and hurry through the front sitting
     room, where Lucian and Ginger are talking to Victorian, and bound up the steps to
     the second floor. Jogging to the end of the corridor, I slip into my and Eli’s room,
     cross over to my duffel on the floor where I dropped it earlier, throw it onto the
     bed, and start rifling through it. I find a tie for my hair and pull it back into
     a ponytail. Next, a pair of black Lycra pants. I toe off my boots, unbutton my jeans,
     and slide them over my hips. Kicking them into a pile, I pull on the Lycra and fish
     in my duffel for a shirt. Finding a black tank top, I grab the hem of my sweater and
     pull it over my head.
    “How long did it take to ink that dragon onto your back?”
    I don’t jump in surprise, nor do I snap around and cover myself. My modesty went out
     the window years ago. “I heard you cracking your knuckles as you left your room, Noah
     Miles,” I say. I pull the tank over my head and turn around. “You don’t think you
     can possibly sneak up on me. Do you, bro?”
    “Maybe. But I don’t see how you can sneak up on anyone, woman. I can hear the fish
     and chips sloshing around in your gut,” Noah says. He’s leaning against the doorframe
     of my room, arms crossed over his chest, grinning. Clad in a pair of black running
     pants and a plain white T-shirt, he looks about as average as any guy in a gym. Well,
     except for his extraordinary good looks. Painfully good, even.
    He grins. “So. How long?”
    I ignore the fact that he randomly reads my thoughts any time he wants. “It took several
     sittings, maybe four to five hours each,” I answer. “You outline first, then once
     it heals, maybe in three to four weeks, the color is added.”
    “You miss it?” Noah adds. He walks over, lifts one of my bare arms, and studies the
     intricate dragon’s tail winding from shoulder to fingertip.
    “Yeah,” I say. “Why—you want one?” I grin at him.
    Noah’s head is bent over my forearm. “Maybe,” he says, lowers my arm, and looks at
     me. “You’re going to have to keep covered while we’re here,” he says. “You know that,
     right?”
    Grabbing my black Nikes from my bag, I pull them on. “What do you mean?”
    “Like Andorra says, you need to draw as little attention to yourself as possible,”
     Noah says. “This isn’t Savannah, babe. Your ink sticks out. Draws unwanted attention
     you don’t want to have to deal with. Locals.” With a knuckle, he grazes the wings
     at my eye. “And, yeah, I know you can handle yourself.”
    He does, too. I like that about Noah. He has my back if I need it, but I seriously
     have to need it