HER SWEETEST DOWNFALL (Paranormal Romance / Fantasy Novella) (Forever Girl Series - a Journal) Read Online Free PDF

tragedy.
    Regardless, she couldn’t go anywhere until she did something about the burning mark of the serpent. She would allow her mind and heart to debate later.
    Ethan sighed, lifting his gaze to her. “Direct sunlight does more than reveal our kind. It also alters our physical form. When you accept your calling, you will have to avoid the light as well.”
    The stories rushed back into Ophelia’s mind: the sun could shrink the Ankou over time, reducing them to little more than the size of a dragonfly. 
    “My mother,” Ophelia said, “walked in the sun many times.”
    “She was part Strigoi. This is why the Maltorim want the dual-natured dead. With twice the abilities and half the weaknesses, they are seen as a threat.”
    “Then why do they need our assistance?”
    “They are fewer in number,” Ethan said, “and the abilities they have are weaker than those of the purebreds.”
    “And we can assist by becoming purebreds ourselves?”
    “That’s the idea.”
    Quite done entertaining Ethan’s fairytales, Ophelia rose and made the bed. 
    “Breakfast?” she asked.
    When he didn’t respond, she turned toward him, catching the tender expression writ in his handsome features. He cleared his throat and nodded toward the kitchenette.
    “We’re stuck ‘ere till night, then, are we?” she asked as she rummaged through the cabinets.
    “Mmm-hmm.” 
    The deep rumble of his voice gave Ophelia a pleasant shudder that she immediately sought to repress. This was a man who had snatched her from her safe, if miserable, life and taken her thousands of miles away. She needed to think of something else. 
    Breakfast . There must be something here.
    Empty mason jars crammed the cabinets and, as she shuffled them about, the glass clinked together. Ethan placed one hand on the counter beside her, and as he reached over her shoulder to sweep the jars aside, his chest pressed against her back. The heat radiating from his body warmed her from her neck to the space behind her weakened knees.
    This was completely inappropriate, and yet her body was eager for the connection. She fought the urge to lean back against him, to warm herself against the cabin’s chill. Or, perhaps, her desire for his touch was something more. She swallowed.
    “Allow me,” he said, leaning down to whisper warmly against her ear.
    His aroma of cloves heightened her senses, and she stiffened, steeling herself against the attraction. “What would ye prefer to eat?” she asked.
    He reached past her, and, from behind the rows of jars, deep in the back of the cabinets, he grabbed a jar of preserves. He placed it on the counter beside the bread.
    “Thank ye,” she whispered. 
    He froze, staring tenderly into her eyes, his gaze touching every part of her face. Boldly, she stared back. The energy that had risen up between them refused to let her go. After a long moment, Ethan looked away, toward the door, and stepped back.
    “Hungry?” he asked.
    Ophelia turned to the counter and forced her attention to the food, allowing Ethan his chance to escape whatever had just happened between them. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird inside her chest. She dipped a spoon into the preserves to taste how fresh they were. It was a blackberry spread, sweet with a little tang, just the way her father had always liked.
    She peeked over her shoulder at Ethan, only to find him watching her intently.
    “I would hate me if I were you,” he said.
    She smiled to herself and kept herself busy by examining the bread. “I would never make it so easy.”
    “How can you be so forgiving?” His serious tone held steadfast.
    Ophelia chewed her lip. What was she to tell him? That despite it all, he had shown her more kindness than any man before? That she could not fault him for honoring something he believed in, even if she herself still failed to feel the same? That no matter what their situation might be, she simply could not help the way she felt about him . . . this