Saints (SAINTS #1) | ✓

3

IT WAS INCREDIBLY HOT when she woke up. Confusion overwhelmed her as she opened her eyes, stars dancing in front of her view. The last thing she remembered was running on the street as she deliberated about whether she should chuck her shoe at Alan's head or not, but then deciding against it.

Her shoes were way too expensive to be wasted on him.

All that aside, she wondered where she was. The only thing she could see was a black canvas above her, too dense to resemble a sky, but murky enough to resemble a messy oil painting of dark hues. As she pushed herself up in sitting position, she had to close her eyes for a moment.

Everything was spinning, stars dancing on the stage of her closed eyelids, white noise buzzing in her ear. It felt like she had been thrown from a great height or hit by something, but that couldn't be it. As she pried her eyes open with difficulty she focussed on her arms, both free of bruises or pain, so perhaps she had just hit her head.

And then she looked up and almost choked.

In front of her there was a man made of fire, wisps of orange, crimson and navy clinging to him like a shadow, curling around his fingertips and dancing in his obsidian eyes. But despite the flames, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen - and that meant a lot, coming from her. His features were soft yet sharp at the same time, seeming to be sculpted from marble and stardust, his onyx hair seeming to catch the little light there was.

He was crouched down in front of her, elbow resting on his knee as he leant his cheek on his hand, his gaze focussed on her. Despite how gorgeous he was though, Jasmina couldn't help the shiver running down her spine when they locked eyes. From her years of growing up with her parents in a society where every word said was hiding other intentions, she had gotten used to a certain type of people. Ruthless, cunning, apathic, she knew them all and prided herself in how easily she could read them.

So as she looked into his empty eyes, she knew one thing for sure.

This man was more dangerous than them all.

And as she ran a hand through her hair, she knew she didn't care.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked.

The man blinked in surprise, before a confused frown took over.

"Help me up," she ordered as she extended her hand, autority visible in her gaze.

His lips parted, but she just raised her eyebrows in response. When he didn't react, she tilted her chin up, the face of someone who was used to having the world in the palm of her hand and ready to shatter it.

"Are you going to wait until I'm dead?" she said.

And then, against all her expectations, the man started to laugh. His voice was pure velvet and silk, dripping chocolate and silver ichor, steel and satin all at once. For a moment, she could imagine it, could see how deadly beauty can be - because as he flashed his teeth at her, canines gleaming ominously in the scarlet glow of hos fire, she could almost feel herself getting cut on the razor sharp edges of his smile.

"You're quite something," he said as he got to his feet in a fluid move, his entire body coiled with grace and power," that way of speaking to me certainly is a first."

"Don't bother with chit-chat," she said as she waved her hand impatiently," help me to my feet."

"Aren't you afraid you'll get burned?" he asked, a certain amusement gleaming in his eyes as he  raised his hands up, the flames curling around them sparking threateningly.