Devious Things (The In-Between Trilogy Book One)

5.

      Five thirty in the morning is a hellacious time to be dragged out of bed, especially when you are literally being dragged out of your bed. 

      Want to know what makes the situation even more unpleasant? When the person doing the dragging is a six-foot-three mountain of anger. 

     "What the shit, Peter?" I shout as I pull myself off the cold, marble floor. I wipe the back of my hand across my face, glaring at him when it comes back bloodied. "I think you broke my nose, you asshat!"

     "It'll heal." 

     The pain and bleed have already stopped by the time the last word leaves his mouth. 

      That is one of the sometimes perks that comes with being a hybrid freak; rapid healing. 

      "We gave you an alarm clock and a cellphone for a reason. You're going to be late again, which means that I am going to be late again and I am not about to spend my day running laps again because you refuse to drag your lazy ass out of bed before noon."

      "I was up late last night reading over the reports you guys wrote about those dead Ayngels. You want to me catch your killer, right? Well, that requires knowing what kind of damage they can inflict. Also, I am fairly certain that your bleach-job boyfriend filled you in on the fact that I require more sleep than the rest of you perky freaks." I begin rummaging through the bag he tossed on my bed after removing me from it, pulling out a pair of black boots, too small leggings, and a black tank top. "What the actual hell are these? All I need is an oversized flannel shirt and I will look like the rest of the hipsters running around this godforsaken state. I swear, if my first mission involves bearded men who wear skinny jeans and drink kombucha while discussing 'the fine workings of Mr. Edgar Allen Poe', I might consider letting you guys ship me back to Fulton."

     "I don't remember you being this dramatic," he observes, turning about fifteen different shades of red as I begin stripping out of my pajamas and into the clothing he has given me. 

     He allows his eyes to roam over my undressed body, the blush on his cheeks darkening. 

     I realize at this moment how easy it would be to use this minor distraction to my advantage but I don't think risking jail time this early would be in my best interest. 

     "Jeremiah isn't going to clear you for any kind of mission until you prove to him that you aren't still reckless enough to get everyone except yourself killed. We gave you the past three days to rest but you were still sluggish as hell yesterday. He has decided to forgo the fitness portion of your training and dive straight into testing your fighting skills. It has been a while since you threw down against someone who wasn't human and we are curious to see how you weather."

       "I have a better idea," I comment, brushing past him as I exit the room and head towards the training area. "How about I stuff my face with all the fine carbs this place has to offer, take an eight-hour nap and then go out there and catch the Son responsible for going all psycho-killer on those Ayngels?"

       Jeremiah is dressed and waiting for us when we enter the training room, looking nothing short of flawless in his black sweats and matching blank shirt. I almost forgot how much muscle his lean figure holds and, for a second, I hate him less than I did yesterday.

     He eyes me warily, glancing over at the large clock on the wall. "You're late, again."

      "Well, I am not going to name any names coughPetercough, but someone decided the best way to wake me up this morning would be by trying to remove my legs from my body."