I froze. A man was slumped against the graffiti-covered brick wall, blood blooming across his side. His white shirt was soaked through, and there was a gun just inches from his open hand. My heart slammed against my ribs. Run, Skye. You should run. But I didn't. Instead, I dropped my bag and took a cautious step closer. His head lifted. Piercing, icy blue eyes met mine, sharp even through the haze of pain. His face was all sharp edges and shadowed scruff, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. His accent was thick and rough, like broken glass. "Leave." I shook my head slowly. "You're bleeding. Bad." "Not your concern." His voice was lethal, but he flinched hard when he tried to move. "You're gonna die out here," I whispered, kneeling beside him. My hands trembled as I pressed a napkin from my apron against his side. "I'm studying to be a nurse. Let me help." He stared at me like I was something he couldn't comprehend. A stranger. A softness he didn't trust. Then his hand, heavy and warm, clamped around my wrist-not rough, but firm. "What's your name?" he rasped. "...Skye." A beat passed. Then another. "I am Mikhail." His eyes darkened. "And you shouldn't have found me."

I gripped the pan and smacked the figure twice on the head when I saw the shadow. "Ow why are you doing that?!" I heard him groan. For good measure I smacked him two more times. " Am I supposed to just let an intruder wander through my house?" I huff. " That's fair" he lets out a laugh. The longer I stared at him the more I realized he wasn't human, more like a shadow. "What do you want?" I asked. I don't know why I was making conversation and not telling him to get out. "Oh yes okay, the blows to the head threw me off" he laughed. "I'm here to collect your soul" he smiles. "I'm not dead" I inform him. He comes close and I move back, "oh sorry this must be weird let me change into a form better suited for this plane". In minutes he was a tall pale man with black hair and red eyes. "What do you think?" He gives me a twirl.

Angel Morenos doesn't expect much once he joins the family business of real estate, other than money, of course. When his father orders him to scope the surroundings of Louisiana, he somehow finds himself in the priesthood (while being the furthest thing from a saint.) All it takes is one confession from that one woman's deep honeyed voice; her admission of the greatest sin falls on deaf ears because the want building up inside of him is far too loud. Plus, he has a thing for crazy girls. When she shows up to his place with jambalaya and a terrible attitude, he realizes he might actually hate her. But what is hate, if not love in denial?