He rolled his eyes and took my hand. His hand was hard and calloused, tough with muscle and old scars.The night settled around us like a blanket. I could hear the water lapping against the dock. We were totally alone.“You’re . . . ,” he began, and I waited, heart throbbing in my throat. “Such a pain,” he concluded.“What?” I asked, just as his head swooped in and his mouth touched mine. I tried to speak, but one ofFang’s hands held the back of my head, and he kept his lips pressed against me, kissing me softly but with a Fanglike determination.Oh, jeez, I thought distractedly. Jeez, this is Fang, and me, and . . . Fang tilted his head to kiss me more deeply, and I felt totally lightheaded. Then I remembered to breathe through my nose, and the fog cleared a tiny bit. Somehow we were pressed together, Fang’s arms around me now, sliding under mywings, his hands flat against my back.It was incredible. I loved it. I loved him.It was a total disaster.Gasping, I pulled back. “I, uh—,” I began oh so coherently, and then I jumped up, almost knocking himover, and raced down the dock. I took off, flying fast, like a rocket.
James Patterson, The Final Warning
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