Free The Naphil's Kiss by Simone Beaudelaire Page A

nothing wrong with Josiah. He's just a young man. And he loves me.”
    “He's said so?” The old man raised one bushy white eyebrow.
    “Not yet,” Annie mumbled.
    “Annie.”
    “What?”
    “He's not for you.”
    “Why am I here then?” she demanded.
    “What do you mean?”
    There. Now she had his attention. “Since I was a child, you've prevented me from learning to fight. I assumed it was because I was supposed to be with Josiah, our future champion. You never intended that, did you?”
    “No.” His blunt admission felt like a stiletto to the gut.
    “Then why am I here? What need does the order have of me?”
    His eyes were distant when he spoke. “I don't exactly know. For one thing, this is the best way I have to keep you safe from what's coming. But… there's something. Argh, why can't I grasp it?” He rubbed his forehead in frustration, frowning deeply before returning his gaze to Annie. “I don't have an answer, except that I just know if you leave, all is lost. Please, Annie. Please don't make Josiah more than all of us.”
    Nothing further needed to be said. He gave her a long, disappointed look and walked away. Anne sank down in the grass and wept.
    ***
    Mr. Smith wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. He'd lost so much over the long decades of his life. His wife, Mary, with her beautiful golden hair. Their daughter Pearl and her husband Jacob. His grandson Jake. Annie was all he had left. And he hadn't lied to her. The partial vision he received so often when he looked at her made it clear that she was the key to so many things he didn't fully understand. But one thing was certain. The war was coming. There would be no avoiding it. What was unclear was whether any of them would survive.
    Mr. Smith squeezed against the wall as a herd of teenage boys galloped past him, their sneakers thundering on the tile like hooves. As they passed, he heard one call to the other, “Race you for the assault rifle.”
    “You're on, dude,” a second boy agreed. With a roar of adolescent exuberance, the pair shoved their way to the head of the pack and burst through the rough-hewn door into the courtyard.
    Shaking his head, Smith reached the end of the corridor and turned left, eventually arriving at the apartment Josiah shared with three other young men. He found the green-eyed youth flopped on his bunk, his chin in his hand, looking out the window.
    Mr. Smith cleared his throat and Josiah jumped to his feet. Every instinct the older man possessed urged him to put this overzealous puppy in his place. His hands itched and his teeth clenched. “Well, Josiah,” he said, his voice all but a snarl, “explain yourself.”
    “I don't think I can, sir. I didn't… plan to do that.” The green eyes were fixed on one white tile on the floor between them.
    “Look me in the eyes, son, when you talk to me,” Mr. Smith insisted, “or have you learned nothing in all the years you've lived with us?”
    Josiah looked up. Mr. Smith suppressed a shudder. What was it about those eyes that always made him uncomfortable?
    The two men regarded each other in silence, each wondering what he should say. At last, Mr. Smith spoke.
    “It was a mistake to take you in, Josiah. You should never have existed.”
    The young man ground his teeth. “I've always known you felt that way, sir. In fact, I'm surprised you haven't thrown me out.”
    “You're not of age. But I swear by heaven, Josiah Angelson, if you ever go near my granddaughter again, I will. It's over between you. Is that clear?”
    Josiah's eyes widened. “Sir, no, please! I swear, I'll never do anything like that again. I love her. Don't separate us. Please!”
    “My decision is made,” Mr. Smith's rage expressed itself in icy control. “Her safety is key to our survival. Yours isn't. You will leave her alone from this day forward. If I hear you've so much as said hello to her, you're done here.”
    Josiah closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “Yes, sir,” he