Free The Angel of Death (The Soul Summoner Book 3) by Elicia Hyder Page B

over and picked up a framed picture. It was the first photo I had ever seen of Ashley. She wore a cheerleader’s uniform next to Nathan in his football gear. His football number sparkled with glitter on her cheek. She had disappeared a week later.
    For the first time all day, Nathan broke. He pinched the bridge of his nose while his shoulders shook with silent sobs. I put my arms around him from behind, and he laid the picture down and gripped the ledge of the dresser so tight his knuckles turned white.
    When his breathing returned to normal, he turned around and pulled me into his arms. The subtle essence of fading cologne and testosterone made me light-headed.
    He rested the side of his face against my hair. “Thank you so much for being here.”
    The soft fuzz of his sweater tickled my nose. “I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else. Can I do anything for you?”
    He shook his head. “You’re doing it.”
    We stood melted together for a long time, his fingers trailing up and down my spine, and his heartbeat quickening in my ear with each passing moment. Finally, he brought his hand under my chin and tilted my face up to look at him. He studied my mouth for a moment, then leaned in and kissed me.  
    The kiss was gentle at first, his mouth tenderly lingering on mine. Then his hand slid back into my hair, and he parted my lips with his tongue. Sidestepping toward the door, his free arm pushed it closed before he pinned my body against the wall. As the kiss deepened, his hands slid down my sides, and his fingers dug into my hips. The whole room seemed to spin.
    I could empathize. A similar scene when my mother died spawned the predicament I was in. Frantically, I scrambled to muster the ability to stop him before things escalated any further.
    I put my hands on his chest and pushed.
    He stopped moving and pulled his lips away. He rested his forehead against mine, his eyes pressed close. “Please, Sloan,” he whispered. “Please.”
    I gripped the collar of his shirt. “Nathan, I’m pregnant.”

6.

    Nathan stumbled back like I had told him I was infected with the plague. I stayed glued to the wall. His face twisted with shock and confusion…and anger. “Pregnant?”
    I nodded.
    He raked his fingers through his hair and walked across the room. “You’re pregnant?” he asked again.
    I flinched at the tone of his voice. “About eight weeks.”  
    He turned to look at me. His face was as pale as I had ever seen it—even when he was dead for a brief time. “Does Warren know?” he asked.
    I shook my head.
    He ran his hands over his face as he continued to pace. He was making me nervous, like he might spontaneously combust at any moment.  
    “Nathan, please say something.”
    “How long have you known?” he asked.
    I took a small step away from the wall. “I realized it on our drive back from Charlotte when we dropped off Warren. It made sense when I didn’t get a migraine that day. I found out from the doctor for sure a few days ago.”
    He stopped walking and tossed his hands in the air. “When were you planning to tell me?”  
    “I…I was trying to figure out how,” I stammered.
    He waved his hand toward me. “Well, I’m glad you figured it out before I tossed your dress onto my bedroom floor!”
    I walked toward him. “Nathan, please—”
    He held up his hand to stop me and shook his head. “No.” He turned toward the door. “I can’t do this anymore.” He walked out of the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.
    I started after him, but as soon as the door was open, I heard the front door downstairs slam. I sank back into the bedroom. Uncontrollable tears streamed down my cheeks, and I curled into a ball on the bed and cried.
    At some point, I cried myself to sleep, and I awoke to the creak of the bedroom door. I opened my eyes and saw Nathan crossing through the room in the fading light of sunset. He stopped at the edge of the bed and looked down at me. I half-expected him to yell