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wings.

 
    Chapter 7
     
    A crazy haze of strange faces, bronze armor and angry glinting swords muddled my dreams. It didn't make much sense to dream of battles on muddy fields or blood-drenched, dying men. I woke with the pungent copper of fresh blood bathing my nostrils, permeating my lungs.
    Such dreams were slow to fade. Despite my desperate morning shower, the odor of blood lingered around me for most of the day. The amber talisman provided weak warmth and bitter comfort.
    That day and the next and the next crawled by and I remained as far from Aidan as possible. Leaving home early and arriving late, hiding out in a dark, musty corner of the town library, I pretended to study but all the while I seethed. The weekend drew closer, taunting me, and I seethed some more. What the hell was wrong with me? Aidan had no obligation to me; he was entitled to do his own thing.
    But a twinge of guilt still picked at my conscience from time to time. I'd been way out of line, jumping down his throat. I hated his brand of instant popularity, but I'd been unreasonable to hold him responsible for dumb luck. He'd drawn the looks card and the luck card, and neither were his fault. I watched him arrive home late every afternoon, no doubt held back by an eyelash-batting, short-skirt-wearing airhead.
    I could hardly blame him for my problems. My own personal bad luck magnet or good luck deflector was in perfect working order. Staying away from him was my safest bet. Besides, people died when they got too close to Bryn Halbrook.
    Friday night arrived in all its lonely splendor, and I had the veranda, the swing and the pink rose bush to myself. I read by the fading daylight until the words ran off the pages into the darkness. When Aidan arrived home, I had nowhere to run. Or hide. I just sat there hoping he would head into the house and leave me to the night's silence.
    Aidan parked and tipped off his helmet, staring at me through the rose bushes that walled in the porch, protecting it from the open street. He hesitated, then strode toward me, in that special Aidan way of walking, and set the swing in motion with his weight. I gritted my teeth. His thigh seeped heat and discomfort into mine and suddenly the swing, usually large enough for Brody and Simon and me to sit together and swing and sing kiddies' songs, was way too small.
    No place to go. Nowhere to wriggle to. I forced my muscles to still themselves, held my breath and waited.
    "Hey, stranger." He smiled, tossing his gleaming helmet from hand to hand.
    "Hey." I kept my eyes on the roses.
    "You got anything on this weekend?"
    "Nope. No date in case that's what you're asking." The pathetic words slipped out before I could stop them. What was it about Aidan that forced me to lash out at him?
    "Okay then. See you around, if you’re around." He moved and his leg shifted against mine and my heart tripped over itself to get the next beat out. In the darkness, I stared at him as he entered the house, tipping me a silent salute. Why was it the one guy who reduced me to a marshmallow mush turned out to be a hotfrickin' biker boy? Thank the stars he hadn't pitched up at school with the bike yet. The whole package was way too much of a crowd pleaser.
    I waited half an hour and stole into the house. Friday night was Bingo night at Ms. Custer's friend Molly Barlow's. Brody and Simon were stuck to the Xbox in the family room and Izzy was most likely stuck in her room, her dark head bent over a book.
    I sighed. An old movie may be the order of the day.
    I passed the dining room with its light blazing, and went to switch it off when I noticed Mr. Popularity, head propped on his hand, eyes pasted to a book, studying hard out. He looked up and my heart tilted. He wore a pair of glasses that should have made him look nerdy but instead just made him all the more sexy.
    I growled in silence, threw him a polite smile and forced myself to go in calm silence to my room despite the desperate need to stamp up