Read One Kiss: An Apocalyptic Urban Fantasy (Transmissions from The International Council for the Exploration of the Universe., #1) for Free Online Page A

eyes filled with tears, and I looked down at my hands. My vision was blurred and my lungs hurt as I struggled to gain my composure. What was happening to me? I swiped at my eyes, clearing them; and refilling the glass of water, I passed back through my living room and opened my balcony doors.
    Megan had always dreamed of living in this neighborhood and having a balcony where we could grow a small garden. I stepped up to the railing. The small space was lined with plants, and the smell of them comforted me. The wind rustled and leaves bent and swayed, brushing against me.
    I could feel the energy rising from the street below. Dinner hour was coming to an end, voices were growing louder, instruments were being tuned. Soon the street would be filled with people, with revelers; music would blare, feet would stomp, and the heart of Crescent City would beat right under my feet.
    It hadn't, before that moment, occurred to me to leave. Megan needed to be able to find me. But as I stood there looking down at the people milling beneath me I realized I couldn't stay. Without Megan, I was bound to be gripped by madness.

<<<<>>>>
    " So what did you do?"
    "I took a sleeping pill and drank a big glass of wine before passing out."
    "Did you often use substances to sleep?" I asked.
    She shrugged. "I still do," she answered, picking up her beer again.
    <<<<>>>>

CHAPTER SIX
    A t first the knocking sounded far away, but as I rose to consciousness it grew louder. Pushing the blankets aside, I listened and heard banging on the door and a male voice calling my name. I pulled an old robe on over the T-shirt and cotton shorts I'd slept in. "Coming," I yelled back as I opened my bedroom door.
    "About time," the voice responded and I recognized it as Michael's. Oh Jesus, I thought, what's he doing here? I didn't think I could take getting yelled at. But when I opened the door he was smiling. Michael was holding a beer; Emmanuel stood next to him, a sheepish smile on his face.
    "Hey," I said.
    "You're still sleeping," Michael said, his eyes running over my body, taking in the stained robe. He smiled. "It's two in the afternoon."
    I leaned against my doorjamb. "What can I do for you boys?" I asked, looking at Emmanuel.
    "Get dressed, run a brush through your hair, girl; it's band bonding day," Michael said with a grin. Emmanuel cleared his throat and Michael looked over at him. Emmanuel raised his eyebrows; Michael sighed. "Also," he said, turning back to me. "I'm sorry." He looked down at his feet. "I didn't mean to be so hard on you." Michael looked back up at me to see how his apology was playing.
    "Thanks," I said, feeling my throat constrict, tears filling my eyes. "Come in," I offered, turning back into the apartment before my emotions got the better of me.
    "Great place," Michael said, looking around the living room; it opened into the kitchen, with the old-fashioned pocket doors pushed aside.
    "Thanks," I said. "I'll be out in a minute."
    Leaving them lounging on the couch, sipping their beers, I went into my room and dressed quickly into a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. After brushing my long hair I braided it into two plaits, then wrapped them up around my head and secured them in the back with a couple of bobby pins. Sitting on my bed, I buckled on a pair of leather sandals. I pulled my comforter over my pillows and made the bed. I checked myself in the mirror.
    My green eyes, framed by long dark lashes, looked huge and filled with a longing I'd never seen there before. My cheeks were flushed and I looked almost fevered. Hunger gnawed at me as I examined my reflections. I decided to change tops because the v-neck of the white shirt was too much. I put on a sports bra and a dark blue button-down blouse with yellow bunnies on it. Even with the sports bra the buttons strained to contain my chest. Despite my conservative outfit and sweetly braided hair I still looked wanton. That's what my stepfather would have called it. I shook my head,