Passion by Lauren Kate Page A

knew.
    Luce sank down at the side of his bed, careful not to wake him. Maybe he hadn’t always been so closed o and hard to reach. She’d just seen him in their Moscow life whispering something to her at the critical moment before she died. Maybe if she could just talk to him in this life, he’d treat her di erently than the Daniel she knew did. He might not hide so much from her. He might help her understand. Might tel her the truth, for a change.
    Then she could go back to the present and there wouldn’t have to be any more secrets. It was al she real y wanted: for the two of them to love each other openly. And for her not to die.
    She reached out and touched his cheek. She loved his cheek. He was beat-up and injured and probably concussed, but his cheek was warm and smooth and, mostly, it was Daniel’s. He was as gorgeous as ever. His face was so peaceful in his sleep that Luce could have stared at him from every angle for hours without ever get ing bored. He was perfect to her. His perfect lips were just the same. When she touched them with her finger, they were so soft she had to lean down for a kiss. He didn’t stir.
    She traced his jawline with her lips, kissed down the side of his neck that wasn’t bruised and across his col arbone. At the top of his right shoulder, her lips paused over a smal white scar.
    It would have been almost indiscernible to anyone else, but Luce knew that this was the place from which Daniel’s wings extended. She kissed the scar tissue. It was so hard to see him lying helpless on that hospital bed when she knew what he was capable of. With his wings wrapped around her, Luce always lost track of everything else. What she wouldn’t give to see them unfurl now, into the vast white splendor that seemed to steal al the light from a room! She laid her head on his shoulder, the scar hot against her skin.
    Her head shot up. She hadn’t realized she’d drifted o until the stretcher wheeling squeakily down the uneven wood oor in the hal way startled her awake.
    What time was it? Sunlight streamed through the window onto the white sheets on the beds. She rotated her shoulder, trying to loosen a crick. Daniel was stil asleep.
    The scar above his shoulder looked whiter in the morning light. Luce wanted to see the other side, the matching scar, but it was wrapped in gauze. At least, the wound seemed to have stopped bleeding.
    The door opened and Luce jerked up.
    Lucia was standing in the doorway, holding three covered trays stacked in her arms. “Oh! You’re here.” She sounded surprised. “So they’ve already had breakfast, then?”
    Luce blushed and shook her head. “I—uh—”
    “Ah.” Lucia’s eyes lit up. “I know that look. You’ve got it bad for someone.” She put the breakfast trays on a cart and came to stand at Luce’s side. “Don’t worry, I won’t tel —so long as I approve.” She tilted her head to look at Daniel, and stared at him hard for a long time.
    She didn’t move or breathe.
    Sensing the girl’s eyes widening at the sight of Daniel for the rst time, Luce didn’t know what to feel. Empathy. Envy. Grief. Al of it was there.
    “He’s heavenly.” Lucia sounded as if she might cry. “What’s his name?”
    “His name is Daniel.”
    “Daniel,” the younger girl repeated, making the word sound holy as it left her lips. “Someday, I’l meet a man like that. Someday, I’l drive al of them crazy. Just like you do, Doria.”
    “What do you mean?” Luce asked.
    “There’s that other soldier, two doors down?” Lucia addressed Luce without ever taking her eyes of Daniel. “You know, Giovanni?” Luce shook her head. She didn’t.
    “The one who’s about to go in for surgery—he keeps asking about you.”
    “Giovanni.” The boy who’d been shot in the stomach. “He’s okay?”
    “Sure.” Lucia smiled. “I won’t tel him you have a boyfriend.” She winked at Luce and pointed down at the breakfast trays. “I’l let you do the meals,” she