Page 7 of Dance of Thorns

I guess it just…felt right.

I let my eyes close. I take a slow breath, filling myself with the sounds of the city. The rush of traffic, humming like a living thing. The dull honk of horns. A siren. The wind in my ears.

I wonder if I’ll have regrets as I hurtle toward the ground.

The sound of wrenching metal sends my heart into my throat.

My entire body jolts, fear and adrenaline exploding through me as I whirl and almost fall backward over the edge. Just as I right myself and jump down onto the roof deck, my gaze lands on the trap door.

It’s open again, and someone is climbing out of it.

I dart to the side, sinking into the shadows.

The figure climbs all the way out and stands tall. For a second, I assume it's someone from building security. But then he—it’s a man, I see that now—rolls his shoulders and shoves a hand through slightly shaggy hair.

It’s not security. It’s just…some guy.

I press myself flat to the wall as I watch him calmly walk to the edge, about twenty feet away from where I was just standing. My eyes go wide as he steps right up onto it.

He's tall, with wide shoulders and a tapered, athletic waist. His arms are muscled and covered in sleeve tattoos. I can see that because despite the chilly temperature, he's just wearing black jeans and a t-shirt. His arm ripples as he pushes his fingers languidly through his hair.

The fuck is he doing up here?

A flame flickers in his hands as he cups them to his face—a lighter. I watch the cherry glow at the end of his cigarette as heinhales, tucks the lighter into the back pocket of his pants and tilts his head up, removing the cigarette from between his lips and exhaling slowly.

He calmly drops his chin to look down past his feet, then takes another drag of the cigarette before he plucks it from his lips and flicks it behind him onto the roof.

He rolls his shoulders, takes a slow breath, and spreads his arms wide as he raises a foot. My nerves jangle.

“Don’t!”

The man turns to stone. He doesn’t flinch or wobble or freak out, like I did when he opened the trap door. He just…stops cold and goes totally still, mid-step into nothingness, like he’s daring gravity to do the rest.

“Why not?”

His voice is deep and slightly rough, but with a smooth, honeyed tail to it.

I slowly step out of the shadows. He doesn’t turn, but his extended foot “un-steps” from thin air, casually lowering next to the other one.

My brows knit at his question. “What?”

“Why not,” the man murmurs, pulling a pack of cigarettes and the lighter out of his pocket.

“Because...don’t?” I hug my arms around my body as I walk closer to the edge, near where I was standing before. “You shouldn’t jump.”

He chuckles quietly and lights the fresh cigarette. The Zippo flicks shut in his hand with an audible click of metal, and hetucks it and the pack back into his pocket. He glances my way, but the shadows that I feel draped across my face are similarly hiding his.

“You're one to talk,” he grunts.

My brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

“You trying to tell me you’re up here for the view?”

“I…” I swallow heavily, squaring my shoulders. “I am.”

It’s…half true, at least?

The man just takes another pull of his smoke, and nods a clean-shaven, sharp jaw my way.