Читать книгу Daughter of the Blood - Nancy Holder - Страница 3

His long, wild hair was caught back in a ponytail. His dark eyes blazed. A terrible anger came off him in waves, and she remembered the first rule she had made for herself when she had met him: Never piss off Jean-Marc.

He gazed down at her. His lips parted and she felt his breath on her forehead. Determined not to betray herself again, she resolutely matched his gaze, raising her chin and tipping back her head. An inch closer, and his mouth would press against hers.

“You can’t be here,” she told him. “You just had major surgery.”

“I heal fast,” he said. “I’m a Gifted.”

“So am I.” And if you had died, I would never have gotten over it.