SPOILER AHEAD YO

Supernatural butterflies for Friday....

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I posted an excerpt in my Yahoo group and it made some people very happy:

Should she greet him? Why not? “Agent McNeil.”

His lashes were long and dark. A lock of hair curled over his forehead and she suddenly felt the urge to comb it with her fingers. How would it feel like?

It dawned on her that this was the first time she’d stood still long enough to really look at him. The first time she’d met the infamous Number Nine, she’d literally landed at his feet, having just fought off an attack. The next time didn’t count either; she hadn’t been herself.

Not that she was herself now. But if he really was her monitor….

He lifted his gaze from that piece of paper. His full attention felt like a jolt of electricity. She stared into those strange light eyes of his, trying to see whether he’d somehow betray that he was her monitor. But his gaze was cool, impersonal, curt, even.

“Agent Roston,” he said. And started to walk away, followed by the two operatives.

Helen stared after him, stunned at the quick dismissal. “Wait!” she called out.

That stopped him. He turned.

“Do you need something, Agent Roston?”

She could feel her temper rising. If that was his polite way of saying he had something important to do and she was bothering him, he failed miserably. After all, she was part of his team now. “Yes, actually I do,” she said. “Can I see you in private as soon as possible?”

“Tomorrow,” he said.

Tomorrow? It had to be today. She had to know if he was Hades or not. “Can it be sooner?” she asked, trying to sound polite.

“Tomorrow,” he reiterated softly, “will be soon enough, Miss Roston. You’ve been given a few days off.”

What was that supposed to mean? “What if it’s an emergency?”

She tried to appear cool and calm as he quietly studied her for a moment. These small silences he took were unnerving, especially with those eyes which seemed to see too much.

He cocked his head a fraction. “Well?”

“Well, what?” she asked, a frown forming.

“The emergency, Agent Roston.”

She shook her head. “It’s private, Agent McNeil,” she said, and instantly regretted saying that.

A hint of amusement entered those glacial eyes. He retraced his footsteps until he stood in front of her.

“It’s a private emergency?” His low raspy voice made the question sound even more intimate. “Is this private enough?”

Gennita Low @2007 all rights reserved

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And no talk of Fridays, Jedness, and heroes is complete without a weekend adoration of Gerard. Because I say so.

Have a good weekend of rereads! ;-)

p/s My Yahoogroup coordinator is planning an online chat for me and readers. Would you like to participate? It'll probably be a weekend thing.

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