Chapter 8
As the hellish storm passes overhead, lightning bolts arch through the Heavens and thunder becomes angry, crying out as a warning. A fierce wind blows eastward; its fury is at a tornado’s speed. Trees crack in the woods, falling to the earth. Rain pounds to the ground in harsh sheets, panging against the roof, cobblestone walkways, and the sunflowers. A storm devised by the Devil himself. Something wicked and unflattering. So dangerous and unyielding, growing stronger by the hour, all night long—endlessly. A tempest without cause, leaving behind destruction.
Isaac is immobile on the bed, sleeping through the storm, locked securely away inside his dreams. H. thinks about stripping out of his clothes and sliding in beside the man, holding him against his chest, breathing on his n
