One small word. One word that sounds exactly like his dark, rasping tone.
“You sleeping up here tonight?” His tongue slides slowly across his lips. If I could somehow manage to stand up and not look like fallen prey, that might really help my ego right now.
I push to my feet, but I’m still so much smaller than the two hulking men in front of me. I square my shoulders and try to find my full five-foot three height.
My attention sweeps over the death netting slowly.
“No, I’ll probably sleep on the couch,” I say with so much uncertainty.
“Couch is made of wood,” Damien says, kicking his legs back and forth on the edge of the platform.
“I’ll find a spare bedroom.” I nod to myself.
“Only bed in the house is Corva’s,” Damien adds.
“I will—I will—I’ll just make a fucking pallet in front of the door like an old dog and sleep soundly, because this thing looks like it’s going to strangle me in my sleep,” I finally admit, my hands on my hips. I eye the wide netting circling me.
Damien stands and the pull of his lips is hard not to stare at as he smirks down at me. And then, he free falls backward. He lands with a high bounce before he spreads his arms out wide, the threads melding to his body with every move he makes.
“It’s a nest. This bed was designed for winged creatures.” His voice is tinged with sadness, and I remember how destroyed his shoulder blades looked where his wings used to be.
“Your wings will grow back,” I say slowly.
“Yeah. As demon wings. Leather will cover my body where fine feathers used to sprout. And it’ll take time. It won’t be overnight like it normally would be, because of Corva’s magic.”
I swallow hard at that thought.
I hate how much I pity him. I hate that I feel anything but anger and annoyance for the man who hauled me away against my will.
“There’s a blanket on the couch for your floor pallet.” Zaviar cuts Damien off. The impatience and irritation on his face is clear.
He wants me out of his space.
And where I have understanding and compassion for Damien, I have nothing but hatred for Zaviar.
The feeling is clearly mutual.
He and I are at a standoff, I feel like. This is his home. His friends. His bed.
Fuck him.
My long silver hair catches around my face as I roll off the little platform and hit the netting without a hint of awkward frustration. I roll out there like a red carpet to be admired.
Or, caressed by Damien’s fine-ass body. My back hits his solid chest, and I laugh at the impact. His big hand stops me from slipping to the middle of the net, and I turn until I’m in his arms. I smile up at his quiet, delicious smirk.
His hard body is all around me.
“Thought you were going to sleep in front of the door,” he says with that gentle tone that makes all his words sound like a sexy secret.
My wings spread out slowly behind me, and I love that he hasn’t let me go.
“I don’t know. I think I like it here.” I pull away until I’m staring up at the darkening sky and the glittering stars. His warm hand settles on my stomach, and my heart is all too aware of how good his hands feel on my body.
My attention drifts to the platform until I’m locking gazes with broody blue eyes. It’s a cutting gaze that’s sparking with violence.
Who hurt Zaviar so damn much that he permanently looks like an angry Muppet with someone’s hand shoved too far up his ass?
It feels good to so easily get under his skin like this. I bet Zaviar is used to people bowing under his pouting moodiness.
Welcome to the Aries Sinclaire show. I can be just as much an asshole as he can. Except better. I can be a faehole. And trust me, that’s worse.
Ryke’s smile is a carving dangerous thing, but he surprises me when he leaps down as well. His weight jostles me when he lands, and his arms are ready when the netting slides me down against his hard chest.
Heat burns across my skin. He takes his time releasing me from his singeing touch. He makes sure to keep his hand planted against my hip over my jeans to steady me, but also to protect me from the iron in his blood.
A laugh slips from my lips on a sharp breath, and the way he pays attention to my changing emotions is a telling thing.
He thinks I’m afraid of him.
I’m not. He’s incredibly sexy. He has the body of a warrior.
But he’s also scarred. In more ways than one, I think.
Lightly, my fingers drift out to skim lightly along the carved runes my sister has etched into his skin for years. They left deep and lashing marks. A fiery feeling licks at my fingertips, but I toy with the tingling pain of it.
“Do they hurt?” I ask quietly.
I feel Damien behind us, but the heat of his body is more telling than his unspoken words. He seems like a quiet man with more dirty thoughts than sentences.
“Not at all,” Ryke says.
One after the other, my palms follow the harsh lines down his chest to just above his navel.
“Does it hurt to touch me?” His thumb slips slightly higher until he’s barely grazing the skin of my stomach with too much heat in that little touch.
I don’t move away.
“Not if I’m careful,” I say, my hands still ghosting dangerously across his skin until he trembles beneath my touch.
My heart pounds to life with that single uncontrollable shudder shaking through him. He’s so big. So strong. And yet, I affect him.
I smile quietly to myself.
“When’s the last time someone touched you, Ryke?” I can’t help the dirty thoughts of my hand slipping lower and wrapping around his shaft from slamming through my mind.
He swallows hard, and I wonder if he’s having trouble with some of his own thoughts . . .
“No one’s touched me without harming me in . . . centuries.”
I look up at his watchful pale green eyes.
He’s been here with Corva for a hundred years.
Who hurt him before my sister?
My lips part to ask him so many more questions when the threads beneath me jar harsh and tight, bouncing my body until I’m sprawled out between the two men. I lift my head to find Zaviar storming across the other side of the net like he’s walking on air, but that air has deeply offended him, and he’s going to make it pay with every stomping step he takes. In the darkness, he settles at the edge of the netting farthest from the three of us. His cruel gaze catches mine with a scathing look before he settles there, spreads out his wings, and stares up at the stars.
Alone.
This trio of men are not my friends. I’m a stranger to them.
And once more, I have to figure out where I fit in with this new life.
6
Past and Present
Sunlight beams down on me. It’s early, and a chill kisses the air, but something heavy covers me with comfortable warmth. With my eyes still closed, my fingers lift and lightly trail over the smooth leather surface hovering above my skin. It stings my fingertip the moment I touch it.
Ryke’s wing.
My lashes lift slowly, and I look to my right. A foot of space separates me from the demon. He’s sleeping soundly on his side but his wing is stretched out to its fullest to cover my body.
He’s . . . sweet. Ish.