Page 7 of Feathers From the Sky

“It’s beautiful,” he purrs, eyes running over the lean lines of the body. “All stock?” he asks.

I breathe deep, cautious about how this interaction will go. I try to hide my annoyance. Men always assume I’m bullshitting when it comes to Dad’s car. Granted, I wouldn’t know much if it weren’t for him having taught me over the past few years, but still. It’s the same thing when someone sees you wearing a band t-shirt and asks you to name your favorite songs, as if it’s some kind of fucking test. Men are the world’s most proficient gatekeepers.

“All original except for the radio. I’m a sucker for my playlists,” I say, and I see a hint of a smile again. “It has the 454 big block with the four-speed transmission.” It rolls off the tongue almost as easy as it did my dad’s when he took it to car shows.

Roman makes a little sound in his throat as if he’s pleased, but he only nods. It gives me relief. I don’t have to go through the stupid song and dance where he acts surprised that a little woman like me knows something, and I don’t have to pretend to tolerate him for the remainder of our time together. Assuaged that it is a simple question of curiosity, I nod toward the driver's side. “Want a tour?”

A smile takes him by surprise, and it is the first expression I feel I can trust. “I’d love that, thank you,” he says.

I walk to the driver's side and open it, saving what’s under the hood for last, and I’m about to move out of his way when I realize he is standing very close behind me. So close, I can’t get past him. I stop myself from telling him he is tall, as if it’s something he doesn’t know and hasn’t heard a million times before.

“You’re in my way,” I whisper, struggling to find my voice. I’m not usually so quiet, but he is just so goddamn big and this is so new for me. It’s intimidating in a way I didn’t expect. It’s not just that he’s tall either. He is thick. I think husky might be the more appropriate word. I am vividly reminded of a video that went viral about a man’s tree trunk thighs, and now I’m wondering what Roman’s thighs look like. When I realize I’ll be seeing them soon enough, I shake myself free from all thought because there is only one explanation for where my mind has gone. And the explanation is that I am losing it.

“Stay like that,” Clarke barks out, and I breathe deep. This is helpful. I slip back into model mode and adjust my body, turning to give Clarke the lines they need, placing my hand on the top of the car door.

“Alright, Roman, put your forearm on the roof of the car and lean over her.”

His mouth goes straight, as if he doesn’t want to do this, and God, I wish we had a drink before we got started. Roman does what he’s told, leaning in, but still keeps his distance. With him this close, I can smell him. I don’t know why I expected a musky scent or something that smells like a forest—cedar or sandalwood—but he smells fresh. Almost like…

“Is that peppermint?” I ask, giving an exaggerated sniff.

“Maybe,” he says, sticking his tongue out and showing the white candy ring dissolving on it. His tongue is broad and pink and fuck, I am jealous of a mint. His eyes glimmer with amusement. “Thought we might be getting close like this,” he explains. “Is it bothering you?”

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry my breath isn’t minty fresh for you,” I tease, slipping into flirtatious armor. “Hope it isn’t too bad.”

“You smell amazing—edible,” he says, “Like something sweet.”

A clap of thunder saves me from replying, and the swiftly moving clouds push Clarke to direct us inside. When I pick up my bag containing another outfit and my robe, he takes it from me, his rough hand sliding over mine. My stomach is a tightly coiled tangle, but as he holds the door open for me, I force confidence I don’t truly have and let my eyes sweep appreciatively over his body. He’s enormous and attractive to the point of distraction.

When I nearly trip on the way in, I can hear Hale’s voice in my head.

You are so fucked.

4

ROMAN

Thank God for small mercies.

Gwyn is in the bathroom touching up her makeup and changing her clothes, and I’m grateful for this brief reprieve. My mouth is fucking dry thanks to that goddamn black dress. And it’s only going to get worse from here. The way the fabric clung to every one of her lush curves reminds me of the rolling mountains I traversed on the way here, and it gives me the same thrill. The reckless feeling of switching lanes so you don’t get stuck behind the slow-moving semi-trucks, the vehicular giants doing their best in the lowest gear while you shoot past, letting the road and bike bring you around the curves the way they’re meant to be handled. But when that dress comes off, it’s going to be all open highway, windows down and music blasting.

And fuck me if I’m not giving it gas.

Her father killed my mother. An irrefutable fact that I saw with my own eyes, and it’s something I will relive for the rest of my days. And if he arranged to kill my brother too, she is the fucking reason for it. But all I’m thinking about is getting her soft body in my lap.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Her life isn’t more valuable than Remy’s was. Honestly, it’s worth less. She could be extraordinary if she only knew what she is. It’s disappointing in a way. I had looked forward to a fight from the supposed ‘great enemy.’

What I know for certain is she is no adversary when she could’ve been my greatest yet.

The only thing she has that I need or want is access to her father’s belongings so I can see exactly who he sent after Remy. The more I sit with it, the more the idea burrows into my mind and makes a home of it. I just have to get her there.

I spread my arms over the back of the green velour sofa, tilting my head back and forcing out a breath through narrowed lips. Since I’d been watching her for months, I hadn’t anticipated reacting to her like this. I want to blame it on my vampire nature: normally, I’d be to the point of attacking her, and the excitement of the impending kill is translating into something else. Something I don’t fucking need.

When I hear the bathroom door shut and her heels click down the hallway, I adjust, tugging at my pants, glad my dick finally calmed down. She rounds the corner into the studio proper, and the silky robe she is wearing has come untied, and I see a glimpse of her body and the lingerie she is wearing.

“Jesus, fuck,” I mumble as my cock decides it is, in fact, not subdued. I should have known. She doesn’t know what she is. Dangerous and forbidden, it only furthers her sexual appeal to me. I inhale as I reason with myself. It makes sense for me to want her body. I’ve seen it already in the cameras, but nothing is the same behind a screen. It’s simple curiosity over what has been my fixation the last half year. Nothing more. And the tantalizing scent of her hunter blood? Designed to lure me in. That’s the sum of it.

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