Page 72 of Feathers From the Sky

No, I can’t ask Roman anything that will make me yearn for the ordinary with him.

I’m about to grab one of his t-shirts when my fingertips trail over a silky powder blue button down hanging on the rack. I can’t imagine him shopping for the clothes in his closet, and I’m irritated by the idea that Margot supplied this wardrobe. Or fuck, possibly even Kathleen. But before I can destroy it, ripping the thought to shreds along with the fabric, I imagine it peeking open at the collar, a hint of his chest hair and ink visible beneath it. I think about that first morning Roman came into my room at the compound with his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal strong, thick forearms. I remove the shirt from the hanger and wrap it around me. When I button it up, the hem of it barely covering my ass, I catch myself in the full-length mirror.

I look good in him. It makes me frown.

Roman is all there is, just as I’d foreseen. But where it should be cold and overwhelming and horrifying, it is warm and light. When I smell him on me, something loosens within my chest. When I feel his touch, it unfurls, invading the space between my lungs. And when his words tickle the spot beneath my ear, whispers of praise and understanding pebbling my skin, it blooms.

My heart has never had such dissonance with my mind. When everything I know tells me to run, to destroy him and never look back, I fight. Whichever half of me wins, the other won’t survive it.

I need to kill the feeling before it kills me.

I’m still lost in thought, moving on to study the different shades of brown in my irises, when I hear Roman open the bedroom door. I don’t bother taking his shirt off as he unlocks the closet door. In the mirror’s reflection, he takes up the entire space. I don’t miss the slow drag of his eyes down my body, the way he lingers on my ass and my thighs, and the smirk which raises his lips as his gaze meets mine. He holds a few black Eloquii bags in his hands, and I struggle to hide my excited inhalation. I didn’t realize the brand had a brick-and-mortar location in Chicago, and even though I didn’t get to go myself, I know I will be pleased by whatever is in those bags.

“Margot?”

He nods. “Get dressed, sweetheart. We have some hunting to do.”

26

ROMAN

I’m relativelycertain Margot was trying to fucking kill me when she picked out the little black dress Gwyn is now wearing. Ruched, it’s tight over every fucking curve, and I can’t help it when my eyes are drawn to the seam going from the center of her back down her ass. She wears her hair down, the black tresses the same shade as the dress, and when an errant strand rubs over one of her bare shoulders, shiny silk even at night, I lick my lips. I wonder if my friend did it on purpose. We’re taking Gwyn to teach her how to feed from humans, and yet, I’m the one barely able to control my thirst. She’s a vampire and shouldn’t be as tantalizing anymore, and yet all I want to do is sink my teeth into her. The scent of her blood still beckons me, and I’m growing more and more tempted with each passing day.

If they knew of my infatuation with her, with a hunter, the coven would disown me. There are too many who count on me, though, who want to live more normal lives, and risking my station for her is thoughtless. And yet, guilt about that is only a small flicker in the back of my mind. More pressing than the coven’s reaction is my need to handle what I started last week before I had to rush back to her. Even though I’m doing this for Remy, I decide I want Gwyn there when we confront the ones who hurt him; they’d planned to hurt her too. But that’s why this task is so important. We can’t have her losing control before getting answers.

She whispers to Margot as they walk arm and arm down the sidewalk, just quiet enough I can’t hear her. Lips stained scarlet are dangerously close to Margot’s ear, and I’m about to find a reason to intervene when Nico chuckles beside me.

“Her Ascension riding you that hard?” he asks, and I glare over at him. He lifts his hands in surrender. “Hey, man, I’m just asking. She seems mostly past it, so I thought you would be too.”

“I’m fine,” I bite out.

“Okay,” he says, dragging out the word. “Unclench your fist, then.” I’m grinding my teeth and flexing the hand in question when he softens his voice. “She’s the first one you’ve turned, isn’t she? First one is the hardest.” I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets. I have no intention of turning anyone else ever again, especially if this is what it entails. Sure, the sex is goddamn life-altering, but keeping myself in check when I so desperately want to mold myself into her very being is not remotely what I’d had in mind. “And fuck if she doesn’t still smell delectable,” Nico continues.

It takes everything in me not to punch him in the fucking face.

We turn the corner, making our way toward our red brick destination. I’d had my driver drop us off about a block away, making sure Gwyn had time to acclimate to the scent of human blood. No one has drawn her attention, and I find myself impressed with her once more; her control is better than I’d expected. Margot laughs at something Gwyn says, and I pick up my pace as we near the door. Nestled between a clothing shop and a store selling sports gear, Last Drop looks like any other long-standing bar in Wicker Park. But the exclusive second-level boasts one of two specialty bars in all of Chicago. It’s the perfect place to teach Gwyn everything she needs to learn.

Margot knows the owner, so we skip the line, and while she’s stuck chatting with the bouncer, I lead Gwyn to the bar with my hand on the small of her back. She jumps, but doesn’t lose her balance in her heels. I smile when I think of her trying them on in my closet. Still naked, she had strutted around in nothing but the black pumps, thrilled by her improved balance. If Margot and Nico hadn’t been waiting for us downstairs, I’d have made her ride my face right then.

“You nervous, sweetheart?” I ask, bending down to speak against the soft, warm curve of her neck. Her heart is thumping fast.

“Yeah,” she says. “Everyone smells sogood.” I inhale deeply, avoiding the dangling earrings she wears as I trace my nose up her neck. Human blood is more pungent than hers, but it’s not enough to distract me from that rich, spicy scent wafting from her veins. I press my lips to where her neck meets her shoulder, and I suck. Pulling her blood to the surface, a bruise is the closest I can get to tasting her. Violet blooms on her flesh, and it would be so easy to pierce her skin and bring her blood into my mouth. She lets out a soft groan, her hand sliding up to grasp my neck. “What if I can’t stop?” she whispers.

“You’ll be alright. I promise.”

“What can I get ya?” the bartender asks, and Gwyn steps up between two barstools to order. There’s a drink menu written in chalk behind the bar, and she picks something I know will be far too sweet with blue curaçao and grenadine mixed in. I order my favorite top-shelf whisky they carry and put both our drinks on my tab. When the man scrolls through the digital kiosk to add my name, his eyes widen a fraction when he realizes who I am.

“Thank you, Mr. Sauveterre,” he says before turning around to make our drinks.

“Roman Sauveterre,” Gwyn says, drawing out the ‘oh,’ sound at the beginning of each word. “I can’t believe that’s your real name. I had to look it up, you know, before the photoshoot; I didn’t know how to pronounce it.”

“It’s French,” I say, dumbly, as if she didn’t know that by now. This woman is doing my head in. She laughs, and I wish she was facing me so I could see it. When she turns, I wonder if I didn’t somehow silently command it. Seeing smiles on her face after so long, when I’d caused their departure, makes me feel guilty. They’re a gift and a punishment in one. I pull her closer, both hands cradling her lower back.

“I gathered that,” she says. “Your mother’s last name?” When I nod, she asks me why.

I shrug. “Because I can.” There’s more than that, and it’s a lot to explain. I’m surprised I want to tell her more about my life. I dislike it.

“Wait. How—how has no one found me yet? You use your real name.”

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