Page 38 of Heartsong
But she bit back the words and laid still, warm and comfortable and unsure what to do with the jumble of words and desires knotting inside her. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a smidge terrified of a strong, hulking gargoyle carrying her around in her sleep and knowing he could do whatever he wanted to her with little effort—but mostly, she was curious. Anticipatory, even. To see what he’d do.
She tried to keep her breathing even, but she couldn’t help holding it when she felt his warmth draw close again. The soft slide of his long hair brushed against her shoulder, and then warm lips pressed to her forehead in a tender kiss.
A needy pang wrenched at her heart.
Against her skin, he murmured, “Mae fy nghalon yn eiddo i ti, fy nghân.”
Anna’s breath shuddered through her, but when she opened her eyes, she was alone in her dark room.
A slice of light cut across the floor from where he’d left her door cracked.
Burrowing under the blankets, she touched the place where he’d kissed her, swearing she could still feel the heat of his lips.
Frey’s frustration was a familiar, sore ache as he took up his spot to stare out the window for yet another night. The mist and drizzle matched his mood, but his mate needed quiet.
He’d never forget the feeling of filling his arms with her, holding her to his chest, where she was safest. Her cheek had come to rest over his heart for a brief moment, and Frey would have given anything to prolong it, to lie down with her and hold her in his arms as she slept. If she would but let him in…
A more honorable male would have left, but he couldn’t help stealing another small boon. Touching his lips to her skin, breathing in deeply of her scent—he’d nearly lost his head and fallen into bed beside her. She was so soft in sleep, all her sharper edges blunted. He would never forget the fan of her lashes nor the easy slope of her brow. They were precious to him, and Frey held onto them when he couldn’t hold her, taking up his post at the window.
Captain soon joined him, and together they stood vigil over Anna’s dwelling, watching as the night passed in a somnolent tide, flowing and ebbing as the moon arced overhead.
As the night wore on, though, that itching need to do something, to escape his confines overcame Frey. Careful to set Captain down and ensure he didn’t escape again, Frey snuck out one of the front windows onto what Anna called thefire escape.
Spreading his wings, the delicate membranes trembled, the sensitive hairs along the undersides shivering at the feel of the wind. With only the barest squeak, he launched from the iron scaffolding into the sky, his wings filling with air and his heart a sense of rightness.
Getting to touch and care for his Anna, however small and briefly, sparked a current of electricity just under his skin. Staying inside that dwelling was perhaps the smart thing to do, but he vowed not to stray far. The invisible tether tied between himself and his heartsong wouldn’t allow him far.
Frey kept the building in his sights, always ready to swoop back if he sensed danger.
He didn’t. As he climbed higher, beyond the buildings and thin fog, it was only him, his thoughts, and the handful of bats and birds out on a nighttime flight.
As he looked out upon this modern world, he understood a little more of what he was seeing thanks to the videos. Some of the landmarks had names now, and he knew the body of water on the horizon was the Pacific Ocean. However, it did not bring him closer to this world.
The world had forgotten his kind, and that meant danger to him and his heartsong.
He didn’t know yet what it meant for his still-slumbering kin. If it was possible to wake them, what kind of world would they awake to?
It doesn’t matter, not truly. His kind deserved the chance to live again. They would make a place for themselves in this world, one way or another.
His ruminations were somber and prolonged, so much so that he had to physically shake himself to dispel them. Growling, Frey swooped down, looped, and banked, exercising his wings. Proving to the universe, the fates, the goddesses—whatever and whoever was watching that he was Frey of the Clawtip and he was here. He would not be defeated.
His chest heaved with effort by the time he landed on the fire escape, sweat pooling at his horn bases and hollow of his throat. He had just enough time to wipe himself down with a spare towel from the washroom, drying his wings of the predawn mist, before he felt it.
Weak dawn light had begun to filter through the foggy haze.
It wouldn’t be long now.
The sound of Anna’s door opening had him turning to behold his mate and bid her good morning.
Her attire gave him pause.
Gone were her comfortable sweaters and tight braies; instead, she’d clad herself in stiffer garments with many buttons and seams. He hadn’t seen her wear such clothing since…
“Good morning, my Anna,” he forced himself to say.
“Good morning,” she said quietly. Her countenance was almost shy as she emerged fully from her bedchamber. “Thank you for carrying me to bed, that was very sweet.”
“Your comfort is important. As is your safety,” he replied with a pointed look at her clothing.
