Page 16 of The Fae Menagerie
"Parker, will you please explain to Aidan I will no longer require his services? I can go fuck myself, as he's told me to do in the past." When the chair wouldn't budge, Doyle smashed his wings against the back and scooted his naked ass onto the seat.
He didn't meet my gaze while I contemplated my options. I did not want to get involved in their lover's quarrel, but Doyle looked positively enraged. Aidan stood at the doorway with a condescending sneer I recognized from all the times I'd told men to leave me alone and they ignored me.
"Doyle can manage on his own," I said. "He doesn't need you."
"I suppose you've taken my place, you little human slut."
I laughed at the sheer absurdity. Me. A slut.
Doyle joined me, but his laughter was far more bitter. "Find someone else to torment, Aidan. If my grandmother cares so much about me, she might want to find another spy."
"You will regret this," Aidan growled. "You and your pet human." He turned on his heel and stormed out.
"Does he always sound like a cartoon villain?" I asked.
"What's a cartoon?" Doyle bit into a piece of toast while I tried to explain.
He grinned at my poor attempt and stopped my sputtering with a raised hand. "Time is different here," he said. "While it feels like I've been stuck in the menagerie forever, it's been less than a day in the fae realm. I don't know the exact time difference in the human realm, but I know what a cartoon is."
"You are such a jerk."
My cheeks burned every time he teased me. As much as I complained, I liked the easy banter between us. Next time,though, I would recognize his innocent questions as attempts to avoid lying.
"May I read that when you're finished?" He pointed to the book long forgotten beside me.
I regretted calling him a jerk, but I couldn't apologize now. The bell rang to announce viewing hours, and I had a book to finish.
Chapter
Six
DOYLE
The first weeksharing a bed with Parker was wonderful. I got plenty of sleep. I even dreamed again. I didn't know dreams were possible in a space made from them, but I rejoiced, nonetheless.
Once I felt like myself, sleeping with Parker was akin to torture. Instead of falling asleep before my head hit the pillow, I now listened as his breath evened out and he snored softly. I loved the sounds he made.
I mean, I tolerated his grating snores and tried to fall asleep before his nightmares took over.
At first, he only whimpered in his sleep. Then, he switched to labored breathing and crying out for someone to leave him alone.
Two weeks after I'd started sleeping beside him, the tears ran down his cheeks unbidden as he begged someone to come back, don't leave him alone in fae prison.
My chest ached for him. I felt something I'd never experienced before: guilt.
Instead of crying with him, I woke him up. "Hey. You're dreaming."
I knew he was awake when the light in my room brightened. I could see in the dark, but Parker couldn't. When he was awake within the four walls of my room, it filled with a dim light.
"Please don't leave me," he whispered.
"I can't."
The truth did little to ease his sobs. He rolled toward me, clutched my shoulders, and doused me with his tears.
I hated when others cried. I especially hated when they cried on me.
Something about Parker's plaintive wails and the helpless way he almost choked on each inhale drew me in. Instead of pushing him away and telling him to get ahold of himself, I wrapped arms and wings around him and held him to my chest.
