Page 48 of Lost Feather
Oh wow.My lips were being covered by his, his warm breath pushing into my lungs, his hands moving up and down my arms, my shoulders, moving through the muck like he didn’t care if he got even more on him. Like he… cared.
I’d been kissed before on Earth, plenty of times. But those kisses had been sloppy and weird. This wasn’t exactly a kiss—it had to be CPR, right?—but it was still the best kiss I’d ever had.
“Please, Feather, please, don’t die,” he begged, and then his lips were back. Blowing, moving. I couldn’t resist; I moved my lips, too. Just a bit, my tongue peeking through to taste him. He tasted like heaven.
And then the lips were gone. I let my eyelids flutter. “Don’t stop. I’m still partly dead. There’s a tunnel, and a bright light.”
A strange coughing sound had my eyes popping open. “What came over me? Oh, Great Maker, forgive me.” Righteous stood, shoulders slumped, head down, watching the muck dripping endlessly from his arms and hands to the floor. “I’m… I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop myself.” He looked defeated.
I hated it. This cocky asshole needed to stay cocky, and sure of himself. It was a part of him. And then he needed to come help me with Mikhail.
Well, I knew one way to make him switch out of kicked puppy mode and back into jerkface. “Stop yourself from kissing me?” I batted my eyelashes, waiting for him to look at my face. I batted a little harder when he finally did. “I get that a lot. I’m a Protector magnet. It’s my eyes. Or maybe my smut. My smutshakes bring all the boys to the yard…”
As I spoke and sang, Righteous’s expression grew harder. He took a breath, about to say something cutting and cruel, I knew. And then the strangest thing happened. He looked into my eyes, straight on… and stopped. He let the breath go, his jaw slack.
“By the Gate, your eyes.” His breath stuttered and he took a tiny step closer, leaning down. “Youreyes, Feather.”
I blinked up at him. “Yeah, my eyes. I have two of them.”
“I thought I’d imagined it. No one in Sanctuary has eyes like that.” He rubbed a mucky hand over his own face, like he was trying to wake up.
“Are you okay, Righteous? I didn’t mean to break you again. And my kisses must be powerful shizz. Better than drugs, apparently. I might need to test them out a bit, see if it’s just you or all angel dudes.”
“Powerful, yes, those eyes are powerful. Need to get clean, need to touch... need to… kiss.” He started muttering to himself.
Muttering, just like… “Mikhail!”
Righteous stopped his extremely good impression of someone who’d forgotten their meds way too many days in a row. “Who?” His eyes narrowed. “You want to kiss Mikhail?”
“No! Well, yes. Maybe. I don’t know. That’s the thing. I think Mikhail is broken too!”
“Mikhail.” A sneer froze on his lip. “You kissed him. Or he kissed you?”
What the hell? Why did Righteous sound jealous? Maybe he was just disapproving. Yeah, that was probably it.
I rolled my eyes. “Slow down, lover boy. I haven’t kissed Mik yet. I’m working up to it. He was trying to find my name again, and the naming chime was acting all funky and—” I grabbed his arm. “Just come on. I think he needs help.”
“Of course.” Righteous took a deep breath, pulled his arm away, and followed quietly. But every once in a while, I could have sworn I heard him mutter something that sounded like, “Haven’t kissed himyet?” I ignored it. The day had been over-full of muttering men, and I was done with it.
When I pulled him through the doorway into the workshop, Righteous seemed to come back to himself. And by that, I meant back to his normal basshole self. He shoved himself in front of me. “Maker? Are you well?”
There was no answer, other than a softly uttered curse.
Was someone hurting Mikhail? I snatched up an adze from the closest tool bench, my eyes focused on the figure crouched by the sealed door of the Well of Souls. I didn’t recognize the person, not that I could see anything but his back, and the folded wings that shone brightly even in the dim room. On the floor lay the soul knife, and spatters of red and gold ichor. Mikhail’s blood? Had this person hurt him?
Nobody hurts my Growly Bear.I lifted the adze and screamed, running forward, “Get away from him or I’ll kill you!” I took one more step before everything froze.
The creature straightened, resolving into a tall figure I knew as soon as he spoke my name in that sexy, judgy voice. “Feather. I should have known.”
For once, Gavriel wasn’t wearing the hooded robe that hid his body and features. Instead, he was dressed in black boots and tight-fitting black leather trousers with a loop that held his soul knife in a small ebony scabbard, so dark it seemed to consume every bit of light that touched it. His long-sleeved shirt was white, but splattered with red and gold, and murky gray smut. Two leather bands crisscrossed his chest, and I could see the golden hilt of an enormous sword rising between his shining, golden wings. At last, I let my gaze rise to his face… and my thoughts stuttered to a screeching halt.
His skin was golden and pulsed with light, as if a miniature sun resided behind his features. His eyes were hypnotic, ice blue and gold rings that flamed with anger and distrust. His nose was straight, his nostrils flaring as he glared down at me, his cheekbones sharp and defined, and his deep gold lips full, though they grew narrower as I stared at him.
He was handsome, but not in any soft way. His beauty had a cruel edge, as much as any sword. It hurt me to look at him—his brilliance made my eyeballs burn in their sockets, and I blinked, trying to remember what it was I had said to make him so angry.
Oh, yeah. I had said I was going to murder him.
I dropped my gaze to his hands, which were as filthy as the shirt he wore, and saw them tighten into fists. I swallowed nervously, realizing I still had a weapon in my own grasp. “Hey, Gavriel. I mean, High Angelus. I was just… putting this down.” I set the adze on the chair next to me, trying not to look back at his face. I needed to keep my wits about me, and his beauty apparently made me stupid.
