Sparrow stares me down.
“What?” I ask sheepishly.
“You will rest.” He points a finger at me. “Quickly. I am absolutely starving.” Sparrow gives me a dark look before leaving my room.
That was a threat if I’ve ever heard one. I’m afraid Sparrow might bleed me dry for what I put him through last night.
Noah enters the room immediately after Sparrow walks out the door.
“Oh good, I thought he was going to suck you dry.”
“He’s coming back later.” I swallow hard.
Noah pales. “Uh-oh.”
“Right.”
“I wouldn’t want to be you.”
“I don’t want to be me, either.”
Noah looks surprisingly put together for what we went through last night. “You should probably clean yourself up,” he suggests.
I push myself to sit. My muscles are sore, and my stomach hurts from where I got kicked.
Noah hands me a soda.
“So, Clea tells me that you chose the rowdiest Hell party in all the land to attend.” He pulls a sandwich out of a brown paper bag. “Congratulations. We’re now under house arrest.”
“Goddamn it.” I open the soda and take a long drink.
Noah hands me the sandwich; I devour it, then wash it down with the rest of the soda.
“I’m going to shower.” I stand and limp to the bathroom door, locking myself inside.
After washing the blood off, I find the only indication of the bloodbath at the rave is a few pink scars. Clea probably healed them, or maybe Sparrow licked them. Remembering his hot tongue on my flesh makes my skin flush.
I wrap myself in a towel, brush my teeth, and head for the closet. Noah’s gone. Exhaustion hits me, a tsunami of fatigue. Too tired to decide on much, I grab an oversize T-shirt and a pair of underwear off the shelf. I drop the towel, dress, and then crawl back into bed.
ANGEL OF SMALL DEATH
He’s your monster now. Nightingale’s words echo in my dreams. She’s roller-skating around the flower garden fountain in Remiel’s Kingdom. “They’re going to turn him into a bad, bad man. He needs it to rule, to know darkness and light. They’re going to turn him into a monster.” Nightingale circles on her skates faster and faster before she halts in front of me. She whistles a short trill before shouting, “You should have taken me with you!”
I jerk awake.
There is a shadow outside my window. I stand to investigate. The breeze chills my bare legs. I reach for the curtain, pull it back, and let my eyes adjust to the moonlight.
An owl is perched on the railing of the balcony. It’s brown and white and tiny—could fit in the palm of my hand. I recognize it from Sparrow’s bird book: an elf owl. I don’t think it belongs in this habitat. The owl turns; its amber gaze is striking. It hoots once before fluttering off into the night.
I go back to bed and lie there for a few moments, realizing that Sparrow never came back to feed, like he threatened.
I fall back asleep only to be annoyed by more of Nightingale’s dreams.
. . .
In the wee hours of the morning I wake to footsteps in my room. My eyes flash open. Sparrow is standing near the window. He looks exhausted, his cheeks are hollow, and there are circles under his eyes. I don’t know what Jim is using him for, but the guy looks like he just ran ten marathons.
“Now,” he whispers from the shadows.
I am still tired and annoyed. I don’t move.
“Now,” Sparrow demands, louder this time.
Payback’s a bitch. “I’m not getting up.” I stretch my arm across the bed.
“Get up.”
“No. I’m tired.” I throw a pillow over my face.
The bed gives. I pull the pillow up and find Sparrow crawling gingerly toward me. I press the pillow back over my face and feel the mattress give as Sparrow lies across the bed on his stomach. He licks my arm.
I shiver. “Just do it,” I mutter from under the pillow.
I feel his hot mouth on me, his firm lips sealing on my skin, his teeth pinching. There is a tugging sensation as he sucks. Heat floods my body. I press the pillow down to conceal the moan that escapes my lips. I am incredibly turned on.
Sparrow pauses, swallowing before sucking again.
And I thought Teari forbidding us from having premarital sex in Heaven was torture. This is worse. I want to rip his clothes off, and mine, too. But at the same time, I want to choke him a little for being an asshole.
Sparrow feeds until my head feels fuzzy. He stops, licks my arm, but never moves away. I lift the pillow again. He’s staring at my hand. His finger touches the ring he gave me.
I press the pillow down on my face again, unable to deal with the man I knew and what he’s turned into.
The door to my bedroom opens. “Meg?” It’s Noah’s voice.
“Leave,” Sparrow growls at my manservant.
The door slams closed.
I hold my breath.
Sparrow lays his head down next to my arm. He doesn’t move for a long time. When I finally work up the courage, I lift the pillow and find him passed out next to me. His face is peaceful in sleep, his muscles lax. Even the leather wings on his back lie flat.
I reach out and touch his hair. It’s soft, like I remember. I want to sink my fingers into it and rub his scalp.
He doesn’t move.
I roll away from him, slide off the bed, and head toward the closet. I open the drawer where I’ve stashed all my feathers. After selecting a light-blue one, I return to the bed and crawl next to him. I tuck the feather in his pocket, then scoot closer and close my eyes.
“I wish you’d remember me,” I whisper, as I drift off to sleep.
. . .
Sparrow
“Faster.” Jim commanded.
Sparrow was in the pit, digging alone. He slammed the shovel into the fresh dirt, tossing it to the ground above him. The other Hellions were above, moving dirt out of the cabin to a place in the woods.
Memories of the past night came forth. The sight of Meg lying on the floor, bleeding and pale—he couldn’t scratch it from his brain. Anger overwhelmed him. The fact that she’d put herself in danger and that Noah let her go—
A rock hit Sparrow in the shoulder.
“I said faster, Birdman!” Jim was standing over him. “Got a deadline to get this shit done before—”
The Hellion with the scars walked up next to Jim, interrupting. Both of them turned away, Jim never finishing his insults.
Sparrow chopped at the dirt with his shovel and lifted heavy loads of soil above him as fast as he could. His muscles ached; sweat dripped from his body in steady streams. He’d been there since dawn, and the sun was nearly setting now. Sparrow wondered if he’d have the strength to fly back to the burning caves when he was done. The others didn’t have to—they were staying out here—but Sparrow’s refusal to drink from the Bloodwhores meant he had to go back for Meg. It annoyed Jim, and he held nothing back when it came to punishing Sparrow. That’s why he was in the pit, and he had the uneasy feeling that he’d be doing plenty more, and worse, to pay for it.
Sparrow shoveled until dark. One of the other Hellions lit a single candle to allow some light in the space. Sparrow threw a load of dirt to the floor above him. He heard it hit someone, and before he knew it, a Hellion was in the ditch with him, yelling and shoving.
“You’ll pay. Stupid fairy.” The Hellion punched Sparrow.
Sparrow stumbled backward. Loose soil fell around his shoulders in a cascade.
“Hey!” Jim shouted from above. “Let birdboy out.”
The Hellion glared before jumping out of the pit. Sparrow followed, partially dragging himself. His arms were caked in soil. His clothing, too.
“Go.” Jim waved toward the door. “Return at dawn.”
As Sparrow left the cabin, Jim turned to the remaining Hellions and began a whispered conversation.
Sparrow took to the air, pleased for the
rain that rinsed the dirt off him. By the time he neared the burning caves, his clothing was dried from the speed at which he flew through the warm air of Hell. He could still smell himself, sweat and body odor. Digging in the pit had exhausted him. He went to the lair first to clean up, then went to the back room with the beds and took to the showers. He scrubbed the last bits of dirt off himself, changed his clothes, and went to find Meg.
When Sparrow last left her, he voiced a warning, one that she’d have done good to remember. Memories were edging in, on the precipice; he could sense that he needed her more than she needed him. He couldn’t have her going out and getting injured again. Sparrow was thankful for the warning from Clea, but he worried what else Meg would do if given the chance.
Sparrow didn’t bother knocking. He twisted the handle of the door and slipped inside silently. He closed it again; glad that he could barely hear the soft click of the latch engaging.
Sparrow was hungry—could barely wait—but he forced himself to stand there a few moments and listen to the soft sounds of her breathing as she slept.
There was a shadow outside her window. Sparrow moved toward it and saw the tiny owl fluttering back and forth, catching moths in the moonlight. He had the sudden urge to capture the small creature, tug two feathers from its wings, and tuck them away in his pocket.
Movement from the bed drew his attention.
Meg was propped up on her elbow, watching him in the darkness and pale moonlight that seeped through her windows, which lit her in a sepia glow. Hunger overtook him, and Sparrow didn’t trust himself to move.
“Now,” he called.
Meg was insolent, making no attempt to get up and come to him. He called her again, but she refused, burying her head under a pillow like a child.
Sparrow wanted to make her pay for the scene in New York City. His muscles tensed as he moved toward her. He crawled across the big bed, focusing on her pale arm in the dim light. The pulse in her wrist throbbed, and Sparrow could think of nothing else. He fed, his gaze drifting to the ring on her finger. Often she toyed with it, and Sparrow knew it had meaning, something he couldn’t quite recall. He touched the ring, hoping it would bring something to the forefront of his mind. Nothing happened. Too tired to move, he settled next to Meg and fell asleep.
Sparrow woke before dawn. Shifting up on his elbows, he looked down at Meg and found her sleeping peacefully. He moved off the bed, eager to put distance between them. As he stood, he felt something in his pocket, reached in, and pulled out a bright-blue feather.
Sparrow had a vision of Meg standing in the sunlight with a blue jay perched on her open palm. She was smiling, her eyes flicking between the bird in her hand and Sparrow. There was laughter and trust, and he was a different man. Disappointment struck. Sparrow couldn’t remember seeing her smile like that since they’d been down here, and that was his fault.
Jim called—that invisible collar tugged tight around Sparrow’s neck. He crossed the room, leaped off the balcony, and took off into the early-morning sunrise. Sparrow tried to focus on the steady beating of his wings instead of a peacefully sleeping Meg.
. . .
Meg
I dream that my hair is super long and cascading down my back in dark waves. I hate my hair long. I’m walking outside in a strange park packed tight with a horde of the walking dead. They’re pulling on my hair. They wrap the tendrils around their arms and tug, making me lose my balance and fall. I smack my face on the concrete, and all my front teeth fall out. When they hit the ground, it sounds like a beaded necklace breaking and falling to the floor. Ping, ping, ping.
I sit up in bed. My hands fly to my mouth to make sure my teeth are still there. I exhale, relieved. I’m going to throat punch Nightingale. I can’t take any more of these ridiculous dreams.
Sparrow’s gone.
I get up and dress myself.
Noah walks in my room. “Morning.” He’s carrying breakfast: a bagel and a glass of orange juice.
I walk toward him, take the food, and eat it as quickly as I can.
“Feeling okay?” he asks.
I swallow my last bite. “I need you to cover for me.”
“Why?” He leans around me and gets a good look at the bed.
“Just cover for me.”
“Meg—”
Poof.
Nightingale is stretched across her bed, her head bopping along to whatever music she’s listening to on headphones.
Deciding not to cause Nightingale physical harm at this moment, I clear my throat to get her attention.
Nightingale turns. A smile spreads across her face when she sees me. She rips the headphones off and jumps to her feet, skating toward me, then around me in circles. She giggles and whistles three short tweets.
“Oh, I knew you’d finally come! How are things in Hell?” she asks.
“Hellish.” I run my tongue over my teeth. “The dreams are the worst.”
Nightingale beams proudly. “I knew you’d get them.” She throws her arms around me in a tight hug. “It’s something I’ve been working on. Strange how I can reach you so easily. But I can!”
I stiffen. “Please don’t touch me.”
“Oh.” Nightingale backs away. “I forgot about that.” She skates across the room. “Let me get my things. I already packed a suitcase.”
“Why did you pack?”
Nightingale bends near her closet, and every curve of her butt is visible in the tiny shorts she’s wearing. She picks up a giant piece of luggage. “I knew you’d come for me.”
I settle my hands on my hips. “Just where do you think I’m taking you?”
“To Hell.” Nightingale shivers. “Oh, let me get my toothbrush!” She skates away, down the hall, returning a few moments later with a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste in her hands. Nightingale unzips her suitcase and shoves them inside. “Okay. All ready.” She stands in front of me, waiting proudly.
“Why would I bring you back there?”
“I hate it here. My father keeps me in the basement.” Nightingale smiles and holds her hand out, wiggling her fingers at me impatiently.
I look her up and down. She’s wearing a crop top and those ridiculously tiny shorts—and they said I was sinful.
“You should probably put on more clothes. That is going to attract attention,” I warn.
Nightingale giggles, skates over to her closet, and removes a pair of stretch pants. She pulls them on over her shorts, then adds a fitted zip-up track jacket.
“Let’s go!” Nightingale skates toward me. “Before someone alerts the Legion.”
“Christ,” I mutter, taking her hand.
“Oh. You shouldn’t beckon him.” Nightingale shakes her head, worry masking her face.
“Sorry.”
Poof.
We’re back in my bedroom in Hell.
“Meg?” Noah walks in. He stops in his tracks as soon as he notices Nightingale. “Fuck me. Please tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did.” He gapes at Nightingale, moving to get an eyeful of the downy white feathers on her back. “You are in deep shit.” Noah thrusts an accusing finger in my direction. “Deep, deep shit. Mounds of it.”
“Oh helloooooo, handsome.” Nightingale skates toward Noah, whistling the entire way. She circles him, inspecting. Her satisfied grin tells me everything she’s thinking. Noah is a good-looking guy. I know this; I used to date him.
“Hide her,” I order.
“I can’t hide her.” Noah points at Nightingale. “She’s a freaking Angel. The Hellions are going to smell her a mile away.”
“We could hide her in the closet.”
Noah scoffs. “She’s not E.T.”
“The bathroom?”
Nightingale wrinkles her nose.
“You want her that close while Sparrow’s in here feeding off you? From what I saw last night, you two need some privacy.”
“Oh, what were they doing?” Nightingale asks as she skates around my room.
�
�He drinks her blood.” Noah watches Nightingale, his face masked in disbelief that there is, in fact, a female Angel in my room skating around like she just stepped out of a magazine from 1987.
Nightingale turns to face me, her cheeks rosy. “Dirty girl.”
“Shut up.”
“Maybe you should just fuck him. I’m sure that will make him remember.”
“He’s your brother!” I want to reprimand her over the foul language; she is pureblood, after all.
Nightingale shrugs. “So?”
The Hellion Sparrow is definitely dark and hot, but a part of him scares me. Even if watching him suck my blood sets my loins on fire.
“He’s not like I knew him.”
“He never is. Won’t be until the curse is lifted. And then all we can hope is that me and him don’t suffer any long-term brain damage.” Nightingale skates around me. “You still like him?”
“Very much.”
“Take a roll between the sheets.” Nightingale whistles. “It’s already written in the stars. You will be together. Take advantage of his dark side. Some girls like that. I read about it in human books.” She winks.
Noah raises his hand. “I’m still here. And I don’t need to hear any of this.”
Nobody has ever had to tell me twice to take an attractive man to bed, but this thing with Sparrow is deep and torturous.
My bedroom door bursts open.
“Brother!” Nightingale zooms across the room. She whistles the same melodic trill as the last time she saw Sparrow and leaps into his arms.
Sparrow stiffens. Confusion masks his features; his arms stiffen at his sides while Nightingale swings on him. A few moments pass before Sparrow pushes her away.
Nightingale skates backward, stopping next to me. “You should definitely bone him.”
I shove her away.
“I think you both need to leave,” I suggest.
“What am I supposed to do with her?” Noah points at Nightingale.
She skates toward him, grabs his hand, and twirls herself. “Take me somewhere dark.” Nightingale’s voice is breathy and innocent. She kisses Noah’s cheek.
“Take her to Clea,” I tell Noah. “And be careful. That girl is crazy.”
Noah leaves the room, with Nightingale holding his hand and skating slowly behind him. She’s whistling a slow, sexy tune. Someone should really let her know that Noah doesn’t communicate with birdcalls.
Nightingale Girl Page 14
