Feather (Angels of Elysium Book 1)

by Olivia Wildenstein

  Sensing I’d gotten myself under enough control, I shifted my eyes back toward him. “Yes.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair, pushing his wayward locks back.

  “Before meeting you,” I said, my voice feeling as raw as my wing, “I’d never lost one.”

  He winced, as though it was his body that had endured the assault. “I told you that you should leave, Feather.”

  Leaving wouldn’t change anything, not now that our lives and fates were plaited together. Still, I said, “I should.”

  Jarod backed up, giving me space to maneuver around him. When I glanced toward the doorway, he said, “But I’d rather you didn’t.”

  My heart missed a beat.

  “Playing chess against myself is quite dull.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  I let out a soft snort.

  “I might even let you win,” he said. “To make up for being such a . . . what was it your friend called me?”

  “Unicorn noodle.”

  “Yes. That.” The smile on his lips reached a little higher.

  I sighed. “Fine. But I’m just accepting in order to teach you some modesty.”

  “Modesty, huh?” Jarod’s eyes sparked with amusement.

  “You probably don’t even know what the word means.”

  His lips parted around a chuckle that turned into something deeper, louder, more magnificent, that vibrated against the copper pans and the mosaic tiles and made my fallen feather seesaw.

  Like the first time we’d met at his masked party, he crooked his finger under my chin and cranked my head up. “Stop looking at it.”

  He was no longer laughing, and I realized I missed the sound more than I missed my feather. “Make it disappear, then.”

  He held my gaze. “Are you sure?”

  I slid my chin off its perch and nodded. I was hoping that seeing what I’d done to earn the wings he’d been so intent on destroying would give him pause.

  When he crouched and delicately wrapped his fingers around my feather, I braced myself for disgust or perverse glee. He neither wrinkled his nose nor smirked.

  After a stretch of silence that felt as interminable as Ophan Greer’s etiquette classes, he opened his eyes and tipped his head toward me. I gripped my elbows harder, the pointy bones digging into my palms.

  Shadows steeped his eyes as he stood. “I wish you’d never come to Paris.”

  Pain streaked through my chest.

  “You are too sweet for my world, Feather.” He rolled the fingers which had clutched my feather into a hard fist. “For your own world, too.”

  “I found what I was looking for!” Muriel’s shrill voice made me leap backward, even though it sounded like it was coming from far away, as if to warn us she was heading back down.

  My cheeks flushed as I realized that was probably her intent. Oh, Great Elysium . . .

  Jarod must’ve come to the same conclusion, because the gloom barreled right off his face, replaced by a look of pure hilarity.

  “At least, she didn’t ask if we were decent,” he murmured, which vivified my blush, which, in turn, increased Jarod’s smile. “Don’t look so horrified.”

  I side-eyed him. “Don’t look so amused.”

  He grinned as he wandered toward the pantry. “If you decide to stick around a while longer, I’ll be in my study setting up the chessboard.”

  Chapter 32

  “Ready to give up yet?” I asked smugly, admiring the army of smooth ivory pieces lined up on my side of the board.

  I’d taken Jarod up on his offer to play chess, in part because I was a masochist and in part because Muriel had insisted I stay until all the cookies baked, and apparently, one batch had to be refrigerated for two hours before they cooked.

  “Do I strike you as someone who gives up?” Jarod had raked his fingers through his hair so many times while playing that his wavy locks were distractingly mussed.

  “Being bested twice wasn’t enough?” I goaded him.

  “Careful. Smugness surely costs feathers.”

  Even though I hadn’t felt any pain, I glanced over my shoulder. “Apparently not.”

  “You know what?” He pushed away from the game table.

  I stroked the smooth crown of his queen, which I’d just lifted from the board. “You forfeit?”

  As he stood, he shot me a bold smile that made my finger slip right off the piece. “Never. However, we’re taking a break from playing.”

  “In other words, you forfeit.”

  His eyes flashed behind his chaotic locks. “In other words, I’m taking you to dinner.” He extended his hand.

  “Dinner?” I wrenched my shoulders back and shot my gaze toward the windows that glowed sapphire. Where had the afternoon gone?

  “You know, that part of the day when we eat and drink?” he said, lowering his hand back to his side.

  I watched his fingers settle against his pant leg, staggered he’d even extended them. Then again, since I’d walked into the study, Jarod had been surprisingly . . . nice to me, as though he were afraid I might shatter or spook if he spoke too roughly.

  “Never heard of it,” I said, pressing myself up. “But I’m intrigued. Will you tell me more?”

  The tension in his body eased. “Some people deem it the best part of their entire day.”

  “You don’t say?” I said, keeping up the innocent pretense.

  It struck me I hadn’t lost any feathers for lying. The same thought must’ve gone through Jarod’s mind because he gazed at the floor.

  “Apparently, the Ishim have a sense of humor,” I said. “Who would’ve thought?”

  “The Ishim?”

  My mouth went dry before I remembered that Jarod, for all his hatred of our kind, shared our blood, so I wasn’t breaking any rules by telling him about angels. “Your cousin didn’t tell you about Ishim?”

  “My cousin has always been quite . . . disobliging.”

  I didn’t want to think about Asher, because thinking about the archangel reminded me of my glum fate. “That’s the least of his faults.”

  Jarod rested his hand on the door handle but didn’t flex his fingers around it. “Least of his faults? Here I thought soul mates were faultless.”

  “Probably in the eyes of their soul mates.” I stared at the chest hair spilling out of Jarod’s open collar. The man was part bear, the complete antithesis of slick, golden-skinned Asher. Even though it was ridiculous, I suddenly appreciated the sinner more for it.

  “Do you like foie gras?”

  My gaze scaled up the graceful column of his throat before perching on his midnight-bright eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”

  “Let’s go find out, then.” He tipped his head toward the door he must’ve opened while I’d compared his torso to Asher’s.

  “Who won?” Muriel asked, coming down the wide sweeping stairs, an empty bottle of spirits in one hand. I assumed she’d refreshed the tray of digestifs in Jarod’s room, because she didn’t strike me as someone who’d down a bottle of alcohol, then parade it around.

  She’d changed into a black kimono-like outfit, that accentuated her trim waist, and applied her usual thick coat of kohl and vermillion lipstick.

  Jarod unrolled the sleeves of his shirt. “Would I ever allow a woman to lose? You taught me better than that, Mimi.”

  She beamed, whereas I pivoted to gawk at him, a few of his most questionable moves cropping into my mind.

  “You let me win?” For some reason, a torrent of disappointment washed through me and blistered my tone. I didn’t even care about winning, so my reaction was all kinds of absurd.

  Jarod’s fingers slid off the button which he was trying to stab through his shirt’s cuff. “I was just trying to save face in front of Mimi and Luc.”

  I assumed Luc was the guard standing sentry beside the dining room.

  “Can’t have my household finding out about my subpar chess skills,” he continued. “They’ll lose all respect
for me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Now, you’re just being dramatic.”

  An easy smile tipped his mouth, and it substituted the weird upheaval in my chest for another that had nothing to do with feeling duped.

  “Dinner’s ready when you are,” Muriel said, stealing my attention off Jarod.

  “Merci, Mimi, but we’re going to dine out tonight.”

  Remembering the roasted lamb shank she’d basted while I’d shaped crumbly dough, I said, “But Muriel prepared an entire meal.”

  “Which Amir will only be too happy to eat,” she said.

  I searched her face for disappointment but found none. She seemed genuinely happy Jarod and I were going out, which made all sorts of questions pop into my mind.

  “Can you call Sybille and tell her we’re on our way?” Jarod asked Muriel before addressing me, “Did you have a coat, Feather?”

  I shook my head. Before he could suggest I borrow one from his weird cloakroom, afraid I’d end up with a scrap of leather encrusted with silver spikes and the perfume of another woman, I said, “But I don’t need one.”

  “It’s warm tonight,” Muriel said. “You two should be fine.”

  Jarod eyed the courtyard, seemingly unconvinced, but he didn’t put up a fight. What he did do was climb up to his bedroom while Muriel phoned Sybille.

  I smoothed out my long black skirt, glad I’d picked it instead of the navy eyelet dress Celeste had suggested. Although both outfits were understated, the eyelet dress looked better suited for a picnic.

  When Jarod trundled back down, hair slicked back with gel and suit jacket on, my lungs tightened. How I hadn’t guessed his heritage was beyond me. The man was far too handsome to be a mere mortal. He even smelled too good for a human.

  He adjusted his pocket square—orange tonight. “Ready?”

  Feeling exceedingly unsophisticated, I crimped the fabric of my skirt. Perhaps, I should’ve borrowed a dress from the foyer closet. The emerald one came to mind, but I’d felt like a sausage encased in satin. Probably looked like one, too.

  “Feather?”

  This is dinner, Leigh. Not a date. I shoved my insecurities away. “I just need to get my bag.”

  “What for?” Jarod asked.

  I arched an eyebrow. “My wallet. And so I can get home tonight.”

  Jarod stood by the door his guard had opened. “Get it after dinner.”

  “My wallet won’t serve much of a purpose after dinner.”

  “Your wallet won’t serve much of a purpose during dinner either. Unless you want to offend me.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll keep an eye on your bag,” Muriel said. “Don’t worry.”

  I wasn’t worried about it getting stolen. “You’ll still be up when we get back?”

  “You know me. I’m not much of a sleeper.” She tipped her head toward Jarod. “Better hurry before they close the kitchen.”

  Close the kitchen? How late was it? Without a phone or a watch, I realized I had no clue.

  Relenting, I followed Jarod out of the house.

  As the Demon Court’s porte-cochère clanged shut behind us, Jarod said, “Don’t know what spell you put on Muriel, but she usually doesn’t like anyone. Especially women.”

  I eyed Luc, who walked behind us, along with a second suit-clad bodyguard.

  Even though they kept their distance, I lowered my voice to say, “You do know we don’t have any magic, right? Well, at least, not when we’re Fletchings. It’s only when our wings are complete that we get our dust and fire.”

  “I was teasing you about the spell part.”

  I’d imagined as much.

  “So, fire, huh? What can you do with it?”

  “Pretty much everything you can do with human fire.” I studied the seams in the pavement, thinking, That’s what they used to burn your mother’s wings off.

  “And dust?”

  “We can cloak things with it. Make them invisible.”

  He nodded. “How practical.”

  A heaviness settled in the pit of my stomach as I realized I might never receive these gifts. Before my negativity could tinge my mood, I changed the subject. “I’ve been meaning to ask, does Tristan know about us?”

  “Yes and no. I told him about your kind when we were younger, when your peers began showing up to reform me, but he thought I was employing the term loosely. Besides, like most humans, he’s wired to only believe what he can see and he can’t see you. He just considers the lot of you zealots.”

  “I heard he whipped someone who showed up to help you. Is it true?”

  My curiosity caused shadows to gather in Jarod’s eyes. “If he did, it wasn’t on my orders.”

  A weight lifted off my chest.

  We crossed the road and cut across the leafy, manicured square, little clouds of dirt puffing around our feet.

  “So, where is it you’re taking me?”

  Giving the row of geometrically clipped linden trees his undivided attention, he said, “A restaurant called L’Ambroisie. It was my uncle’s cantine. He ate there every lunch, even on Sundays and Mondays when it was closed to the public.”

  “I like the name.”

  “Knowing you, you’ll like more than the name.”

  “Knowing me?”

  “Knowing your appreciation for food.” He side-eyed me. “And just so we’re clear, last night at Layla’s, I wasn’t implying you had a problem with it.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “I figured you learned about Delia from one of the feathers I lost in your house.”

  I had a passing thought for the girl, hoping she hadn’t relapsed into her bulimia. I hadn’t visited her in a few months because she’d moved to Florida, and we weren’t supposed to travel for any other reason than our current missions.

  I should’ve carved out some time to go see her like I’d promised. I supposed I could head there next.

  Next . . .

  I felt like I was standing on either side of a fault line and the ground was shifting. Until Asher gave his verdict, I would straddle both worlds, uncertain as to where I would land—in Elysium, on Earth, or in the chasm between.

  “Where’s Tristan?” I asked, to stopper my drab thoughts.

  “Either in someone’s bed, or on a flight back from Marseille.”

  I twisted a lock of hair around my finger, imagining Tristan’s trip had something to do with Jarod’s line of work.

  “Why are you still here, Feather?”

  His question made me come to a standstill. “I thought you wanted me to come to the restaurant.”

  “I’m not talking about the restaurant.”

  Tiny rocks had slid inside my open shoes, and I wriggled my toes to push them out. “I don’t give up on people, Jarod.”

  He’d stopped walking too. “Feather, I’m a lost cause. When will you believe it?” Dust veiled the shine of his dress shoes. “You have to let my case go.” He sighed, and it smoothed the hard contours of his face. Even his bladed cheekbones seemed softer. “Let me go.”

  I glowered a little. I wasn’t mad at him. I was mad for him. “What part of not giving up don’t you understand?”

  His pupils swelled and shrank. “You’re just going to get hurt.”

  “What do you care if I get hurt?”

  He held my gaze for a blisteringly long minute. “I need to get my revenge in chess and won’t take any pleasure in winning, or playing for that matter, if you’re a whimpering mess.”

  My lips bent, then straightened, then bent again. “A whimpering mess,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I don’t whimper.”

  “You cry a lot.”

  “I’m sensitive.”

  Had he stepped closer? Perhaps, it was an impression brought on by his arresting presence. Like a magnetic force, Jarod Adler absorbed everything around him, from buildings to trees to the very air. He wasn’t just a sinner or a hybrid, he was a vortex, who’d sucked me straight into his world.r />
  “Is the restaurant close?” My voice was disturbingly breathy.

  He seemed to have leaned forward a little, because the heat of his body lapped against mine, and since he wasn’t made of fire, his area of radiation wasn’t disproportionate like my brethren’s.

  “It’s across the street,” he finally said, pivoting.

  My nose and forehead felt suddenly cold, which was weird. Not to mention perturbing. Maybe, Jarod was right. Maybe, I had to let him go—not his case, but his company—because staying might lead Asher to believe I was fighting to save Jarod’s soul for the wrong reasons.

  Jarod placed his hand on the small of my back and spurred me back into movement, first across the pedestrian walkway and then down the sidewalk. I glanced up into his face that was focused on the cars slowing to a stop at the edge of the thick white zebra stripes.

  I knew he didn’t hate me, but that didn’t mean he liked me. Perhaps, he just felt indebted that I’d invested so much time and lost so many feathers. That was probably all it was.

  He looked down at me once we reached the opposite side of the road. “What thoughts are slinking through that mind of yours?”

  “I was wondering why you were being so nice to me.”

  “How else am I going to get you into my bed?”

  My lips parted.

  He tossed me a lopsided smile. “I’m just kidding, Feather.”

  I smacked his chest, but regretted it when I remembered Luc and the other guard were watching us. Hopefully, they wouldn’t pull out their guns and aim them at me for assaulting their boss. When neither reached for a weapon, I relaxed.

  Jarod was still rubbing the skin I’d hit. “Angels are such violent beings.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Truthfully, though?” His expression cooled. “I tried being mean to you, and you stayed.” The tips of his fingers slinked to the indent of my waist, gripping instead of just guiding. “I’m hoping kindness might scare you away.”

  Chapter 33

  “He came by to see me this morning,” Jarod said, swirling the diminutive glass of amber wine a man in dark tails had just poured him from a bottle labeled Château d’Yquem.

  Jarod dipped his lips inside, then nodded his approval.