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She shook her head back and forth. No. What she experienced was real. She knew in the depths of her being that her wings existed, and that her visions were real. Maybe she couldn’t explain any of it right now, but she didn’t doubt the truth of what her eyes saw and her body felt. She gave the woman in the mirror, with the layered dark brown hair and amethyst eyes, a serious nod of her head.
Then she smiled. For a long time now she had wanted to try something new. She had considered performing this daring feat more than once, but tonight, for some reason, she had decided to take action. She would give her wings a test flight, albeit a very small test flight—more like a test float.
Still wearing just her French-cuts, she drew her wings close to her body by arching the top of the span and folding the layered feathers back almost behind her, the way birds did when they hopped about. In this configuration she could walk through her house without doing injury to her wings.
She moved to the small vanity area of the master bath, which had a door that opened onto a walkway and railing overlooking a small courtyard below. The courtyard was completely private, located in the center of the house. Not one window could be seen from the street or by any of her surrounding neighbors.
Two stories wasn’t that far, and she felt certain if she expanded her wings, she could float to the pavers below.
At least, she hoped so.
She moved onto the walkway and, making use of a stepladder she’d planted by the railing earlier, climbed up the few steps. Was she really going to do this?
Her heart started to race. She spread her wings for balance, and by creating a little lift with a gentle downward sweep of her wings, she was able to rise onto the railing. She planted her feet on the wrought iron. She had to work to maintain balance—her toes curled around the rail as she extended her hands and manipulated her wings to keep from flying either forward or back.
Finally, she achieved equilibrium. She unfurled her wings and her feet were steady. She drew a sharp breath into her lungs even as tears touched her eyes. Was she really going to do this?
She couldn’t imagine the picture she made, with just her lace briefs on, her br**sts fully exposed, and her wings spreading above the courtyard. But how happy she was.
She knew there was a danger if she didn’t do this properly, but she wouldn’t think of that now. Instead, with a sweep of her wings, she dropped into the space below. Her wings, just as she hoped, caught air and eased her onto the hard pavers.
Oh. My. God.
First flight.
Her first flight!
She smiled and glanced from one tip of her wings to the other. Her heart pounded, loud and hard. She took a breath and drew her wings close to her body once more. She turned and stared up at the railing, at least sixteen feet above her, more than a story.
She thought of flapping her wings and seeing if she could regain the railing, but that was too much of a risk to attempt tonight. What if she flapped too hard and ended up clearing the roofline? What if a draft caught her wings and carried her toward the hill behind her house? No, she wouldn’t do that, but she was willing to bring her wings in close, go back inside, and return up the stairs to the railing. Yes, this she could do.
And she did, again … and again … and again.
Nurture the gifted and a land will prosper.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 9
Havily awoke and stretched. She glanced toward the window. She could tell by the fading light that it had to be late—at least seven, maybe later. The clock on the nightstand proved her theory. Almost seven thirty. She had slept through most of the afternoon and well into the evening. Of course when she thought back to all that had transpired the night before, beginning with a death vampire attack and ending this morning with an astonishing bout of lovemaking with Warrior Marcus … well, she wasn’t surprised sleep had claimed her. At long last.
She heard Marcus in the other room, in her kitchen. She heard pots banging around. She extended her hearing. “There’s really nothing in here but Yoplait yogurt.” He grunted his displeasure. Who was he talking to? “Okay. So it’s called Give Me Greek. No, that’s okay. I’ll call and order. Thanks, Jeannie.”
Huh. Marcus had called Central, the place that oversaw the nightly war against death vampires, for information on local restaurants? Sometimes men were helpless … but at least Marcus was resourceful. But still, Central.
Mmm. Food. Her stomach rumbled.
She stretched. She glanced at the bathroom. A shower sounded like heaven as well. She slipped from bed and padded to the bathroom. A minute later she stepped into the shower, dipping her head below the heavenly spray.
Now that Marcus was separated from her by several walls, and his fennel scent wasn’t burrowing into her brain, her rational mind had a chance to surface. What on earth was she thinking? She had slept with the one man on the planet she had considered the last man on the planet, any dimension, that she would ever sleep with—Warrior Marcus, the deserter.
She needed to get a grip, to remember one salient fact: that Marcus, despite the fact that he made love to her like a god, had deserted his brothers-in-arms two hundred years ago. What did that say of his character, of his worth? More than once while caught in the pleasure of his body over hers, tender feelings had surfaced, but this was nothing more than the horrible breh-hedden trying to work its wiles on her, seduce her into caring for someone she did not feel deserved it.
So there.
With that settled, however, her thoughts drifted back to making love with the deserter. Oh. Dear. God.
Memories rose and fell on her, knocking her flat, drawing from her body remembered pleasure. And yes, his exotic fennel scent had swamped her, but exactly what were the two of them supposed to do now? Keep tumbling into bed, keep exploring each other’s bodies, keep drowning in each other’s scent, keep kissing those lips and putting her hands in his hair, and letting her fingers rake his muscled flesh and oh, God, she was aroused all over again.
“Dammit, Havily,” he called to her all the way from the kitchen. “Would you stop throwing honeysuckle at me? I swear I’ll come over there and break the door down if you keep that up.”
He could smell her all the way from the master bath to the kitchen?
She was so screwed.
Even if she hadn’t been drawn to Marcus by the breh-hedden, the truth was, she loved this. Oh, hell, she shouldn’t, but she did. Warrior Marcus was in full caveman mode and she loved that she could work him up just by thinking a lusty thought or two.
