Page 70 of Sorrow & Strangers

I glare up at him, and he crouches in front of me, pinching my chin hard. “You want your eyes to show how much you hate me, but they don’t.”

“You only say that because you don’t actually know me. You think you can read me, but that just proves you can’t.” All I need is for someone to come around the corner and see me here, and then he’ll leave.

He lifts me from the floor and presses me against the invisible wall. I can hear his smirk as he leans in, hovering his lips beside my ear. “Did you enjoy my taste, little fae?”

My lips tingle with the memory, and my mouth waters.

He presses and grinds his hips against my stomach, letting me feel how hard he is. “Want more?” he says, taunting me with a low laugh. It’s maybe the most sinful noise I’ve ever heard. “I can imagine how fucking delicious your pussy would taste on my lips and tongue. Your arousal sliding down my throat as I devour you, ruin you.”

“That will never happen.” Well, fuck. Even I can hear how my voice shakes, making the words sound as weak as my resolve.

He laughs again. “Liar,” he says, nipping the tip of my ear. The bastard chuckles when I shudder and arch into him, unable to hold back a moan.

“Sensitive, princess?” he asks, flicking his tongue along the curved shell.

“Fuck you,” I manage to grate out, but again, it sounds more like a moan.

“You will.”

He vanishes into thin air, and the wall behind me turns to nothing. I fall against the bookshelves, gripping tightly to keep myself from ending up on the floor again.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Summer

Imanage to gather the books I’d dropped before bolting out of the library. I run all the way home, trying to center myself, but I can still feel his body against mine. That heat I felt when he pressed his erection against me was not real because he has no temperature while in his shadow form. It was nothing more than a phantom touch, but if that is true, then why is my stomach still clenching with need?

My pulse is racing when I arrive back at the house, and I know it’s not only due to the race across campus. I close my eyes and lean back against the closed door, trying to catch my breath, but they fly open when I feel someone looking at me. Alice stands in the doorway of the kitchen, blinking owlishly at me.

“Hey . . .” she says, watching me warily. I know she’s trying to decide if I was being chased.

“I was at the library. I got books,” I say, holding out the stack of books and fixing a bright smile on my face, trying to reassure her, though my breathlessness isn’t supporting the ruse. There is no way I am ready to talk about what happened in the library, and I fix a smile on my face before she continues.

“Uh-huh,” she says, pursing her lips and eyeing me carefully. “Rafe’s awake,” she says, and the words are barely out of her mouth before I’m barreling up the stairs.

I’m still panting when I reach Rafe’s room, but nothing else matters when my eyes lock with his. They’re darker than they were when he was an angel, but not completely black like when he woke up earlier. The salves that Alice has been making are working wonders on his burns, and his skin is starting to look new and pink. He shifts, trying to sit up. His entire body locks up, and he groans loudly, obviously still in a lot of pain.

I drop the books and rush to help him. “Careful. Easy,” I say, gently helping him into a more upright position, but I can tell that no position is especially comfortable.

“Fuck,” Rafe hisses, his jaw clenched from the agony of putting pressure on his back and the still-raw wounds. “Sum. Hey,” he grates out. His voice is hoarse, and I suspect both his throat and lungs have sustained burns as well. I cup his face, tears sliding down my cheeks because no matter how rough, the sound of his voice means that he’s alive and safe.

His dark eyes soften a little, and he leans into my hand. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Aware of his still-healing burns, I press my forehead to his, unable to contain a hiccupped sob.

“I’m good. I promise,” he says, but I can hear the pain in his voice.

I don’t move. I just stay in that moment with him, my heart aching in relief that he’s all right, that he’s alive and with me.

“You see him?” Rafe whispers, and I open my eyes, meeting his intense black stare.

“I did,” I say, pulling back.

“Good,” Rafe says, his eyes sparkling with tears and his voice choked with emotion.

“I don’t know how to begin to⁠—”

“Shut up,” he says, though there is no heat in it. “You know I never fit in as an angel.”