Page 71 of Ashen Wings

33

The sky is transitioning to pink when Isra and I stumble our way back to the fortress. Whiskey burns on my tongue still as I walk on sluggish steps up the front gardens, now restless in the early hour.

“Gods, Nova, Smoke sounds horrible if I’m being honest. How in the ten hells did you withstand it that long?” Isra takes a swig of the half empty bottle he swiped from behind the bar. Abe’s bartender—who I still haven’t learned the name of—growled a string of profanities but got real quiet when Isra slipped a stipennote across the sticky counter with a devilish grin.

We’d been meandering through the sleepy streets of Shadow since, shit talking and stumbling. Neither of us have any business being this intoxicated, not with every obstacle the morning will bring, but an escape of normalcy is one I welcome with open arms.

“It’s easy to build up walls, and mine are maybe a bit too fortified.” I wrap my arms around my chest. The chill in the air is ripe and yellowed leaves scatter on the breeze as we approach the courtyard gate, its iron hinges sparkling with frost.

“Is that why you haven’t mentioned what happened in Storm? With Lightbrood?” Isra’s expression softens with understanding. The mention of Yaris’s name catches me for a moment, stealing my breath. His lifeless eyes. The blood tinting his silver hair. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Yes.” My chest aches with the pain left ignored. I know eventually it’ll break through—my demons always do—but I pray I’m far from here when that day comes.

“You don’t have to grieve alone, you know? Just because I almost killed you once doesn’t mean I’m not going to support you,” he says.

My brow raises. “If I recall correctly, it was more than once.”

He chuckles and brings the whiskey to his lips. “Okay, maybe twice, but you’re deflecting.”

“You’re right, I am.” My fingers tighten their grip around my biceps. “I can’t go there yet.”

“And that’s fair. When you’re ready—Jace, me—we’ll be here. I can’t speak for the little viper, but she’ll come around.” He passes the bottle to me.

The whiskey burns as it trickles down my throat, igniting goose flesh on the back of my arms. My head spins with a sleepless night as we follow the winding path to the side entrance, and slip quietly into the arboretum. The interior slumbers under unlit sconces and a quiet warmth.

Isra slides into an armchair by the window. His chestnut curls fall over his brow as he drapes his arms behind his head. The twin lines sculpting his hips peek from his waistband with the stretch.

Fuck.

I rip my eyes from their wandering stare and sink into the armchair opposite him.

Maybe it’s the whiskey talking or the lazy way he’s watching me, but gods the man is breathtaking. Strong muscle and smooth skin. Soft and compassionate all at once. Of the three of them, Isra’s shown me kindness without doubt. He’s been here this whole damn time, without any indication he intends on leaving. My body clenches around the devious thoughts unraveling in my head.

I am way too intoxicated for this.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He draws his tongue over his teeth.

“Like what?” My cheeks heat and I take another swig from our shared recklessness.

“Like you want to come over here and see where the night goes once we’ve reached the bottom of that bottle.” He throws me a pointed look, flecks of golden mischief gleaming in his eyes.

He’s right. I do. I want those massive hands on me, exploring every inch of my skin, but I can’t. Not like this. I’m drunk and lonely, and he’s right there. The glint in his eyes tells me his thoughts match my own, but I keep my ass firmly planted in my seat.

“Is, I…” My throat dries. He stares at me with nothing less than scorched desire.

“I know. You don’t have to say anything. I’m not your type,” he says, parroting Roe’s words from earlier.

“No, it’s not that. I just…I’m not a good person. And this”—I gesture between us—“is something I can’t ruin. You’re my only friend here, and I won’t risk that. Besides, I’ll be gone in a few weeks, and if we did this well…”

“It would be harder to say goodbye.”

I nod, if only to keep from spilling the truth of it. Fucking Isra would be easy. All I have to do is take the few steps between us.

It’s not a difficult goodbye that keeps me still. Regardless of if he shared my bed, walking away wouldn’t be difficult—no second thoughts, no lingering glances over my shoulder. I fully intend on disappearing, leaving this place, these people behind, and he doesn’t deserve that.

“Let’s get some sleep. I’ve definitely had too much to drink.” He clears his throat and offers a hand to me.

“Thanks,” I whisper, gluing my eyes to his. The silence between us begs to burn. Dawn’s light tints his face in warm, gilded hues, and my skin fucking pleads to be touched.