Page 7

“I’m sick of your shit,” Zach says into my ear. He lets go of my hair, finally, and shoves me down toward the ground, but I don't stay down for long. I shoot back up to my knees, looking toward the basement door. Zach doesn't seem to notice. He wouldn't, would he? Never been an observant one.

And then the shape of Fitz appears in the doorway, a menacing, dark shape in the shadows. He must be seven feet tall, maybe bigger. He stands at his full height, and as I watch, his wings expand. They seem to stretch on for miles, draping the whole house in black.

“Would you look at me when I'm talking to you?” Zach takes my face in his hands, his fingers clenching, and then everything happens all at once.

One minute, Zach is in front of me, his eyes black as night, staring into mine. And the next minute, he's gone and Fitz stands in front of me, his face twisted in a snarl.

His eyes sweep me from head to toe and then flash over to where he shoved Zach away from me. When he’s apparently done assessing me where I’m still on the tile floor, he stalks toward Zach, who slowly backs away until his back hits the wall behind him.

“How did you—” he asks.

Fitz cuts him off, reaching one hand out, long dark claws closing around his throat.

“Wait,” I say, struggling up to my feet. “Wait, no, you can’t.”

He doesn’t seem to be listening to me, may not even know what I’m saying to him. I push up onto my feet and stagger over, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Please.”

Fitz turns his face to me, slowly lifting Zach up the wall even as I’m begging him to let him go. His mouth opens, and he says something that I can't understand, growls it, another static-filled phrase that’s all sharp edges.

I shake my head. I don't know what he's saying, but it doesn't matter. “Please, I say. “Please, let him go.” I press my hand to his, where it's curved around Zach's neck. Fitz’s eyes don't leave mine, the slit pupils expanding once, and then snapping back into place.

All at once, he lets go of Zach and puts his arms around me. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I can hear Zach coughing, choking for breath, but my attention is fully fixed on Fitz, on his arms around me, pressing me against his hard, muscular body. His wings shoot out, pulling a cry from me, and then we're gone.

5

It's like being on a roller coaster blindfolded, without knowing you’re on a roller coaster at all. Fitz lifts off, spiraling us through the room and out the open back door. And then we shoot into the sky. I’m holding onto him as tight as I can, my arms and legs wrapped around him, as we glide over the forest, over my university. I’ve never even been in a plane before and here I am, literally flying.

But then Fitz grunts in my ear and we sort of stutter in the air. I'm still trying to orient myself, figure out where we are, how fast we're going, when I realize we're going down fast.

Fitz wraps his wings around me, so when we hit the ground, I feel little more than a thud before we roll. I'm in his protective cocoon the entire time. Once we've stopped moving, I struggle out of his hold.

I'm up on my feet in seconds. “Are you okay?”

He's lying on his back, wings spread out on the ground, and I see the blood immediately.

“Oh my god,” I say, crouching down and gently taking his wing in my hands. He hisses in pain. The wound that was already huge seems to have ripped further, taking a chunk out of his wing. “I’m so sorry.” I say. “I’m so sorry.” Somewhere in the distance, I hear voices, and I press my hand over my mouth.

What did Zach do?

“We have to go,” I say to him. “I’m sorry, we have to go.”

Hopefully getting shot in the wing isn't life-threatening for him. I imagine it's sort of like being shot in the shoulder or maybe the hand. But he’s already had this wound for a few days. When the voices get louder, Fitz’s chin shifts in the direction of the noise.

I look around, taking in where we are, as a semi flies by on the highway. I squint through the trees. On the other side of the highway is a truck stop, and right next to it, a motel.

I recognize it. The Riverside. I've never stayed there, but I've driven by it a million times and a lot of my friends got rooms there after prom.

“Come here,” I whisper to him, trying to drag him across the ground even though it's impossible. He probably weighs over 250 pounds, and the only way I'm getting him to move is if he does so voluntarily.

He scrambles to his feet, and we tiptoe through the trees until we find a really big one.

“Okay,” I say, even though I know he can't understand me. “You have to stay here. I'm going to go across the street and get us a hotel room.” I gesture over my shoulder, and his eyes follow the movement before finding mine again. I put my hands up. “Stay,” I tell him, feeling completely shit for talking to him like a dog. I'm just not sure what else to do. I need him to stay put, and he can't understand me. I back up slowly, keeping my hands up. “Stay,” I whisper. “Hide.” I use my arms to cover my face, pretending they're his wings.

He doesn't move, just watches me slowly back out of the woods onto the side of the quiet road. I look both ways and then run across the two-lane highway. When I'm in the parking lot of the motel, I look back.

It takes me a moment to see him, but eventually, I do. He's done exactly as I asked, covered himself with his wings, everything but his head, the moonlight shining in his eyes. When they turn towards me, they glow for a second, and a shiver goes down my spine. It's not fear, exactly, just curiosity, fascination.