Please, not anotherone.
My eyes filled with heat as downy barbs skimmed my ankle before settling beside the fallenbandage.
This man would be the death of my wings if I didn’t leavenow.
I raised my wet gaze back to his. “Jarod, I should—” I stopped short when I caught him staring at the space next to my bronze shoe. “What are you lookingat?”
He walked over and crouched. The air in my lungs turnedsolid.
Impossible. . .
He didn’t havewings.
He couldn’t possiblysee—
He picked up the Band-Aid and balled it up before flicking it toward his bookshelf. “Want a freshone?”
He unglued my wounded hand from my hip and checked my scar. “Look at that . . . allhealed.”
“It wasn’t deep,” Isaid.
He let go, and I pulled my hand back to myside.
I itched to retrieve my feather but couldn’t risk being zapped into another memory.Later.I’d grab it later. It wasn’t as though it would disappear until it was touched. Which had me wondering about the feather I’d lost in the hall last night. Had a human unintentionally touched it? They couldn’t see it, but if their hand glanced over it, the memory would sink into their minds. Some humans brushed it off as a dizzy spell, some as a déjà-vu, some as a divinevision.
Yesterday’s feather had probably been sucked up into avacuum.
As my gaze arced off the floor, it tripped over Jarod’s body and the robe that gaped wide. Oxygen jammed in my throat, and I forgot all about my lostfeather.
I traced the whorls of pastel paint on the canvases above his bed with my eyes. “Could you put on some underwear,please?”
I caught the flash of teeth in my peripheral vision. Of course, my discomfiture amusedhim.
“I assure you, it doesn’t bite,” hesaid.
“Forget it.” I headed toward the door. I’d made a promise to myself to leave if I lost another feather and was going to uphold thatpromise.
“Where are yougoing?”
“Home. I’m going home. This was a badidea.”
“You’ll lose yourbet.”
I laid my palm on the metal handle. “At this point, I have more to lose by trying to win this bet than byforfeiting.”
“Will you stay if I getdressed?”
My pressure faltered, and the handle sprang up without unbolting the door. “Don’t you want me gone? You called me bland and spineless. Not to mention astalker.”
“The word I used was soft, notbland.”
“Was it supposed to be a compliment? Because it certainly didn’t sound likeone.”
“I don’t give compliments because sugarcoating life doesn’t teachresilience.”
“It might not teach resilience, but it showscompassion.”
“I’m not a compassionate person, Feather. Not sure what led you to believe Iwas. . .”
