“I’ll tell the others you’re making dinner.”
“Wait.”
He turns, wings swooping past me and creating a draft strong enough to nearly blow out the fire on the stove.
“Yes?”
I rush forward, stopping inches from him. Slowly, I run my eyes up and down his body, taking in every inch of muscle and every scar. He’s been through a lot, and I want to know everything about this cursed man.
He bends his head down, forehead resting against mine. I put my palms on his chest, taking solace in his heart beating beneath my fingertips. I drag my hands down to his hips and slide them back under his wings.
After a moment of hesitation, Jacques does the same to me, holding me tight against him. I can’t explain it and I know it doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this should feel familiar, yet it does. Being in Jacques’s embrace is like coming home after a long vacation. It’s warm and safe and familiar, and I don’t want to leave. Because if I do, there’s no promise I’ll come back.
I tip my head up, brushing my lips against his. A hard rush of desire goes through me, making me wet at just the thought of Jacques being naked and on top of me. I bring my hips against his, needing to feel more of him. He hasn’t even touched me yet and I’m turned on.
Jacques cups my face in both his hands, leaning back just enough to study my features.
“You’re beautiful, Acelina.”
Beautiful. Not hot, or sexy. I part my lips, ready to say something back, when Jacques suddenly jerks away.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t, Ace.” He lowers his gaze, face pained. My heart is in my throat. I don’t handle rejection well, and I know it stems from my childhood of being passed around by family until my aunt finally took me in.
“Why?” My voice comes out in a harsh whisper, and I’m trying to remind myself that I don’t have a deep connection with Jacques. Not really. But what I feel is so real.
“Your soup is going to boil over.”
“It’s sauce, not soup.”
“Whatever it is, it’s bubbling up.”
Exhaling, I turn back to the stove and stick the wooden spoon back in the pan. The floor creaks behind me as Jacques leaves. I turn off the burner and go to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of wine. I struggle getting the cork out.
“Need help?” Hasan’s deep voice rumbles through the kitchen. Relief floods through me just at the sight of him.
“I think so. The cork is breaking off.”
Hasan takes the bottle from me and gives the corkscrew one good twist. “Wine?” he asks, sniffing the bottle.
“Yeah. It’s sweet red and I actually have no idea if that was even a thing back in your time. I’m not really a fan of the way alcohol tastes, but I could use a glass right about now.”
The wine glasses in the cabinet are dusty. I quickly wash five and pour wine into two glasses and offer one to Hasan. He takes a drink and makes a funny face.
“Don’t like it?” I ask with a laugh. I welcome a mouthful of sweet liquid down my throat.
“It’s very sweet.” He takes another drink. “I wasn’t expecting that. But I do like it.”
I take another drink, looking at Hasan with the smile still on my face. He’s at least six and a half feet tall, with large, onyx wings. He’s a seasoned warrior, with the scars and tattoos to prove it, and yet here he is, standing in the kitchen of my family-owned mansion sipping sweet red wine with me.
And it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Hasan stays with me while I finish dinner and helps me set the table. We don’t talk about vampires or magic. Instead we talk about the modern world. I brought my computer today and plan to turn on a movie for the guys later. I refill my glass with wine and close my eyes, mentally calling out to the guys to test out this summoning thing.
It works.
Thomas and Gilbert come in first. They were outside exercising, needing to literally stretch their wings, and both are glistening with sweat, looking like they stepped right off a photoshoot forGQmagazine. Well, ifGQfeatured gargoyles, that is.
