“Come on, Atlas, just a little farther,” I coaxed and held one of his hands. Some were being used to keep him steady on the railing, and one helped him crawl up the stairs.
Lucien's wings twitched with amusement once we reached my bedroom. "Oh, man, his face tomorrow morning," he said with asmirk. "When he wakes up here with no memory of how he got into your bed? Priceless."
With gentle tugs, I led Atlas to my king-sized bed. He stumbled after me with closed eyes, arms outstretched like a sleepwalker as I crawled backward across the mattress. When I tucked my favorite pillow against his chest, he immediately nuzzled into it with a drowsy, contented hum that made me press my teeth into my bottom lip to contain a squeal of delight.
He was definitely cuter than the Slenderman downstairs.
Lucien hoisted the duffel bag he'd retrieved from Atlas' place. "Got his stuff. Just so you know, you probably won't even catch him changing in the middle of the night; he does that."
My eye twitched. “And how would you know that? Do you guys have sleepovers?”
Lucien’s eyes glowed more red. “No! I’m just saying, he will want to get out of that costume. We crash at each other’s apartments after these things, that’s all. He gets hot and doesn’t remember changing.”
I smirked. “Nice, so he might wake up naked.”
“That’s not what I meant, either, and you know it. Gah, you are kind of a brat, aren’t you?”
“Can you imagine being normal? That sounds completely boring.”
Lucien's lips curved into a knowing smirk as he shook his head. "Atlas isn't going to know what hit him," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
Teasing Lucien gave me a little thrill, but I wasn't buying his story. By morning, whatever enchantment cloaked Atlas would reappear, hiding the Mothman behind his human glamor. No mysterious midnight costume changes needed. Lucien could spin his tales all he wanted… I knew better.
Either way, I still haven’t had a proper conversation with Atlas, and that needed to be changed because whatever display he just made at the party obviously meant something.
When we left, the originals continued to whisper amongst themselves about ‘a match’. Harlow noticed it, too.
He wasn’t talking about my boobs then.
Slightly disappointing.
“We’ll be fine, Lucien. I have a pull-out mattress underneath the bed. I’ll sleep there so Atlas is more comfortable.”
While it was a king-sized bed, Atlas’ wings were played out and not tucked up near his back. They were taking up the whole bed
Lucien looked at the bed and sighed. “Yeah, if he isn’t conscious enough to take care of that, you wouldn’t have enough room to snuggle, huh?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Consent to cuddle is also something we should talk about before we share a bed. I don’t want to overstep.”
Lucien shook his head. “Atlas would approve, trust me. He’s got a boner… I mean, crush on you.” He fidgeted nervously in front of him, fingers tapping against each other in that distinctly insect-like way.
"Thanks for the offer, but I think we're good here," I said with a laugh. "He trusted me enough to latch onto me when he needed help, so I'll take care of him." I gestured toward the door, making it clear our conversation was over. Lucien got the message. As he walked away, I watched his wings twitch slightly with each step, those eerie red lights of his eyes dimming as he disappeared down the dark hallway.
After a shower, I headed back into my room. Atlas was still in the same place I’d left him. His tiny buggy snores echoed through the room, his wings still splayed on the bed.
I stepped closer to him, almost nose to nose. At the party, I'd barely gotten a chance to really see him—too many bodiespressing around us, too much noise and chaos. But here in the stillness of my bedroom, with nothing but his soft breathing breaking the silence, I could finally take my time looking at him properly.
I’m sure Harlow would want to look at him, too, but she was giving me privacy.
Or she was flirting with the mayor downstairs.
Gross.
My fingers hovered over his shirt buttons before I thought better of it. No need to give him a heart attack come morning. I grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed instead, carefully draping it over him up to his shoulders. When my hand brushed against his forearm, I couldn't help but notice how it differed from the other Mothmen at the party—his was thicker, roped with veins that stood out beneath the skin, powerful in a way that made my breath catch.
His scent wafted through the room like a spell; earthy, musky, making my skin flush hot and my thoughts scatter in decidedly inappropriate directions. Having sprawled across my bed, while I attempted to maintain some semblance of proper behavior, was testing the limits of my self-control.
For a wild moment, I considered sneaking to my nightstand drawer while he slept. My fingers twitched at the thought, but I caught myself, shaking my head at my audacity. Not with him right there, vulnerable and unconscious. Even I had standards.
