ZOEY
Aerixrequests me for dinner the next day, like he always does.
By now, the ritual is as familiar as it is intimate. The slow approach. The tilt of his head. The touch that comes before the bite.
When he finishes up, the pain is already fading into a dull, pleasant throb that sends waves of warmth through my body.
“Delicious, as always,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath cold where my blood pulses hot.
His wings unfurl behind him, stretching to their full span before folding against his back. They’re breathtaking—midnight black and impossibly vast, feathers gleaming like obsidian, each one catching what little light exists in the room and swallowing it whole.
“Happy to be of service.” I mean it to sound teasing, but my voice comes out breathless.
His eyes darken, and his hands slide from my shoulders to my waist, pulling me closer with that effortless strength that makes my stomach flip.
“Your service,” he murmurs, low and dangerous, “goes far beyond feeding me.”
And then, his mouth is on mine, and I taste the metallic tang of my own blood mingled with the wintery pine essence that’s uniquelyAerix.
His kisses are always like this—possessive, demanding, and consuming. Like he’s trying to devour me piece by piece until I forget who I was before he took me. And now, my fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine.
One by one, the layers fall.
His shirt. My dress.
His hands go to remove my chemise.
“Wait,” I breathe, the word escaping before I realize I’ve said it.
He freezes, and the temperature drops several degrees.
But he says nothing. He’s just watching me, waiting, like one wrong word will make him snap.
“Aerix,” I say softly, placing my palm against his chest. “I’ve been thinking.”
His eyes narrow, the only indication that he’s heard me.
“About everything you’ve done for me,” I continue, my voice steadier now. “About how you saved my life. Over and over again.”
He inhales slowly, enough to let me know he’s listening.
“Continue.” His voice is carefully controlled, but there’s an undertone of curiosity behind it.
“It started at the waterfall.” I straighten and hold his hypnotizing midnight gaze, more confident now, empowered for what’s coming next. “If you hadn’t pulled me out, I would have drowned.”
His wings flex once, then settle, as if my words are relaxing him.
“You would have,” he agrees.
“And then there were those water zombies. If you’d left me there, I would have been slaughtered,” I say, and the corner of his mouth twitches.
“Your odds,” he says, “were nonexistent.”
He says it like a fact. Not cruel—just true.
“The winter woods,” I continue, my fingers tracing the contours of his chest. His skin is cold beneath my touch, but heat rises in me like a tide pulling me under. “You couldn’t just leave me in the middle of nowhere. I would have frozen, or been hunted down, or something worse.”
He still hasn’t moved, but his eyes are fixed on me with a hunger that has nothing to do with blood. It’s something sharper—a predatory satisfaction that should terrify me, but instead sends a thrill through me.
