Page 13

When he hears me come in, he shoots up off the bed, his face stretching into a big smile that makes my stomach clench. He's so sweet, and I feel awful that I left him here for even as long as I did, but I feel better knowing that I have some answers. Without saying a word, he turns to the table, our food spread across the surface where I left it earlier.

He snatches up one of the cupcakes and hands it to me before turning back. For a moment, I look at the shape of his wings, the way they curl in tight to his body. They're like bat wings, with sharp, curved claws at the tops and bottoms.

Then I think about how, when he was on top of me, making me come, they spread out wide, seemingly taking up the entire room.

“Hello,” I say in his language, a strange shape that doesn’t come out of my mouth naturally.

He spins around, two cupcakes in the center of his palm, his eyes wide, and I can't help the laugh that bubbles up inside me. I knew it would be useful, but I wasn't fully prepared for his excitement.

“Hello,” he says back, the word much more graceful when he says it. His eyes fall to the book in my hands, and he catches on quick. He starts talking a mile a minute, saying so many words, there's no way I could ever catch up.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I say, putting up my hand. “I only know like two phrases.”

I open up the dictionary and paw through it for a moment as he comes to stand in front of me. I find one I think might be useful. “How was your day?”

He sighs. I'm not sure what I'm expecting, but it isn't what he does next. He sets the cupcakes down on the TV stand, and then he reaches out and runs the tip of one claw gently down my cheek. He says a long string of words. I try to memorize it exactly and start flipping through the dictionary. I think I find the sounds.

“I missed you.”

My heart starts to race.

What is it about him? What is it about him that makes me want to throw everything away to go wherever he goes? That makes me feel like I'm finally doing something worthwhile for the first time in my life? That makes me feel less alone?

I know we have a lot to talk about. But just for now, I need to ask him one question. I flip through the book until I find what I’m looking for. “Home?”

His smile falls, and I feel the same dread in my stomach that he wears on his face. He takes my hands in his and shakes his head.

“I don’t know what that means,” I tell him. “You don’t want to go back? You don’t have anywhere to go?”

He sighs again and takes the book from me. He spends several minutes going through it, and I wait patiently for him to finish. “Show you,” he finally says.

He wants to show me where his home is?

On the one hand, if I could just get him back home, that would solve all of our problems. But on the other hand, does it mean he and I will never see each other again?

So, instead of saying what I want to—don’t go, stay forever—I nod. “Okay. Show me.”

Just as the words slip out of my mouth, there's a banging on the door.

“Hey, it’s time to come out,” someone shouts from the other side, thumping on the door with a thick fist.

“Shit,” I hiss, snatching up my bag. “We have to go.”

Fitz makes a grunt of a sound, an implied question mark at the end.

“I don't know,” I say, looking around. My eyes catch on the bathroom. It's definitely not ideal. The little window in there faces out to the side of the building, since we're on the very end. If the men who are currently banging on the door stay at the door, then we might be able to get out if we're quick. But as I hear voices raise outside, I realize I don't know how many there are. If there are a lot of them, they might be on the side of the building, too.

Without saying a word, Fitz takes my hand and pulls me toward the bathroom. I guess he had the same thought I did. We stand under the window. It's high up, one of those frosted windows that I know is going to be extra thick. Fitz glances at it and looks at me.

He'll be able to reach it, no problem. But as soon as we break the glass, the men will know we're making a run for it. Fitz's eyes harden, and he nods once. Wrapping his arms around me, he levitates off the ground so he's eye-to-eye with the window. He motions toward the window, miming breaking it, then points at me, and then out the window.

I'm assuming he's going to toss me. And then once I'm out, I'll just have to run and hope he's behind me. Outside the bathroom, I hear the men banging on the door, not just with their fists. They're clearly trying to get in, probably ramming their shoulders and bodies into it. This is a cheap motel, with cheap doors and bad locks. They're going to get in, and they're going to get in soon.

I nod at Fitz, and I feel him take a deep breath before slamming his fist into the window. It shatters without effort. Fitz uses his bare hand to swipe the glass out of the frame, and then he's shoving me towards it. I scramble out quick and fall to the pavement beneath the window.

“Fuck,” I hiss, scrambling to my feet. I landed on my shoulder, and it hurts. I have some cement burns, but it doesn't matter.

“One of them's escaping,” I hear a voice say.