A Strange Hymn
Page 23

A warm brush of magic tickles my back, and in an instant, my wings, skin and hair are all dry. When I glance at him again, I notice that he, too has dried himself.
That’s about the moment I realize that Des and I are both still naked. It’s both odd and oddly enjoyable to be laid bare like this in front of each other. There are so many firsts I’m only now experiencing with this man.
I step up to the pallet and fold my knees under me, stretching my wings out behind my back. In here, the churning sound of the waterfall echoes. This feels like some primitive temple, and Des the god it pays homage to.
The Bargainer sits down next to me, the tips of his wings lifting to rest themselves on a nearby rock. He takes in our surroundings. “After all this time, I find myself back in a cave,” he says wryly. His words remind me of those caverns back in Arestys.
There’s a vulnerability to him in this moment.
Even now he struggles to let down his guard.
I want to tell him that this place is perfect, that he’s perfect. That I cherish every broken bit of him.
But I don’t say any of this. He is, after all, at his core, just as uncomfortable with emotional intimacy as I am.
Instead, I reach out and run my hand over his wings.
He closes his eyes, like he’s savoring the sensation. Getting up, I circle behind him, studying the silvery skin of them as my hand passes over each talon and joint.
Beneath my touch, I feel him shiver. His wings stretch in response, the fine veins of them clearly visible even here in the dim lighting.
“I always assumed that fairies had butterfly wings,” I admit.
“You’re not wrong,” Des says, his back still to me. “Mine are particularly rare.”
He turns long enough to wrap his arms around my waist and pull me back to the soft pallet, his hands drifting down to cup my ass. This, naturally, makes my skin come to life as the siren wakes up.
Des’s expression, of course, is one of complete innocence.
I give him a look that says, I’m onto you.
His eyes crinkle, and he laughs. “So suspicious of my motives. It’s like you think I’m just trying to get into your pants.”
As if he’s not. He’s a slippery fucker.
“You say that as though you didn’t literally strip me of my pants five minutes ago,” I say.
“I think it was a little more than five minutes ago.”
I barely manage to not roll my eyes. Apparently, human or fairy, male egos are still very much the same.
Des spreads his body out next to mine, his hand lingering on the dip where my waist is. The warm, humid air of the place caresses my skin and curls my hair.
Propping myself up, I reach out and continue to trace what I can of Des’s wings.
“So, all fairies have insect wings but you?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Most do, but not all,” he says, running his hand up my waist and over my ribcage. “There are other wing-types too. Some fairies have avian wings like yours.”
“Why are yours different?” I ask.
He stares off in the distance, his thumb absently stroking my skin, drawing out goosebumps. “Some say my line’s descended from dragons,” he murmurs, the candlelight dancing over his body. “Others say that we come from demons.”
Dragons? Demons?
Damn.
I’m not going to pretend I understand how fairy lineages work.
“I always thought they looked like bat wings,” I admit.
“Bat wings?” Des raises his eyebrows, his gaze refocusing on me.
I’m pretty sure that once again I’ve offended him, but then he throws his head back and lets out a laugh.
“So what is it? Dragon or demon?” I ask.
Des lifts a shoulder, his expression still playful. “The family history goes so far back that no one remembers.”
I think about Des’s mother, the scribe, telling a small boy with white hair all sorts of stories—and amongst them, tales of his heritage.
I smile a little at the thought. I can’t imagine being told dragons existed … and that I might be descended from one of them.
“What is it?” Des asks, touching a finger to my lower lip like he wants to steal my smile for himself.
I shake my head. “I’m just imagining you as a boy listening to stories from your mother about your ancestors.”
Immediately, Des’s expression shuts down.
I’ve said the wrong thing, I know it.
I expect him to pull away and run like all those times he used to. I’m steeling my heart against the possibility.
But he doesn’t run, he doesn’t leave.
He simply says, “The stories are from my father’s side of the family.”
The same father that had something to do with his mother’s death.
Yikes.
I reassess Des’s wings. I hadn’t realized that they might represent something terrible about his past—the same way mine did. It’s odd to look at his wings and see something very different than what he must.
I ask softly. “What do you think: that you’re descended from demons or dragons?”
“Knowing my father? Demons.”
My throat works. I really, really want to ask him about his father, but I can’t bring myself to form the words. There’s clearly an ocean of bitterness and anger buried beneath that relationship.
“Well,” I say, running a hand over the fine bones of the wing closest to me, “whatever their origin, I think they’re perfect.”
Beneath my touch, a tremor runs through Des’s body.
“That doesn’t scare you?” he asks. “That I might have a little demon blood running through me?”
I shrug. “You met me the day I killed my stepfather.” I finger one of his talons. “And I’ve seen you execute men. I think we’re past that.”
At my words, Des’s eyes deepen. He pulls me in close, one of his wings covering me like a blanket. He kisses the tip of my nose, then rests his chin against the crown of my head.
“Thank you, cherub,” he says softly.
I’m not sure what he’s thanking me for, but I nod against him anyway, stroking his face. Eventually, my eyes drift close, my body warmed by Des’s.
And that is how we spend our first night on Lephys. Not in the palatial home beyond the pool, but in this humble cave, our naked bodies tangled together.
Chapter 14
When Des and I finally return to the city of Somnia, something about me is noticeably different.
I no longer hate my wings … or my scales or claws. Somehow, during the course of a week, I found the very things that frightened me about myself now … empower me.
I can fly. I can cut a bitch with my bare hands.
There’s strength in that, whether Karnon intended it or not.
My training with Des has also bolstered my courage. I swear my arms and legs are more defined, and even though I haven’t been able to land a blow on Des yet, I’m beginning to fight with more confidence.
I won’t admit this to Des, but I’m glad he forced me to train with him. I might hate the process, but I kind of dig the results. I also am coming to love the sweet pair of blades strapped to my hips. They clink against my clothing now as Des and I walk down the familiar hallways of his palace.
The tower room Des leads me to is one of the coolest places in the palace. Made of floor-to-ceiling glass window panes, the tower room gives me a bird’s eye view of all of Somnia, from the castle grounds to the city spread out beyond it.