Page 47 of King of Storms and Feathers

I offered him a weak smile in reply, unsure of how best to advise him.

After all, I was only biding my time, pretending to be a biddable servant, while he was the king, whose idea of a reward was probably my definition of a punishment.

He would have to decide for himself.

I just hoped I survived the night.

Chapter 12

Leaf

When we crossed the moonlit floor of his sitting room, he veered away from the pavilion. He put me on my feet before settling his large frame on a divan, then drew me down beside him.

In the darkness, his eyes glowed like almond-shaped moons. He stroked my cheek, then rubbed his thumb over my lip. “Ideally, I would spend the night making you scream, little Leaf,” he said. “But using my power in the hall has left me depleted.”

“Using storm magic leaves you weak?” I asked, excited to learn about a deficiency I could exploit.

“Yes. I must rest.” He turned his palms up and lightning sizzled over them. The auron kanara birds screeched in response from their cages, the noise making me grimace.

“You dislike the auron kanaras?” he asked.

“Only when they make that terrible racket. The storm wielders fed them this afternoon. They shouldn’t be hungry.”

“Some storm makers yield better lightning than others, so the kanaras’ food quality can vary. The birds are reacting to the scent of my magic. Come, I’ll feed them.”

His power licked against my skin as he helped me to my feet, then prowled toward the nearest cage. The birds descended into a delirious frenzy as their king, their lightning god, approached.

“I thought you said you needed to rest.”

“Why rest when I can show off first?” he said, flashing a grin.

He whispered to the birds, and they settled, ruffling their feathers and emitting soft, expectant chirps. Then without warning, lightning exploded in the sky, forking through the tall windows and burning the veil curtains to ash.

Thunder boomed as storm energy entered Arrow’s body, his back arching. Shuddering, he strode to the center of the room, threw his head back and stretched his arms wide, his fingers straining with the effort of controlling the force. Blue lightning coiled like serpents seeking prey, the ribbons of light winding into the birds’ open beaks.

Arrow moaned as the power moved through him. It was a sound somewhere between extreme pain and pleasure that made warmth bloom in my core and shame redden my cheeks.

“Follow me,” he said, moving along the seven cages.

I gave him a curious look, wondering how much energy he would have left to attend to me after he’d fed the birds. Hopefully, not much.

The dome roof shuddered above us, the marble floor below, and the whole apartment lit up with the blue fire of lightning. Fear snaked through my stomach.

Over the last few days, I had watched many storm wielders feed the auron kanara, but this… this was something else. The power Arrow wielded was of far greater magnitude, so immense it appeared difficult to control.

In no time at all, the king had visited every cage, and the birds within were satiated and silent. A blue aura sizzled around his body, the residue of storm energy. Leaning over his knees, he blew out a hard breath, then straightened, cracking his spine as he beckoned me to follow him up to his bedchamber.

Without ceremony or warning, he took off his clothes, placing his feather chest plate on a short pillar beside the crescent-shaped bed. Unable to turn away, I took in every inch of his hard body, fascinated by the feather markings glowing blue and orange over his chest and arms.

Lowering his large frame onto the bed, he turned onto his stomach and pulled the silky black sheet to his hips. “Rub my shoulders and work the kinks out of my muscles.”

I swallowed my fear, perched beside him, and began massaging his tight muscles as instructed. Deep groans reverberated through the room.

“There’s oil in the nightstand,” he said.

Twisting my torso, I opened the top drawer and withdrew a glass vial. I pushed his wavy hair over his right shoulder, poured a generous dollop of heavily scented oil on my palms, and then rubbed his back briskly.

“Slower. And harder,” he commanded, his voice gruff.

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