Page 24 of White Wings of Desire

I slip into the bed beside her. The small double bed is too short for me to lie in comfortably. With my legs curled up, I settle behind her, wrap my arms around her middle, and hold her small figure close to my chest.

Closing my eyes, I bury my face in the damp strands of her hair that smell like vanilla shampoo. This whole ordeal feels like a fever dream, one that is too good to be true. Her breathing slows down and she drifts back to sleep. I tighten my arms around her, holding on for dear life, afraid she'll slip away if I don't.

"Good night, Dove," I say in a hushed voice and place a kiss on the crown of her hair.

Chapter 23

Evelyn

My arms reach up and bump against the headboard, while my legs wiggle under the cozy blanket, and my back curves as I stretch my sore limbs. I let out a sigh at the touch of the soft sheets against my naked body. I don't remember falling asleep naked, but it's a pleasant surprise.

Wait.

I'm in bed.

Does that mean last night was nothing more than a really horrible nightmare? A raspy moan escapes my throat, and all the tension drains from my muscles as I relax into the soft bedding. The lack of sleep combined with the fact that he is lurking in the dark must have messed with my head.

I try to roll over onto my back, but something warm and firm stops me. Perhaps one of the girls crawled into my bed last night, scared of the dead dove and worried about another prank.

I open my eyes, but instead of one of my friends, I find his calm, sleeping face beside me. I shriek, flinging a pillow at his face, and push myself up into a sitting position, putting some more distance between us. Clutching the blanket to my chest, I cover my naked body. He grunts at the impact of the pillow on his face.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask in a raised voice as I watch him stir and pull the pillow away from his face. My heart pounds against my ribcage.

Pushing himself into a sitting position, he leans against the bed’s headboard. His left hand comes up to rest on his right shoulder, covered in a blood-soaked band-aid. Finally opening his eyes, he tilts his head and looks at me.

I ignore the nagging urge to ask about his shoulder and focus on his face: his eyes still drowsy with sleep, his brown hair all tangled and disheveled and sticking out in all directions. He looks almost normal, like any other guy out there. At the moment, there seems to be nothing dangerous about him.

"You don't remember?" he asks, his voice hoarse from sleep.

I jerk back as he leans over to the bedside table and reaches for a small bottle of water; he clears his throat before taking a sip. With each swallow, his Adam's apple bobs a few inches above a perfect, bright red line–the scar I’m responsible for. I chew on the inside of my cheek, my stomach fluttering as an unwelcome warmth spreads across my cheeks. There’s no need to look so damn good while simply drinking water...

I shake my head, clearing my mind, and get back to the matter at hand. "You broke into the house, you threatened me, you fucking chased me like I was prey, and we–"

"Had sex." He cuts me off. "You blacked out right after, and I carried you all the way back," he explains, and I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

It doesn't make any sense. If what he says is true, he could have easily killed me last night. My mind is still clouded from sleep, the memories blurry as if what happened was just a dream.

"You had it that easy and didn't kill me?"

He shakes his head. "No," he says, a lazy smile on his lips. "I have other plans for you now that you are mine."

"What?"

"Have you forgotten already?" he asks, "You said it yourself. You are mine now." I flinch when he reaches for me and takes one of my hands in his own, running his thumb over the back of it. "You really don't remember?"

The memories of last night slowly creep back into my mind. The image of him on top of me, his face after I screamed his name, and how he said he wouldn't kill me as long as I was good for him. I watch his thumb move up and down, tracing the thin lines of my blue veins.

I look back up at him with squinted eyes. For some foolish reason, he wants me alive. It could be a lot worse; yes, he is a lunatic, but he is also handsome, strangely cute first thing in the morning, and he fucks me the way I like it. He's exactly the kind of man I've been begging for years to pay attention to me, and now, here he is, willing to give me his attention without me having to beg for it. If staying alive means I have to play the role of the good girl, I can do that. At least for a while until I know what his intentions are and until I figure something out.

"I remember a little. It's still a bit fuzzy," I say, "If I really said that, I'll keep my word." I pause. "As long as you treat me right."

The smirk on his face turns into a genuine smile.

"This should be easy. I can be a real gentleman."

My eyes almost hitting the back of my skull with how hard I roll them at his answer. I then shift my focus to the band-aid on his shoulder.

"Is that the injury from my shot last night?" I change the topic, not wanting to put up with his antics.

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