Page 49 of White Wings of Desire

"Then what?"

"I will take you back home in the morning and never let you out of my sight again."

"Aww, are you asking me to move in with you?"

"Not asking, deciding. As of tomorrow, you are officially living with me, whether you like it or not."

“How romantic.” She rolls her eyes in response, her lips twitching as she fights back a smile. "But I'd love to move in with you," she says with a chuckle.

"Good, because you had no other choice," I say, making her scream as I finally thrust into her.

She's mine. I don't need a stupid experiment to prove that we're meant to be together.

I will never let her go again.

Ever.

Epilogue

Evelyn

Six months later.

I take a deep breath. The chilly late afternoon air rushes into my lungs. The last rays of warm sunlight seeping through the treetops tickle my skin. When I open my eyes, my gaze falls on our large backyard, surrounded by dense forest and a perfect view of the beautiful lake. The warm glow of the setting sun bounces off the surface of the water and is reflected in the millions of tiny droplets of dew that cling to the incoming greenery.

It's been two months since we moved here, to a small town about three hours from New York City. I still find it hard to believe that this is my life now, and every morning, I have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. Even though I was a little hesitant at first, a little nervous about leaving my friends and everything I've known behind, I couldn't be happier with my decision. As long as I have Noah by my side, everything will be okay.

"Babe?" I say, raising my voice to call him. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips as my eyes land on the large aviary where he is refilling the food for the doves. The birds circle around him, eagerly pecking at the fresh food he just dropped. He looks up at me and nods, then leaves them to their meal, dumps the bucket by the door, and comes back to me.

"Sorry, I got a little distracted. The doves are building new nests," he says and climbs the three steps, bends down, and plants a kiss on my cheek. My lips stretch into a wider smile, and I hand him back his cup of coffee.

"It's okay, but we should get going soon, or we'll be late."

"Kyle won't be mad if we're a little late, but you're right. It’s still a long drive."

He brings the cup to his lips and finishes the already cold drink in one swallow. I watch him and scrunch my nose, feeling sick at the memory of the taste of cold black coffee tickling my tongue. "Give me ten minutes to get my stuff, and we can go," he says, handing the now-empty cup back to me.

Noah's hand rests on the small of my back the entire elevator ride. The warmth of his palm seeps through the thin fabric of my dress. I watch the numbers on the screen climb higher and higher until I feel Noah's hot breath tickle my ear, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I take my eyes off the screen and lean into him.

"One more thing–don't order the daily special," he says in a whisper, even though we are alone in the elevator.

"Why?" I ask, tilting my head back to look up at him, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against my ear.

"Because the daily special is always made of human meat."

"What?" My eyes widen, and I whip around, bumping into his chest. "You're kidding, right?"

"No. The restaurant is run by someone who has a preference for it." My mouth falls open, and Noah positions two fingers under my chin, forcing my lips back together. "Close your mouth, or I'll get ideas."

I slap his hand away and glare at him. “How do you know that, and why are you two taking me here, of all places?”

"I know because Kyle and I know someone who eats it, and we are taking you here because their regular food is fantastic, too. It's one of our favorites," he says with a sigh and leans down to place a soft kiss on my forehead. "Like I said, don't order anything from the daily special, and everything will be fine."

"I'm going to eat a salad. Or fish." My response draws a chuckle from him.

"You can eat whatever you want."

The familiar sound of the elevator ping grabs my attention, and I spin back around. Noah's hand finds its way back to my lower back, and he guides me out of the elevator and into the entryway of the fancy restaurant. The sound of my high heels against the polished black marble tiles echoes throughout the restaurant. Noah's steps are measured, matching my slower pace. He guides me through the surprisingly crowded restaurant to a table by the windows overlooking Central Park, where a heavily tattooed man sits alone, sipping on a beer. The moment the man spots us, he gets up from his chair, and a big smile stretches across his face.

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