Page 19 of Her Fallen Angel

"Stop singing."

Her fingers still, but her voice continues soft and sure. The prayers wrap around me like chains, binding me in ways my iron grip on her throat cannot bind her. My wings twitch with the effort of restraint as desire courses through my veins.

This isn't how it's supposed to be. She's meant to break, to cower, to lose that inner light. Instead, her touch sets me aflame, makes me want things I've never allowed myself to consider.

I finish the bath and get away from her as quickly as I can. I need time to think, to understand what is going on in my head. But none of it makes sense. How could a human affect me in this way?

I order dinner brought to my study, unable to face her across the table. Can't bear to watch her graceful movements as she serves my meal, head bowed in that perfect submission that somehow feels like victory for her instead of me.

The food turns to ash in my mouth. All I can think about is her fingers in my hair, the soft melody of her voice, the steady pulse beneath my grip. The way she didn't flinch, didn't break, just kept pouring out that damned devotion.

Night falls. I prowl the halls of my townhouse like a shadow, avoiding the sound of her evening prayers drifting from the courtyard. My magic crackles beneath my skin, violet light casting strange patterns on the walls. The urge to go to her, to claim her, burns through my veins.

But I can't. Won't. Taking her body would be easy – she's mine to command. The thought of her beneath me, those deep brown eyes filled with starlight, her dark waves spread across my sheets...

My wings shudder. No. Claiming her flesh would only make this worse, would only deepen this maddening need to possess not just her body but her soul.

I somehow manage to wrangle my thoughts into something quieter. At least enough that I feel I can leave the private library I've been hiding in.

But I enter my chambers to find her already settled on her pallet at the foot of my bed. The sight of her there, alone, separate, sets my teeth on edge. She belongs in my bed, wrapped in my wings, surrounded by my scent. The intensity of the possessive thought staggers me.

"Kai?" Her voice is soft in the darkness.

I turn away, stripping off my shirt with savage movements. "Sleep, little flame."

But sleep eludes me. I lie awake, hyper-aware of every breath, every shift of her body below. The distance between usfeels like an open wound, and I hate it. Hate how much I want to close it. Hate how she's crawled beneath my skin without spilling a single drop of blood.

Sleep finally claims me, dragging me into dreams filled with candlelight and whispered prayers.

And in them, I find what I've been running from.

Aren kneels before me, her dark waves cascading over bare shoulders. Her fingers trace patterns across my chest, each touch followed by the press of her lips. "Let me worship you properly, my lord."

The scent of incense fills my lungs as she works her way down my torso. Her prayers fall like honey against my skin, sacred words twisted into something carnal. My wings spread wide across silk sheets, ash-gray feathers trembling at each reverent caress.

"Show me your devotion, little flame." My voice comes out rough with need. Violet light pulses beneath my skin where she touches me.

Her deep brown eyes meet mine, filled with that same unwavering faith that drives me mad during waking hours. But here, in this dream, her worship takes on new meaning. Her hands slide lower, mapping the scars across my abdomen. Each brush of her fingers sends electricity through my veins.

"All of me belongs to you." She punctuates each word with a kiss, working down my body with agonizing slowness. Her prayers never cease, mixing with my ragged breathing in the candlelit chamber.

I fist my hands in her hair, fighting the urge to take control. Let her show me this devotion, let her prove her faith with more than just words. Her tongue traces the sensitive spot where my wing meets my shoulder, and I arch off the bed with a growl.

"That's it, little flame. Show me?—"

I jolt awake, chest heaving, sweat cooling on my skin. Magic crackles along my wings, casting violent shadows across the walls. Below, Aren sleeps peacefully on her pallet, unaware of how she torments me even in dreams.

"Fuck," I grunt out.

This weakness, this need – it's beneath me. I am a warrior, stronger than most xaphan. I break spirits, not fall prey to them.

But the echo of her prayers lingers, along with the phantom touch of her hands on my skin. My wings shudder with barely contained rage at my own vulnerability.

Sleep will not return tonight.

10

ARENWEN

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