Page 50 of Tower of Tempest
“It’s Loch,” I said, words slurring together. “Just Loch.”
She swallowed. “That wouldn’t be proper.”
“Well, I’m not a proper prince, now am I?” I set down my glass. “I’m serious, Poppy. Just Loch. It’s what my sister and brother call me. What close friends call me.”
“And that’s what you’d consider me?” She trailed her finger around the rim of her glass. “A close friend?”
I didn’t know what I considered her, my mind too muddled to work through that mess. “Yeah, it is. Is that okay?”
She smiled wide and leaned closer like she was telling me a secret. “That means you’re my first real friend, Loch.”
Hearing my name come from those lips stirred something deep inside of me, something bubbling and threatening to break the surface. Want. Need. So much need.
I set my glass down. Time to put away the alcohol. “Alright, no more delaying,” I said. “Out with it. Tell me about this romance book you read.”
She sighed. “It was about a woman with wings who fell in love with a fire elemental. She’d been burned as a child and was afraid of fire, of anyone touching her wings because of what the flames had done to them. They were blackened, misshapen, and she couldn’t fly because of the accident. When she met the fire elemental, she’d thought he was from the frost court through a series of miscommunications. Then she found out he had fire magic, which was her worst fear.”
“So she couldn’t fly?” I asked. “Sounds familiar.”
“Indeed.”Her lips quirked. “She had to learn to trust. To trust him. To trust herself. She did eventually. The end.”
“Details,” I said, and Poppy hesitated, eyes raking over my body in a way I wasn’t used to—not from her. Was she... checking me out? “He used his fire magic, smoke, to trail along her wings, and it felt really good, I guess,” she said in a rush.
I gave her a wolfish smile. “How good, Poppy?”
She looked up at the ceiling, refusing to meet my gaze, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Really,reallygood,” she said. “She screamed. In a happy way. Loudly. Loud enough for her neighbors to hear and come check on her, which ended the scene.” She gave a quick shrug. “There. That’s it.”
I moved closer to her, the tips of our boots now touching. A breath hitched in her throat. “No, that’s not it. That’s the summarized version. I asked for details. If you were in class right now, you’d be failing the assignment.”
She held my gaze, not moving, pink lips pursed and so damn kissable. “Maybe you could try,” she said in a rush, so quickly I almost didn’t catch the words.
It was my turn to go completely still. “Touch your wings?” I asked in a low voice.
“Just so I can show you what the book said. It might jog my memory more.”
Pink tinged her cheeks, and a smile curved my lips. “Okay.”
She swallowed, straightening as I sat up and inched closer to her, both of us cross-legged, our knees touching. She held my gaze and grabbed my hand, lifting it and bringing it to the side of her right wing.
It was impossibly soft, like silk and fur mixed together, sumptuous. Something I could bury myself in. I ran a finger through the black feathers, and she shuddered.
“Is it working?” I asked, knowing damn well this wasn’t about describing the book anymore.
Her throat bobbed. “Yes,” she breathed out. “In the book, the man trailed his fingers through the feathers until he found the bone, and then he stroked it.”
I followed her command, letting the tips of my fingers brush againsther wing until they came to something hard beneath the feather, and I applied just the slightest pressure.
She let out a gasp.
“Bad?” I asked.
“Good,” she panted. “Really good.”
Blood and water, her voice, the way it came out all breathy and uneven. This was dangerous territory, but now that I’d entered it, I had no intention of leaving.
I came to my knees, and she looked up at me. “What happened next?” I asked.
Her cheeks turned red.
