Page 8 of Fated Wings
That might be true, but it was exactly what Vaughn wanted. He felt the pull, wanted to fold Newt into his arms, but he couldn’t seem to get past the damage in his skull—the ransacked room where nothing made sense. There was no room in it for someone as soft and innocent as his fae.
Chapter Three
In the bathroom, Newt stood at the door, his hand hovering. He’d heard the entire conversation Vaughn had had with his pack members and was dying to go out there and be a part of whatever that was. To have people he could call best friends and not wonder if they would run to his father about every little thing Newt did.
To have a family who actually cared about him instead of using him for their own selfish purposes just to climb the social ladder.
He wiped at a stray tear, feeling ridiculous for getting emotional over strangers who didn’t even know him. It was just… They sounded like they actually enjoyed each other's company. Like a real family.
After toweling his hair as dry as possible, Newt stared at his reflection in the mirror. The shower had done wonders for his mood but not much for his wardrobe situation. His shirt hung in tatters, more holes than fabric at this point. A clothing casualty of vampire chase night.
“At this rate, I’ll be naked by dawn,” he muttered, holding up the shredded remains. “Perfect first impression. 'Hello, I’m Newt. I destroy clothes and house fixtures with equal enthusiasm.'“
With a sigh, he tossed the ruined shirt onto the counter. No use trying to salvage it unless his magic decided to cooperate, which seemed about as likely as his father suddenly approving of his life choices. His pants had survived with only minor damage, so those would have to do.
Voices still filtered through the door, the pack’s easy banter making his chest ache with something like longing. They had what he’d always wanted—people who actually cared if you were okay, who teased without cruelty, who showed up when you needed them.
Taking a deep breath, Newt smoothed his damp hair and squared his shoulders. “Well, here goes nothing. Just act normal. Like you always walk around half-naked in a stranger’s house.”
When he opened the bathroom door, the doorway had cleared of everyone except Vaughn, who stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The weight of his eyes alone left Newt’s breath faltering, heavy with something unspoken but unmistakable. The wolf shifter’s gaze snapped to him immediately then widened, dragging slowly down Newt’s exposed torso before jerking back up to his face.
“My shirt didn’t survive the forest,” Newt explained, gesturing vaguely at his bare chest. “Apparently trees are fashion critics.”
Vaughn’s throat worked as he swallowed. “I can get you something.”
The hunger in his eyes made Newt’s skin prickle with heat despite the cool air hitting his damp skin. It wasn’t predatory. Not like the vampires. This was different. Like Vaughn wanted to touch but was holding himself back.
“That would be...helpful,” Newt said, unable to look away from Vaughn’s face. “Unless half-naked is the dress code around here. In which case, I’m nailing it.”
A tiny smile flickered at the corner of Vaughn’s mouth before disappearing. “Wait here.”
While he disappeared into what must have been his closet, Newt leaned against the doorframe, trying not to think about how the guy’s eyes had darkened when they’d landed on him. Or how his own pulse had quickened in response.
Vaughn returned with a soft-looking T-shirt, holding it out. “It’ll be big.”
“Big is better than nothing,” Newt said then immediately wanted to kick himself. “I mean…clothes are good. Clothes are great. Big fan of not being naked in strange houses.”
Smooth, Twistboot. Real smooth.
When he reached for the shirt, their fingers brushed. Just a whisper of contact, but it sent a jolt through Newt that made him nearly drop the garment. Vaughn must’ve felt it too, because he inhaled sharply, his fingers lingering a half-second longer than necessary.
Newt pulled the shirt on quickly, the fabric swimming around his smaller frame. It smelled like Vaughn—pine and something earthy and warm—and it took considerable willpower not to bury his nose in the collar.
“I should probably get home,” he said, though he made no move toward the bedroom door. His wings stayed tucked safely away, not eager to take flight either.
Vaughn studied him for a long moment. “Your hair’s still wet.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Newt touched the damp strands. “It’ll dry eventually. Probably.”
“I could…brush it for you.” His offer came out hesitant. “If you want.”
Breath and laughter mingled briefly, uneven and fragile, before fading into quiet. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” Vaughn’s voice dropped lower. “But I’m offering.”
Something about the quiet sincerity in his voice made it impossible to refuse. “Okay.”
Newt perched on the edge of the bed, hyperaware of every movement as Vaughn retrieved a brush from his dresser. The mattress dipped as the wolf shifter sat behind him, close enough that Newt could feel his body heat.
