Page 2 of Fated Wings
Halfway across the yard, his legs gave a warning wobble. Newt pushed anyway. Pink still bled faintly off his skin, less neon now, more like a sulky bruise. He aimed for the darkest patch near the house’s shadow and promised his father he’d take his punishment later if he could just get to that house.
The back door banged open, and men spilled out of the house, bodies moving fast, voices cutting through the night as they headed straight for him!
Then… they barreled past him, a blur of denim and breath, and sprinted toward the tree line. At least a dozen. Maybe more. Numbers weren’t Newt’s strong suit while hyperventilating. Clearly they were going after the vampires. Not him. A relief.
Newt aimed for the back door like salvation… and hit it chest-first. Wood thumped. Stars popped behind his eyes.
“Ow!” he wheezed then fumbled for the handle and tumbled inside without any regard for trespassing laws or common sense.
Apparently, he had none.
As long as it put distance between him and the vampires, the king of the human realm could write him a ticket.
Cold air kissed his face. A kitchen spread out around him the size of a village square—gleaming counters, a steel beast of a fridge that could house a family, and lights set into the ceiling like tame stars.
Wow.
The room was simply gorgeous. Back home, his kitchen was much, much smaller. It didn’t gleam like this one. Newt didn’t know what half the things were that sat on the back counter but was dying to find out. What was that box with glowing numbers for?
“Stop.” A voice rolled out of the shadows by the back door, low and dangerous, followed by a sound that didn’t belong in a polished kitchen. A deep, menacing growl.
Newt’s gossamer wings unfurled, and he shot toward the ceiling, hovering as he looked around for the person whose voice sounded like it had been carved from something deeper.
Down below, a big man stepped into the light, shoulders like a wall. He stared at Newt the way people stared at catastrophic weather. The guy’s mouth hung open, then it closed. A muscle jumped in his jaw and his brows hiked to his hairline.
“Don’t come any closer,” Newt blurted out, palms pressed to air like he could ward off the behemoth. “I’m fine up here. Very ceiling-friendly. You stay…floor.”
The man’s lip curled. Okay. Good to know he was not the friendly type. He moved like a storm gathering. Newt scooted along the seam where ceiling met crown molding, which was apparently now a road. He clipped a glass pendant light that swung near his ankle.
The light rocked three times before it hit the floor, crashing hard enough to shatter the glass. “Oops, sorry!”
“Get down before you destroy the kitchen,” the man snarled, stepping directly under him like his scowl could make Newt obey.
Nope. Not happening. Newt zipped, badly. The kitchen arched into a hallway hung with framed photos. He careened around the corner too fast and shoulder-checked an arrangement of family faces. Frames thunked against the wall and cocked at drunken angles.
“Oops, sorry!” Newt called, because apologies were free and he was going to need a ton of them.
A room opened on the right that had to be a living room because it contained three couches, two chairs, and a coffee table big enough to land on if he wanted to die immediately. Newt skimmed over a plant that tried to shake hands with his ankle and nicked a lampshade. The shade listed like a ship.
“Oops. Sorry!” His voice bounced off high ceilings. This house echoed like a cave. That had sounded cool.
Footsteps pounded after him. Newt cut left into a hallway that had a long runner with fancy birds woven into it. Pretty. Also surprisingly weird when you were upside down. His palm skidded, he overcorrected, and his forehead met a round, white object with a clack.
A shrill beep exploded. “Oh no!” He slapped it with both hands until it shut up. “Sorry!”
Two figures appeared at the end of the hall and froze as if they’d never seen anyone fly before. One blond, one not, both compact in a way that said they were built for surviving kitchen stampedes. Their eyes went wide, and they sucked in air like a pair of synchronized swimmers.
The big man from the kitchen stalked in behind them. The guy looked even larger in the narrow space, all solid muscle and teeth that didn’t need help to look dangerous. His gaze tracked Newt like a hunter tracked prey.
“Fairy,” the muscly stranger said, flat and certain, like he was naming a rare species of bug.
“Fae,” Newt snapped before he thought better of it. “Not fairy.”
The blond recovered first, leaning forward like his curiosity had tripped him. “What’s the difference?”
Newt absolutely did not have the energy for a lecture series. He stared past Blond and focused on not dying by interior decor. Then stop running into things. That was easier said than done when he was panicking like crazy.
“Down,” the big one growled, pointing at the carpet as if that would convince Newt. “Now.”
