Page 337 of Psycho Gods
He was definitely concussed because he finally let me paint his fingernails the shade of Fae Bunny Pink I’d been trying to get him to wear unsuccessfully for the past week.
When he woke up the next day with a clear head and saw his nails, he bellowed as he chased me around the estate, demanding that I take it off.
I took pity on him and painted a sparkly coat over the top while he was asleep.
He grumbled and pouted, but I caught him admiring his glittering nails in the sunshine and showing them off to Luka. I even overheard him bragging to Malum that we had matching nail colors which meant I liked him the most.
The next time, Malum’s nails were also pink and all the men made fun of him.
“Do you like them?” he asked me during our daily lie-under-the-tree-together. His cheeks flushed red, and he groaned as he stared at my face. “Or do I look ridiculous? Am I being stupid?”
I leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the nose.
“I’ve never been more attracted to you than in this moment,” I said honestly. “I like that you’re rejecting toxic masculinity—you’re cute.”
He grinned proudly, then scowled. “I’m not cute, Aran. I’m a fearsome warrior who breathes fire.”
I rolled my eyes and patted his shaved head. “Okay, big guy. Whatever you say.”
He crossed his arms like he was pouting but the corner of his lips twitched like he was trying not to smile.
“Whatever you say,” I repeated as I yawned and snuggled against his chest.
His fingers trailed through my curls as he massaged my scalp.
“I’ll always protect you,” he whispered when he thought I was asleep.
Warmth surged inside my chest and radiated through my limbs until I felt like I was burning alive in the best possible way.
Time moved forward at a lackadaisical pace.
Days felt like years, and I found myself forgetting about the war for greater stretches of time.
Other days, I’d panic and spiral as I remembered the screams.
When the memories became too much, I’d unfold my crystal wings and shoot into the sky.
I didn’t fly far.
I didn’t want to leave.
Instead, I’d float among the clouds, then pull my wings in and plummet. Adrenaline and pure bliss would fill me. Then I’d unfurl my wings and whoop with delight.
It was impossible to spiral while flying.
Sometimes, when I hovered in the still-freezing air above the clouds, I’d think about Mother.
How she’d never known such peace.
A part of me was afraid that if she’d been able to experience flying, then she’d have never gone mad.
Maybe the High Court had taken that from her? Maybe she’d taken it from herself?
When the thoughts became too much, I’d close my eyes, pull my wings in tight, and fall back toward my mates.
Life was a haze of sunshine drenched skies, enchanted wine, coy smiles, naps, trembling hugs, whimpers of pain in sleep, and laughter.
We created a fortress to heal within that was isolated from the outside world.