Page 18 of The Midnight Arrow

His wings twitched. “I’m sorry, Marion.”

“It was a long time ago,” I told him. Ten years. “And it’s not a secret. She wasn’t my sister by blood. Only in…” My soul, my heart. “Only in every way it actually mattered.”

“What happened to her?” Lorik asked. I continued to scrape my nail across the wood, though no more wax remained. “I’ve heard rumors, but…you never truly know.”

“She fell in love,” I told him, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

“With…Veras?”

I nodded, hating that name. Hating that Allavari male and his slick smile with every fiber of my being. The hate had never dulled. Not a single bit.

“Yes. And it got her killed,” I told him. “I’m a healer, and I couldn’t save her.”

Eight

Iwoke with a crick in my neck, but the heavy blanket from my bed draped over my shoulders. It took me a moment to gain my bearings—I was sitting in the chair I’d been perched in the majority of yesterday with a stiff back. Morning light streamed across an empty bed from the window behind me.

Lorik.

I stood, noticing the coverlet had been replaced and was smoothed. Not a single sound came from within my cottage, and I walked to the door, peering into the kitchen, finding it empty.

The fire in the hearth was burning, though, keeping the chill of wintry air away. Soon, all of Allavar would be covered in snow.

“Lorik?” I called out, thinking he might be in the washroom, only to receive no response. I frowned.

When I opened the door to my cottage, tugging on my soft boots and grabbing a shawl to wrap around my shoulders from where it hung off the back of the chair, I stepped onto the cobbled path and peered around.

Surely he didn’t simply leave without saying goodbye,I thought, a dull disappointment throbbing in my chest, though I should’ve been happy to have my bed back.

Sighing, I went around the side of the cottage…

Only to find Lorik standing in the middle of my garden, peering at the glowfly hives.

He was glorious in sunlight. I couldn’t help but admire him. His wings were completely stretched out as if he was warming them in the morning sun. I could see the veins in the dark gray membranes. They resembled roots of a plant, of a tree, decorating his wings.

He was bare-chested, I realized, likely because I had yet to wash his shirt and vest, still covered in blood. I felt a pang of guilt at the thought, hurried back inside to snag the coverlet from the bed, and returned.

I was certain he’d heard me before, but this time he turned to greet me. I was pleased to note that he looked significantly better this morning—more akin to the confident, mischievous male I’d admired in the market.

His eyes looked bright though they were no longer swirling with color. His skin was luminous—an Allavari trait I’d always envied—and his straight, dark hair was gleaming. The fresh bandage on his wound was clean, no signs of bleeding after I’d stitched it the morning before when he’d slept.

Maybe all he needed was another feeding,I couldn’t help but think. Could I have prevented his suffering yesterday?

“Good morning,” I greeted, a little shy. I held up the blanket, and Lorik frowned at it before understanding crossed his face.

“Worried about me, little witch?”

Had his cheeks darkened slightly? Despite his teasing words, he turned and folded his wings against his back. I stared at the suede-like flesh covering the thick bones of them. Though Aysia had been part Kylorr, she’d taken more of the Allavari blood of her mother. She hadn’t had wings, nor had any of the children at Correl’s orphanage.

With the exception of a Kylorr female I’d stitched up six years ago, this was the closest I’d ever been to wings.

“You can touch them if you’d like,” came Lorik’s voice. His tone gruff and husky, dipped down like a lover’s in bed. I hadn’t been with a male in years—hadn’t touched or stroked or kissed or laughed with one in bed in years—and I’d never felt the stretch of time more than right then.

Without agonizing over whether this was appropriate or not, I reached out my fingertips before I could second guess myself. He’d given me permission…and I was endlessly curious.

Lorik shivered when the heat of my fingers stroked down the membrane of one wing. The skin was surprisingly soft until it met the hard bone of the skeletal structure. I could feel the tiny veins running beneath it, just as I could see them in the sun.

“Are you sensitive here?” I asked. Lorik huffed out a deep breath. I realized belatedly that my voice was as low as his had been. This moment felt entirely too intimate, and I swallowed as I let my hand lower.