Wings of the Wicked (23 page)

“I’ll thank her in the morning.” I tilted my head to see his eyes better. “Is this your room?”

He nodded and started to turn away.

Will’s room. Will’s bed. My nerve endings lit on fire.

“Will,” I said, touching his arm. Muscle clenched beneath my fingertips.

He turned back to me, still averting his eyes. Anger spiked through me.

“Look at me,” I said. It felt strangely intimate being in his bed. Things I shouldn’t have wondered swelled inside me, like all the things we could do right here where I was sitting. His scent filled my head, making me feel even more intoxicated.

My anger washed away the second his gaze lifted to mine. My heart felt heavy when I saw how dull the color of his eyes was. I pulled my legs underneath me and stood up on my knees. I toyed with the hem of my skirt and watched his gaze on my fingers and bare skin. His jaw tightened when I edged closer to him. My hand trailed up his arm and shoulder to wrap around the back of his neck. He swallowed and watched my other hand slide up his chest, moving over the ridges of his muscles. My fingers touched his lips, and my other hand pulled his face down closer to mine.

“Kiss me,” I whispered slowly, a desperate plea, and I stroked my thumb across his bottom lip. My heart pounded, and I wanted him so badly it felt like I’d jump out of my skin.

His mouth parted, and his gaze fell to my lips before flickering back up. His hands slid around my hips, and he pulled me against him. “No,” he said, but his body betrayed his pledge.

“I order you to kiss me,” I said into his lips. My fingers dipped into his waistband and began to unbuckle his belt and jeans. He took a deep breath and his hands tightened on my hips, but he didn’t stop me.

He turned his face into my neck and let out a long, frustrated groan, burning my skin with his breath and sending shivers through me. He nuzzled my hair, drinking in my scent as my fingernails ran softly down the back of his neck. “You can’t do that to me,” he said huskily, his lips brushing my skin.

I slipped my hands under his shirt, and I smoothed them over his solid abdomen. “Then kiss me because you want to.”

He lifted his head and brought his face so close to mine that I could feel the heat radiating off him. His breathing was ragged when his mouth finally met mine, the kiss deep and full of something far more carnal than any kiss before it. He kissed me as fiercely as he fought in battle, with as much determination and calculation as he had when he killed, and I melted into his body. No one had ever kissed me like that before, no one
could
ever kiss me like he did. I inhaled the scent of his kiss as I tasted it. He hadn’t kissed me in so very long that I was hungry for it, starving for his lips. I wound my hands around his shoulders and nipped his bottom lip gently. He squeezed me into his chest more tightly and let out a low rumble from his throat.

I pulled him over me until his body pushed mine deeper into his bed. My fingers wound through his hair as his hands explored every inch of me. His kisses moved south, and his lips found my stomach. I arched my back, and his arm slid around my waist, pulling me into him, and a soft whimper escaped me. I tugged at his shirt and yanked it over his head before sliding my hands across his bare chest and shoulders, slipping a hand over the tattoos on his arm and digging my nails into solid muscle. His mouth returned to mine, deep and exploring, and he kissed my neck, grazing my skin gently with his teeth. I kissed his shoulder as I finished unbuttoning his jeans and started to slip his belt off from around his waist.

Then his lips at my neck stopped abruptly. Before I could register what had happened, he reeled back until he was no longer touching me. I sat up in a wave of disappointment that beat at my heart and soul.

“Will—”

He backed away from the bed and my mouth clamped shut. “I … No. I can’t do this.”

“What’s wrong?” I straightened my shirt, feeling the sudden sting of embarrassment.

“You’re drunk,” he said, his voice back to normal. He began to button his jeans and put his belt back on, his hands visibly shaking.

I crept to the edge of the bed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not you right now,” he said firmly, and backed away from me. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

I slid off the bed and eased toward him. My entire body trembled, and I was still dizzy with desire and alcohol. When I got to him, I smoothed my hands up his bare chest, my fingers lingering over the tattoos on his right arm before threading through his hair. “Yes, I do. And so do you.”

He grabbed my wrists and pulled my hands away. “No, you don’t. And it’s not right that I do.”

I searched his eyes for any brightness, any sign of passion left in him. “Don’t you want me?”

He deflated against me, exhaling. He dipped his head and kissed my shoulder before brushing his mouth along my jaw, his hands around my wrists tightening just slightly. “You have no idea how much I want you,” he whispered against my skin.

I edged closer to him, pushing my body into his heat. “Then you can have me.”

“Ellie …”

“Don’t you love me?”

He softened and kissed my wrist, his breath and lips warm. His mouth and nose nuzzled the delicate skin there and something inside my chest collapsed with a rush. “I do love you. More than anything. And that’s exactly why I’m walking away.”

He kissed my cheek and as he let go of my wrists, I shoved him away in anger. He blinked at me in surprise, confusion filling his eyes. I backed away from him unsteadily, nearly falling over before catching my balance.

“What’s wrong with me?” I spat, narrowing my eyes. “It’s not just tonight that you won’t kiss me or touch me or anything. It’s not just because I’m drunk. Why do you keep doing this?”

He shook his head tiredly. “Nothing’s wrong with you. I have to go.”

“Don’t,” I pleaded, reaching for his arms. “Stay with me, Will.
Stay
, please. We don’t have to do anything. I just want you here with me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a long, shaky breath, the muscle in his jaw quivering. “I have to disobey you now. You’ll thank me in the morning.” He lowered his head to kiss my lips as chastely as in our very first kiss so long ago.

He pulled away and disappeared from the room. After a few minutes of humiliating solitude, I changed into Lauren’s pajamas. When I burrowed deep into the mattress and tugged the sheets up to my chin tightly, Will’s scent was all over the bed. I imagined him reading a book or playing his guitar in this spot on a quiet afternoon. It turned out that falling asleep in his bed was much easier than I thought it would be.

The next morning, I woke with a pounding headache. The sun pouring in through the window lit the mocha-painted walls of Will’s bedroom with a golden glow. It was bare and very clean. The most color came from a large bookcase, and a plush black leather sofa chair sat in a corner. On the wall opposite the bed were three guitars propped up on stands. I recognized all three of them. The room still smelled like him and brought back the memory and shame of last night, when Will had brought me in here. The shirt I had torn off him was still lying on the floor as a brutal reminder. I felt sick to my stomach, not because I was that hung over, but because I was embarrassed and furious with myself for the way I had behaved. I wasn’t the kind of girl who threw herself at a boy. I’d made a lot of mistakes last night.

I slid out from underneath the blankets, running my hand along the soft mattress, touching the hem of the pillowcase. Being in his bed felt powerfully intimate, and beneath the smell of last night’s party, I caught his scent on my skin. His smell was all over me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before dragging myself out of his bed. I moved through his bedroom, touching everything, picking up small things off the dresser. I examined a sprig of dried flowers that looked like jasmine. I loved the scent, especially when mixed with vanilla. I set it down carefully and lifted a decorative hair comb beside it. The piece looked more than a century old and was glossy and delicate. The comb part of it was black and iridescent like an oil slick, and a carved bird of all different shades of purple, gold, and red rose out of what looked like flower petals … or flames.

I returned the hair comb to the dresser and stood there, contemplating what to do next. Not wanting to lose the wonderful feeling of Will’s scent all over me, I settled on going into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth with the extra toothbrush he had offered. I could feel my mascara crusting around my eyes, and my hair was a tangled mess. Running a brush through my hair was a battle, but soon I felt refreshed with a clean face.

I dug my cell out of the pocket of my skirt. I had three texts from Kate asking where I was and if I was all right. I texted her back that I was alive and with Will and that I’d call her later. What I didn’t say, but wanted to, was that I was never sneaking out to a college party with her again—until I was in college, at least. Too much had happened last night that didn’t need to happen. She’d left me on my own with a guy I didn’t know. The thought of it made me flush briefly with anger. When I saw her next, there would be some words exchanged. I also prayed she’d had the sense enough to grab my purse and jacket from that house when she left.

I didn’t have a change of clothes, so I stayed in Lauren’s pajamas. They were lightweight and I was a little chilly, but the cold felt good for my hangover. My stomach growled, so I crept out of Will’s room. As soon as I opened the door, I caught the thick, delicious scent of eggs and bacon. Nathaniel often made dinner for us when we were over, and even though this was my first time staying the night here, I wasn’t surprised that he’d cook breakfast. I forced a smile on my face and straightened out my tank as I stepped downstairs and followed the smells into the kitchen. My gut dropped when I saw it was Will at the stove cooking instead of Nathaniel. My fake smile disappeared. No need for
that
anymore.

He looked up at me as I walked in. And then he looked away. I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it. “How are you feeling?” He prodded at the eggs frying in the pan in front of him.

I gave him a smart smirk and crossed my arms over my chest. “Peachy. How are your knuckles?”

He set his fist down on the counter without dropping the spatula. The eggs smelled like they were burning. “They attacked me first.”

“You could have just gotten in the car and driven away.”

The look he gave me was serious. “I could have, but I didn’t. I made a choice, regardless if it was wrong or right. I wanted to do a lot more than I did.”

“You’re burning those eggs.”

He took a deep breath. “Ellie.”

“If you’re going to make me breakfast, then don’t burn it.”

He took the pan away from the heat and scraped out the eggs with the spatula and placed them on a plate. I caught the faintest glimmer of a smile. “Who says I made these for you?”

I sat down at the bar. “Me.”

He filled a glass with orange juice for me and presented it with the plateful of eggs and bacon as if it were a peace offering. “My knuckles are fine.”

I took the plate and glass. “That’s a shame.”

His brow flickered, and he leaned his back against the counter on the other side of the room. Even from this far away, I could see the familiar flash in his eyes. I could’ve seen it a mile away in the dead of night.

“There was a comb in your room,” I said. “On top of your dresser. With a bird on it.”

“It’s yours. The bird is a phoenix … rising from its ashes.”

“Has it always been mine, like my necklace?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. I bought the comb for you over a hundred years ago, from a …”

But I didn’t hear the rest of what he said. My mind slipped away, drifting into the memories of that day.

The market in Shanghai was packed with people roaming from makeshift tent to makeshift tent, bartering loudly, shopkeepers darting after thieves. The street was a blaze of color, sights, and sounds. Heady scents of oils and spices pulled my attention in every direction. I wanted to see everything there was.

“Dragon,” a man called in Chinese.

Will turned his head, and I followed his gaze to a small elderly man behind a table covered with jewelry and figurines carved from ivory and jade. He was smiling, watching us both as we walked through the market. I took Will’s hand and led him to the tent, eager to see what the man offered.

“Dragon,” the man said again, and nodded to Will, his smile widening. He reached over his beautiful wares and lifted a comb with an intricately carved mythological firebird adorning it. He set it in his palm and held out his hand to me. “Fenghuang. Phoenix.”

My eyes captured the comb, roving over the infinite detail and incredible colors. I took it from the man and brushed my fingers over the bird’s wings.

“We’ll take it,” Will said. He pulled a couple coins from his pocket and gave them to the man, who gave a small bow and thanked Will several times.

I drew a little breath when Will turned to me, tucked my hair back on one side, and slid the comb in. “Thank you,” I told him, watching his face, mesmerized by the happiness in his eyes and the one corner of his lips that pulled into a smile.

“Beautiful,” he said, and his thumb brushed my cheek.

My eyes fluttered and I was back in the present, looking up into Will’s face once again. “I remember it,” I said. “Were you going to give it back to me? Now that I’m here … again. Alive.”

His jaw set and he swallowed. “Yes. Eventually. I wanted to give it back to you when you remembered it. You can have it now if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” I said, wishing now that it was in my hands so I could touch it. Instead I touched the winged pendant around my neck, watching Will’s face as he watched my hand.

“Why do you have jasmine, too, of all things?” I asked curiously, recalling how carefully dried the petals were, how strongly the scent had remained. “Did you know that it’s my favorite flower?”