Chapter 9
NINE
LAUREN
Can life actually flip this fast? These past few days have been like living in some fever dream where everything’s backwards from what I expected.
We spend them talking—actually talking—and eating food that probably costs more than my rent used to be.
He shows me this insane bath with like fifty jets and leaves me to float there like I’m some kind of princess. Hell, maybe I am now.
He doesn’t push after what happened by the lake that night, which honestly shocks the shit out of me. Michael would’ve been all over me the second I showed any interest, demanding payment for whatever crumbs of affection he’d thrown my way.
The next day, Remus flies in what feels like an entire Nordstrom with dinner.
Designer everything—stuff I used to drool over in magazines while eating ramen for the third night in a row.
It’s all the things I mentioned wanting, plus about a million dollars’ worth of extras.
Everything fits like it was made for me, even though some of these companies definitely don’t usually make size 16s.
How the hell did he get these tailored that fast?
And the expense... Jesus. But I can’t deny it feels incredible strutting around in silk Yves Saint Laurent while we stay up all night just talking.
We cover everything. Well, almost everything.
He tells me about his brothers—Abaddon and Kharon, who apparently used to be called Thing.
Thing. I mean, talk about family dysfunction.
Their consorts sound badass though. Abaddon just had a daughter with tiny wings and horns who’s basically a baby hellion, according to Remus.
The way his whole face lights up when he talks about her makes my ovaries do weird flippy things.
He tells me about their psycho father and how they’re all basically learning how to be a real family for the first time. About his youngest brother Layden, who came back from the dead or whatever.
But the one topic that’s completely off-limits? The twin literally attached to the back of his head.
“Why won’t you talk about him?” I finally ask.
We’ve been up all night again, and the sun’s painting everything gold through the massive windows.
I’m probably running on pure adrenaline and lust at this point because even though I should be dead tired, I’m wide awake.
Partly because everything coming out of his mouth is fascinating as hell, and partly because he’s sitting so close I can feel the heat radiating off his ridiculous abs.
The man doesn’t own shirts apparently, which is both a blessing and a curse for my concentration.
“He doesn’t matter.” Remus waves a dismissive hand, like he’s brushing away a fly.
I give him my best are-you-serious face. “He must have mattered at some point. He’s literally part of you.”
He just shakes his head, jaw going tight. “All that matters is right here.” His arm tightens around me, those dark eyes burning into mine. “You. Me.” His hand drags down my hip, fingers digging in just enough to make me shiver. “This.”
“What?” I roll my eyes, fighting the urge to melt into a puddle. It doesn’t help that he’s always shirtless, showing off those abs that could probably grate cheese. “Sex?”
“No.” He shakes his head, looking almost offended. “This closeness between us. I’ve never known this before, and it’s all I want. I want to live in this space, just me and you.”
My heart does something stupid and fluttery, but I force myself to stay rational. “But there’s a whole world out there, and it’s gonna come knocking at some point.”
His lips brush mine as he murmurs, “But not right now.”
And fuck if I don’t just melt into him as he starts kissing me, those clever fingers working magic on my waist. My leg wraps around his hip automatically, and his wing sweeps over us like we’re in our own private world.
My heart starts hammering, and suddenly being tired is the last thing on my mind.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe the rest of the world can just disappear for a while longer.
Maybe there can be just me and him. And this.
God, I want this to be real so badly it physically hurts. I want this to last. I want the realness of it, not just the escape I originally hoped for. I’m starting to want an actual life here. A real life, with this person who shows me little pieces of himself like precious gifts.
All these good feelings and endorphins are intoxicating as hell.
He’s always finding excuses to touch me—while we’re walking, while I was baking yesterday.
Yeah, I made cookies. Sue me. The man can summon gourmet food from anywhere in the world, but a kitchen that nice deserves to be used.
Plus, baking’s always been my zen thing.
This morning he asked if I trusted him, and when I said yes, he took me flying.
I backed away immediately. “Nope. Nuh-uh.”
But he laughed and reminded me I’d just said I trusted him. “I’ll go slow,” he promised, “so you can really see.”
It was different this time. He held me tight against him, his tail wrapped around me like a safety harness.
His wings worked like a paraglider above us as we glided over the most gorgeous countryside I’ve ever seen.
Everything was so green it almost hurt to look at, the sky impossibly blue.
The lake below sparkled like someone had scattered diamonds on it.
My breath got stolen by the beauty—and yeah, the terrifying height—but weirdly enough, I did trust him. Even after knowing him for like five minutes in the grand scheme of things.
When we landed and my feet hit solid ground, I was still clutching his arm like a lifeline as we walked back to the castle.
These last few days have been like the world’s most amazing extended date. I can’t explain it, but it feels like I’ve known him forever, even though our worlds couldn’t be more different.
And maybe because of that closeness, I want to jump his bones about every other second. I want to explore his body the way he explored mine by the lake. I want to ask him a thousand questions and figure out if any of the things I’m thinking about him are real or just romantic delusion.
Because more than anything, I want him to be real. I want this to be real. Which is probably just wishful thinking on steroids.
“You are quiet,” he says, breaking the silence as his wings settle, letting the morning light back in. The sunrise is painting everything pink behind him. “What is happening inside your head?”
I laugh and duck my head, suddenly shy. I’m hyperaware of my leg around his hip, how it’s opening me up to him.
“Well, actually, I was sort of wondering the same thing. What we did by the lake... and just all of this. Getting to know you. This has all been such an intense experience. I’m wondering... who you are.”
He frowns, confused. “I’ve told you and shown you. I’m Remus, god-born from the life spark stolen from the Great Hall—”
“No,” I laugh, cutting him off. “I mean, I’m starting to get that part.
Not that I can really wrap my head around it, but I get it.
I’m talking about who you are.” I press my hand to his chest, and he immediately covers it with his, holding it there.
“On the inside. Who is Remus? What kind of person are you?”
He frowns again, like I’ve asked him to solve quantum physics. “No one’s ever asked me that. I have only been myself. Brother to my brothers.”
“Who would they say you are?”
I flip my hand to take his, our fingers intertwining between our chests.
He looks down at our joined hands like he’s seeing something miraculous, and I almost pull back from embarrassment.
But then he squeezes, and that small smile spreads across his face—softer than his usual wild grin.
Like he looks... contented. At least until he starts talking about his family.
“My brothers might not have the kindest words to say about me.” He winces, pulling back a little.
The whole push-pull thing we’ve been doing is driving me insane.
We’ll get close, then just when I think he’s about to make a move, he doesn’t.
“Battle was the only language our father understood. Brothers fight, naturally. And our father thought we could only become the best if we fought the best—which was each other. Our epic battles could span days, weeks, months in the worst cases, and destroy huge chunks of land before our father finally declared a victor.”
“Months? Just fighting each other?”
He nods like it’s totally normal. “Lately, it has been different. We have been... more friendly. But that’s new. We’re all very strong in different ways. And our father was very demanding.” His mouth twists.
“But what about when you weren’t fighting? What was your family like then?”
He frowns at me like I’ve asked him something in another language. “All I’ve known is war.”
“Is that... what you want?” Some of the warm feelings in my stomach start to cool, and I let go of his hand.
His eyebrows draw together and he immediately reaches to take my hand back, weaving our fingers together between our chests. Does he notice how my breathing gets heavier, how my breasts are practically spilling out of this lace nightgown as we face each other on the bed?
“I want you.” His eyes flick to the window. “The world, it seems, has changed. Perhaps my brothers and I are no longer needed. Perhaps it is time for softer things. For consorts and...” He makes a face like he’s tasted something sour. “Peace.”
I laugh despite myself. “Don’t look so disgusted by the idea of peace. It’s nice when things are quiet.”
He shrugs, still looking disappointed. “I was made for war. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself during peace.”
“Well, when’s the last time you were in battle?”
“It’s been well over two hundred years,” he says with this wistful note in his voice.
“What have you been doing since then?”
“My brothers and I have been having a long dispute.”