Chapter Ten
Rex
15 years ago
I t's the last school day before winter break. Since all the group projects were dragging ass, Mr. Slaytic gave the whole class an extension so we could turn in our final product today. Birdie and I could’ve been done a week ago, but I’ve been making the final touches to our firefly habitat stretch on purpose. The more we have to do, the more time she spends with me after school trying to get it perfect.
It’s been the best week of my life, and I don't want to miss a second of it.
But time’s almost up.
We’re out in a field behind the gym. She insisted on testing out the habitat since we have another hour before Mr. Slaytic locks up. She wanted to get video evidence it works with real Gosta fireflies to support our final report. It’s almost sunset, and I know I’m gonna be in deep shit with my parents, but this is more than worth it.
“Did you see that?” Birdie looks up at me, eyes aglow.
She’s worth it.
“We caught one, huh?” I play dumb because I know what's coming.
She elbows me in the stomach, and I'm a freak, because I love it. I tease her every day, hoping for a little poke or shove. It's a game. “We’re not catching them, Rex. You know this! We’re enticing them, letting them know they have a safe place to visit during their nightly migration from the volcano down here to eat. Lots of yummy plants, little guys!” She raises the small structure that looks like a mix between a birdhouse and a beehive up in the air. A lone red firefly flits into one of the entrances. “Ah! Are you getting this?”
Right. Fuck. I’m on camera duty. I take a video of her holding it up, smiling back at me every time a new little bugger circles around her. I keep accidentally focusing just on her and kind of missing the firefly habitat, but I think Mr. Slaytic will get the idea.
A cool mist starts to fall from the sky. I click off my phone with a curse and tear off my jacket, raising it overhead to cover Birdie and our project. The weatherproof paint supposedly needs forty-eight hours to fully dry and I’m not about to lose her A+ over a technicality.
“Why the fuck is it raining?” It's cold as balls. It should be snowing.
“The volcano let off some steam earlier. It is technically snowing but because of the warmer air still in the atmosphere, we get rain instead of snow.” She’s grinning ear to ear as more fireflies join us in my makeshift leather jacket tent, probably trying to shelter from the rain like us. “We also get new Gosta Lampyridae friends.”
After my time on this project, I know now that’s the Latin name for these rainbowy fireflies she's obsessed with.
"Such a nerd." My elbow knocks in, touching her shoulder.
Her eyes flit to me finally. “Why do you call me that?”
“Nerd?” I ask, and she gets that sharp look about her that lights me up. “You’re the smartest person I know, and that’s saying a lot because I have some brainiac brothers.”
“Oh.” She looks down then back up. “Smarter than your girlfriend?”
“Girlfriend?” I laugh. “Uhh, no. Don’t have one of those.”
“Oh.” This time, her tone is higher pitched as she looks away.
Wanna be mine? I should’ve said that, but the moment passed too quick and she seems kind of off today. I flick my tongue out to taste the air, having become more familiar with her subtle emotional scents. She’s happy—about the project, I’m sure—but nervous too.
Maybe I’m making her uncomfortable because we’re so close, hiding from the rain.
“This project will get you an A, no question,” I say, trying to put her more at ease. “None of these other blockheads put nearly as much thought into the assignment as you did.”
“And you! You built it.” Her brown eyes flash red, green, purple, and yellow reflecting the new fireflies surrounding us. She watches them and sighs. “This is so cool, Rex. Maybe the coolest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
“We make a good team,” I say. When she looks at me again, it feels like we’re getting closer and closer, but maybe it’s just my imagination or the fact we’re trapped under a jacket trying to stay dry.
“We do.” Her eyes cross when a pink firefly lands on her nose. After it flits away, she refocuses on me. “I still can’t believe we made this. It’s amazing.”
You’re amazing , I want to say but I’m a fucking dumbass and all I do is stare at her. It’d probably come out gross and pathetic anyway.
“Rex. Reeeex,” a distance voice carries from behind Birdie, but thank fuck they haven’t seen me yet. My parents are here. I’ve successfully dodged them all day but time is well and truly running out now, right when I’m finally getting somewhere with Birdie after weeks of flirting she always takes as fighting.
I quickly sidestep, shepherding her and our project behind a nearby tree, trying to hide just a little longer.
“Listen, Birdie Lynn.”
She looks up, alarmed by the sudden movement and how much closer it brings us. She smells so nice, and I get lost in her eyes again, completely forgetting what I'd planned to fucking say. How do I tell her that last night I overheard my parents saying they’d save money by pulling me and my brothers out of Infernus Academy. While normally, that’d be music to my ears, after a semester tugging Birdie’s hair in class and actually getting to fucking talk to her, I kind of don’t want to go. But the closer I eavesdropped on their conversation, the more things went from bad to worse.
“I won’t be here next semester,” I say.
“You’re . . .” She swallows and licks her lips. So pretty and kissable. What would it be like? She'd probably hate it. “You’re transferring to the public high school?”
Ugh. I wish that was it. Could there be worse timing in life? I’m the unluckiest guy in the world.
“My family is moving away.” I look sideways at my parents before pulling the jacket over on that side more to fully hide us, just for another fucking minute. “It's like, a thousand miles away or some shit.”
“Oh.”
Is it my imagination or does she look a little sad about it?
Fuck it. Let’s just go full corny. I’ve been working myself up to saying something nice. Just do it, dumbass .
“I just, I mean . . .” Dark Mother Below, this romantic shit is hard. “I wanted you to know that doing this cool-ass project with you and, well, even meeting you, when you aren’t yelling at me at least or even sometimes then, errr, it's been really ni—”
Birdie’s lips meet mine and I nearly trip backward in shock. She’s up on her tippy toes, her fingers grasping the collar of my uniform sweater with one hand. The feel of her nails scraping my chest lights something dangerous inside me.
She’s kissing me! Birdie is kissing me!
Fuck yeah! I groan at how soft her lips are. They taste like minty goodness. Oh wow, her mouth is wet . Am I doing this right? Her whole body is plastered to mine and it feels super warm, in the best possible way.
Fuck, the habitat is wobbling at her side, so I drop an arm to help her hold it. Our fingers interlace and that does things below the belt I’m a little nervous she'll notice.
Whoa, fuck. Is that her tongue? This is completely insan—
I’m wrenched away by the horns. Only one demoness has the strength of a hundred fucking bulls when it comes to yanking me around.
“Fuck’s sake, Mom!
“Don’t you curse at me, you tricksy little emberling. Making out with a girl when your father and I have been searching high and low for you for hours.”
She rambles on as I stumble backward, but I completely tune her out, twisting to watch Birdie. This is it. The last look.
My leather jacket is tented over her head and she’s clutching the firefly habitat in one arm with the fingers of the other tracing a line back and forth over her lips.
When she smiles and does a small wave, I grin like the demon that made the first deal.
Life may be turning to shit fast, and me the unluckiest bastard to ever live, but that moment? That was perfect.
Present Day
I kick off my shoes in the mudroom and drop my duffel bag beside them. Feels weird, like I’m trespassing, seeing as I’ve never been inside Birdie’s house before. But I just need to make sure she’s okay.
That horse-chase-near-death-experience was some crazy shit and she was not in a great frame of mind when she stormed out of the barn.
I find her hunched over the sink with the tap on full blast, splashing her face. Then, she twists her mouth up and starts guzzling water from the spout full tilt. I can’t help it; she’s such a cute fucking mess it makes me laugh.
In a flash, she sees me and straightens like a deer in the headlights. A wreck, is my first thought. Black makeup streaks down her cheeks. Her hair’s a disaster with that lacy veil hanging on by a thread.
And she’s also just as beautiful as the first day I caught sight of her in the school hallway. The afternoon she kissed me in that field. The night we reconnected over a plate of cheese.
“What happened to your mustache?” she asks, before snatching a towel off the counter to dab her face and neck. My gaze follows the motion like a caress.
“Oh, that.” I chuckle, my fingers making the motion to pet the facial hair that's no longer there anymore. Weird question, but okay. “Funny story actually.” I take a step inside her colorful kitchen full of orange, blue, and yellow tilework. “I’m happy to tell you all about it if you tell me what happened back in town that set you off.”
I know what her moms said, but I need to hear it from her. Still doesn't make any fucking sense.
Her gaze narrows and she casually picks up a serrated bread knife from the counter.
“What’s it to you?” She points it at me, then turning it on herself, slips it along the inside of her dress on the side.
Alarm bells scream in my head as I close the distance and wrench it out of her hand, letting it clatter further down the counter. “What’s it to me? My fucking friend almost got herself killed on some suicide ride into a lava pit and now she’s brandishing a knife at herself.”
She barks out an angry laugh. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself! Then or now. He left me! Jilted at the altar, if you must know. There! That's what happened. No word, no warning. Up and left me in the middle of this damn construction project that was his idea, that I can barely afford and don’t have the energy to oversee. Supplies are clogging up my barn and with the holiday season coming, the Christmas tree farm is about to go into high gear.” The rant stops as she slumps, then continues, defeated, “He left me. Everyone was waiting for nothing. Nothing except to witness my humiliation. I just had to get out of there.”
He really did it then. That slimy fuckface left her . I’m gonna throw a rock through his window.
Birdie lunges for the knife again. On instinct, I twist her back to my front and pin her arms down with one of mine.
“Let me go!” She thrashes for a moment before glaring up at me. “And for the record, we aren’t friends.”
My grip tightens for a moment, wanting to fight her but doing my damnedest because I’m trying real hard to be the good guy today. Get her home safe and make sure she’s okay. She’s a heartbroken mess, and it’d be a dick move to argue with her right now.
“Please.” She slumps, the fight leaving her. “I need to get out of this dress. I can’t breathe and it’s making me itch. That’s what the knife is for. These ties are double knotted and I can’t even begin to know how the clasps at the back work. I just want it off.” Every inhale makes her chest swell against the lacy edge, but it also makes me notice how, despite the strapless top making her petite tits looks fucking incredible, her skin does seem irritated.
“My knife is better.” I let her go and pull the Damascus steel with rosewood handle out of my pocket. Pressing on a hidden button, the blade snicks open.
When I hand it over, her arms bend back but her hand starts shaking when she tries to slide it under the crisscrossing ribbon.
“That’s sharp as fuck,” I say, imagining her cutting herself.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” Her lips pinch as we make eye contact. “A little help . . . friend?”
I take the knife back. “Turn around.”
Despite the long ride across open country, her hair still smells amazing. Of course it does. I sweep it over one shoulder and try not to get too excited by how soft it, or her skin, feels. I slide the back of my hand under the fabric so the blade has enough room to safely work. I have to focus, because even that small contact of my knuckles grazing her shoulderblades feels fucking good. Entirely forbidden.
Goosebumps prickle across her skin. She’s probably repulsed. Her chest and shoulders rise and fall like she’s sprinting for her life. Damn, this dress really must be a death trap.
The blade cuts through the ribbons like butter. I get a better look at the fabric underneath held together by an elaborate mass of metal clasps I can’t make any sense of.
“You sure you don’t mind this thing getting cut up?” Ribbons are one thing but this will ruin it.
“Positive.” Birdie answers immediately. “With the wedding on short notice, this dress wasn't even one I really wanted, just the best option I could find.”
Best option. That’s what she called that twatwaffle turd the first time I asked if she really wanted to get married. I take my time cutting through the fabric, going slow enough to avoid the delicate bra or whatever she’s got on underneath.
“I didn't really love it. Not like you're supposed to,” she adds, almost absentmindedly. And even though I know she’s talking about the dress, I imagine that what she’s really saying is that she never loved that dirtbag she almost married. That he was the best option and she’s recognizing her mistake, that maybe she’s not heartbroken, just embarrassed and freaked out.
But that’s a dangerous line of thinking for a demon like me watching a scantily clad Birdie step out of the wreckage of her wedding dress. She raises her arms to make quick work of the veil. The tattered white mesh lands on the trash heap of her dress.
“Happy now?” she asks, turning with fists at her hips.
Happy? Uhh, yeah. The visual comes to me in slow motion, one of those sights you never forget. From her hips down, she’s wearing a form-fitting, shiny little skirt, but it’s her chest that makes me freeze. A tight little bra-thing pushes up her pointy dark nipples like they’re framing a work of art. It’s completely see-through.
My mouth salivates at the sweet treats on display.
“I bet you’re just wriggling with glee.” She steps forward and pokes my chest. “You were always saying shit about the wedding.”
No defense there. And I’m definitely pleased but not quite for the reason she’s thinking. I shrug and try to keep my eyes up.
“You never liked him, did you?” she asks, accusation in her tone.
Him? Oh. Fuck. That guy. Why are we thinking about him right now? Waste of limited brain cells. I play dumb. “Who? Ryall?
The anger leaves her in a burst of surprised laughter. She shakes her head, making her already wild hair look even bigger, like a cloud of curly, soft perfection.
“Ass,” she mutters with the hint of a smile.
“Yeah, no,” I say. “I really fucking didn’t.” He had you , I think but don’t say. No better reason to hate anyone.
“I thought so. Had a feeling.” Her gaze trails over me. She did? Does she know why though? Probably not. I’m just the jerk who opens his mouth and annoys the shit out of her. Why stop now?
“Asshole vibes.”
“Takes one to know one?” She smirks.
“Fair.” My eyebrows bounce. I have my moments. And if she’s joking around, I’m happy.
“I bet you’ve never jilted someone on their wedding day, though.”
“Innocent as a lamb.” I raise my hands and pinch two fingers together with a teasing voice. “I’m only a little bit of an asshole. Nothing like that guy.”
“Fuck him,” Birdie spits.
“Yeah, fuck him,” I egg her on.
“Fuck you, Randy!” she cries out, louder this time.
“Fuck. Youuuuuu,” I crow at the ceiling, a big breath between each word.
She’s grinning now as she balls up her fists and lets out a full-throated shout like we’re playing the who-can-say-cock-loudest game.
“FUCK! YOU!”
Oof. Something about seeing the tendons in her throat flex and her face go red gives me a half chub. Maybe I’m a sicko, but I don’t think so.
She taps into something for me that I’ve never felt with anyone else.
As far as demons go, I’m a shit one. Never been good at all the clever manipulations we’re taught from an early age. But what other demons describe as that gut instinct they feel to make a deal—the sensation of bliss in that tantalizing possibility—I swear I feel it with Birdie.
But it’s not about a deal. It’s more primal. It’s fire. Hers. The one she’s hiding no one else can even sense. But I can. And the desire to see the flames lick up to the sky, to coax them into a bonfire that everyone can finally see is an impulse too heady to ignore. So I never do. I stoke it. Every chance I get.
“Feels good, huh?” I ask after she shouts one last time, her voice cracking at the end.
She nods.
We’re both breathing hard now.
After the crescendo of shouting, a silence stretches, charged with tension and, unless my senses are mistaken, the faint honeyed taste of her arousal. I lick the air and my bottom lip to be sure. She watches the movement. My heart beats like the drums of the underworld, like change is imminent.
It’s right now.
“Fuck him,” she whispers. Her stare turns dark as she steps closer until we’re nearly flush, chest to chest. Just a scrap of a human woman, looking so fierce and fuckable, I want to fall to my knees.
It’s usually stupid to say what I’m really thinking, but I’m just high enough from her energy and leftover adrenaline and the big dangling what-if in my mind ever since I first saw her jump out of that window in her wedding dress.
I say the stupid thing.
"Fuck me instead."
My hands stay glued to my side, just letting the words hang between us. It takes a couple seconds for her face to change. Her breath hitches.
Do it. I stay still, like a predator with eyes locked on its next meal.
Fuck me.
“I mean . . .” She exhales, then even quieter, “Yeah. Why shouldn’t I?”
My lips tip up in a smirk while a rational part of my brain tries to sound the alarm. This is wrong. So fucking wrong to take advantage of her in a vulnerable state. It’s not what a good dude would do.
A nice guy would be gentle and caring, self-sacrificing to a fault. Resist the heat of the moment.
A nice guy would give her space.
But from that first day in class, strong-arming to get the seat behind her then doing any damn thing to get her attention, I know myself better than to believe I’m capable of any of that hero bullshit.
That's just not me.
When it comes to Birdie, I've never been the nice guy.
I take what I can get. Every glare. Every hot exchange. Every stolen moment.
My last hesitation dies when her fingers tuck around my belt buckle.
According to her, we aren’t friends.
It's about time I leaned into it.