52 Birdie
BIRDIE
Death is on his knees before me.
Well, not Death. This is a wraith, an immortal creature who devours souls. The same wraith who attacked Jasper in the alley. He held Jasper down and tried to kill him. Now those same hands cling to my hips in a tender embrace.
Dáinn. That’s his name. I sense the rightness of it. It fits him. It is him. Like a key sliding perfectly into a lock, this wraith is Dáinn.
Reaching down, I stroke my fingers through his hair, brushing back the silky soft curls. His groan rumbles against my stomach as he chases my hands like the touch-starved creature he is. “How long have you been bound against your will?”
His strong hands brace at my hips as he leans away, gazing up at me. Shadows swirl in his eyes. “I don’t want to speak of it. Please, not here. Not in your arms.”
Nodding, I smooth my hands through his hair again. “I can appreciate that. And I’ll respect your wishes and never ask again . . . if you answer just this once. How long, Dáinn?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “One hundred and seventy-two years, six months, and five days.”
My heart breaks for him. “Oh, Dáinn . . .”
He stiffens, rising quickly to his feet. “I said don’t—”
“It’s not pity,” I rush to say. “I’ll not insult you by feeling sorry for you. If you’d like, I’ll feel angry with you. And I may be just a human, but I promise I will do all in my power to help you break free of the witch who keeps you bound.”
His gaze is dark as he searches my face. “And in return?”
“In return? Nothing. I’m just saying I’ll help you, Dáinn.”
“Why would you do that?”
I shrug, confused by his confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”
His brow creases as he frowns. “You make no sense to me, Birdie Rhodes.”
Now, I’m laughing. “Yeah, well, nothing on this island makes much sense to me either, so I guess I’m in the right place.” I take him in now that he’s standing—his height, the width of his shoulders, the strong muscles of his arms. “You didn’t look like this before. You know . . . in the alley?”
He glances at himself, smoothing his hands down the front of his chest. “No, I didn’t.”
“See?” I tease. “You don’t make sense either.”
He fights a smile.
“I assume it must be some kind of magic, right? Are wraiths shapeshifters?”
Now he’s grimacing. “I’m not a werewolf, Birdie. Wraiths don’t shift forms in that way.”
“And how am I supposed to know that?” I say on another laugh. “Useless human, remember?”
His gaze hardens slightly as he takes me in. “There is nothing useless about you.”
I roll my eyes, even as I wiggle my fingers at him. “What, you mean my magic feast-blocking abilities? Yeah, very useful.”
“There are no words to explain what a gift you are to me,” he counters, wholly serious. “You are fate blessed, heaven sent.”
This has my smile falling. “Wait, are you saying heaven is real?”
“Of course not,” he replies. “Heaven is a silly human notion. Though there is a hell,” he adds. “That’s the demon realm. The summers there are lovely.”
I nod, taking in the sunlight glinting off his golden hair. It casts shadows across the bold lines of his beautiful face. He may not believe in heaven, but he sure does look like an angel. “Tell me about the body, Dáinn. Why is it different?”
He brushes a hand over his chest. “It’s called a render. Think of it like a second skin. With this, I can hide my true nature from the world. It allows me to better blend in with mortals.”
“But it’s not a real body?”
“Oh, it’s very real. You felt me, Birdie. I have arms and legs. I move. I talk—”
“Do you breathe?”
“No, I have no need for air. I just move the chest and shoulders a bit to make it look like I’m breathing.” He mimes taking a deep breath and letting it out. “And I have no heart, see?” Reaching out, he takes my hand, pressing it to his chest.
I inch closer, fingers splayed, waiting to feel . . . something. But there’s nothing. My own heart does another sharp flip. “Whoa. Spooky.”
He searches my face, worry lining his mouth. “Does it offend you?”
“Why would it offend me? You can’t help it if you don’t have a heart.”
He smiles with relief, pressing his hand over mine. “I do like smelling quite a lot too. I use the nose for that. And I can fuck, if that worries you. Baz pays particular attention to his rendering of cocks. You won’t be disappointed.”
Dropping my hand away from his heartless chest, I choke back all thoughts of This is crazy. What good would it do to say it out loud? Of course, this is crazy. He’s immortal. He eats souls. Apparently, he has a magic wand for a cock. Every last bit of this is crazy.
“We met in the alley,” I say instead. “That was the first time?”
He nods. “My mistress had me haunting Jasper. For weeks I watched him, followed him, learned all his patterns. Then she pulled me away for another task. That must have been when you came to the island. Seeing you appear on that landing while Jasper was in my arms . . .” He sighs with a lovesick look on his stupidly angelic face.
Not a real face though. A render. A magical second skin.
“And then you came back, didn’t you? I felt you that next morning in Jasper’s house. In the hallway. You’ve been haunting me.”
“I was in the hallway, yes,” he admits. “I know you felt me there. You’re so perceptive, Birdie.
I was in the kitchen last night too. And in Jasper’s room.
I have come to you every night since meeting you.
Now that I’ve found you both, I have to protect you.
I just—I have to be where you are. You understand, don’t you? You feel the same for our witch.”
My mind hums as I hold up a hand. “Wait, you were in Jasper’s room last night?”
His sappy expression shutters. “I . . . possibly.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “And did Jasper know you were in there?”
He looks almost pained as he answers. “I believe so, yes.”
Well, now I’m mortified. I practically begged Jasper to hold me last night. Did the wraith see the whole thing? Did he hear me whimper? Did he watch Jasper soothe me with a touch? “Where were you exactly?”
“What?”
“It’s a small freaking room, Dáinn. I’m asking where you placed yourself in it.”
The wraith purses his pouty lips and says nothing.
I cross my arms, staring him down. “Dáinn? Did you and Jasper have a slumber party in the bed last night without me knowing?”
He winces. It’s so endearing, I can’t decide between kissing him or giving him the slap he deserves. “Wraiths don’t sleep, so technically speaking there was no slumbering—”
“Oh my god,” I shout over him. “And was that the only time you helped yourself to my bed?”
He takes a slow step back. “I—have no comment.”
My mental software feels like it’s glitching as I process all this new information. This wraith has been haunting me for the last three days. He’s been in my bed, in the kitchen, on the stairs. And Jasper knew the whole time and said nothing and—
“Oh my . . . even Pickles knew!”
The wraith is silent.
“Well? That’s what all that hissing was about, right? You know, I really don’t think he likes you—”
“Pickles is a judgmental little toad who never learned to share,” the wraith snarls. Sweeping forward, he points a finger in my face. “And if he thinks his unwelcoming attitude will succeed in pushing me away from the witch, then he has another thing coming. Jasper is mine.”
As if speaking his name is a summons, a new voice echoes through the trees.
“Birdie!”
It’s Jasper. I turn, trying to follow the call of his voice. “Jasper?”
“Birdie!” The sound carries sharply from the left.
I take off at a run. The wraith scrambles to follow after me. “Wait—what are you going to do?”
Great question. What am I going to do? Once again, Burr Island has managed to grab me by the ankle and shake me till my teeth rattle.
Magic is real. My research adviser is hunting for buried treasure.
And not just any treasure. Grimoires. Magical spell books worth their weight in gold.
My boss-slash-landlord is a witch, locked in a centuries-old blood feud with another witch.
She holds the bond on the immortal wraith who likes to watch me sleep at night.
Oh, and the antique shop owner shoots water from her hands.
And I swear to god, that cat is not a cat.
Birdie Rhodes, what are you going to do now?
“Birdie!” Jasper shouts again.
My heart leaps, even as my hands ball into fists. Stupid gorgeous witch, I’m gonna punch him! I follow the sound of his voice. “Jasper!”
Dáinn is right on my heels. “Let’s not let our anger run away with us! Cooler heads must prevail—”
“Shut it!” I snap.
I see Jasper darting towards us through the trees.
The man looks feral. His speed is inhuman as he races like a boar, smashing through bushes and leaping boulders.
I slide to a stop, Dáinn all but crashing into me from behind.
He grabs me by the shoulders and that has Jasper seeing red.
The witch lunges. Wrapping me in his arms, he pulls me away from the wraith’s grip.
The squeeze of his embrace all but knocks the wind out of me. “Oof—”
“Thank the goddess,” he groans. His hands grip tight to my back in a bone-bruising hug. Then he’s smoothing my hair away from my face and kissing my brow, my cheek, my lips. “You’re all right? He didn’t hurt you?”
“M’fine.”
Part of me wants to just let Jasper hold me.
No, I want more than that. I want to rip off his clothes and fuck him right here in the woods like we’re a pair of wild animals.
I was just hunted and chased by a wraith.
He tried to eat my soul, but I stopped him.
I dropped Death to his knees. Now I feel like an overcharged electrical circuit.
This kind of power surge needs an outlet before it explodes.
“Jasper—wait—” But I kiss him back, biting his bottom lip as I fight this ache to climb him like a tree.