Chapter 7 #3
She leveled a finger at him. “You needed some meddling, or you would have continued to waste away in Despair.”
With her fluttering wings shedding flecks of star dust that disappeared before they reached the floor, Starling zipped past Nyte to peer around the corner at Ember. He hurried after her, grabbed her by her tiny foot, and dragged her back.
“Hey!” She tugged her foot away and put her four hands on her hips with a glare.
“Oh no, no, no. You’ve no right to be cross with me, Starling. I am cross with you. You’ve cursed me to a month amongst mortals.”
“And how much time have you spent amongst mortals in the past? You sorely need to remove the stick from your posterior and see this as a gift. A disruption of your stagnant routine.” She tilted her head. “Was today truly so terrible?”
Nyte pressed his lips together, clenching his jaw, because he knew the honest answer to that question, and it didn’t require any thought.
No, the day hadn’t been terrible. Quite the opposite in fact.
But he sure as hell wasn’t about to admit that out loud, especially not to Starling. He’d never hear the end of it.
Without thinking, he leaned aside, peeking around the corner into the kitchen. Ember stood at the stove with her back toward him, fussing over whatever was on the burners. His eyes raked over her body of their own accord, from that long, silvery hair all the way down to her feet.
Void consume him, but she never failed to be a sight to behold.
His gaze locked on the curve of her ass.
That is most definitely a sight to behold.
“You are staring,” Starling whispered in his ear. “And how could you not? I would take a bite of that fruit.”
A growl rose from Nyte’s chest, ripping up his throat and forcing its way through his bared fangs. “Mine.”
His eyes widened when he realized what he’d said.
Ember turned to look his way. “Nyte?”
He jerked back, ducking out of her view and flattening himself against the wall. Licks of fire crackled out from his heart, pulsing through his chest and pooling in his stomach like scalding magma.
Starling lazily floated in the air nearby, one hand over her mouth and the rest over her stomach, her shoulders shaking as she silently laughed at him.
“Is everything okay?” Ember called.
He mouthed curses at the still laughing sprite before calling, “Yes, witch. No need to concern yourself.”
“Okay…”
When he heard the sound of utensils against the metal pan, relief flooded him, nearly making him sag against the wall.
“Well, well, well,” Starling said with a self-satisfied grin. “You do want our witchling.”
Glaring at her, he stalked away from the doorway, ensuring he would be out of Ember’s earshot, before turning to face the sprite. “Who or what I desire is of no consequence, you interloping miscreant.”
The sprite’s grin widened. “That was not a denial…”
He could only sharpen his glare.
Starling’s smile fell, and the glee faded from her eyes. Solemnity had ever been rare for her, and it was always jarring when she fell into it, even briefly. “She wished for you, Nyte. You did not hear the longing in her voice, the loneliness.”
“She didn’t wish for me, Starling. She wished for love.”
Starling shook her head. “Not just love.” She held out her upper right hand, and a glittering, starlike orb formed above it.
A voice echoed softly from the orb. Ember’s voice. “Starlight, starbright, first star I see tonight. I… I wish for love. A deep, abiding love. A love that’s unwavering, unconditional, that’s never judgmental. A love that feels…fated. Please, send me someone who I can forever trust with my heart.”
The orb disappeared, and Starling lowered her hand. “She wished for everything you have longed for. Everything that should have been yours, but was cruelly ripped away from you by that treacherous succubitch.”
Emotions roiled in Nyte’s chest, old, prickly emotions that had never fully gone to rest. Part of him feared they never would. He shook his head. “The only thing she ripped away was the pretense that any of it was real. That anything I felt was real.”
Though Starling was so small, the frown that tugged down her lips was huge. However frustrated he was with her, seeing that expression on her face clawed at Nyte’s heart.
She drew her upper hands in, placing them over her chest. “What you felt, what you feel, is real, Nyte. It ever has been.”
Oh, he knew some of it was genuine. The pain. The bitterness, the anger. Those emotions lived inside him, alive and well even after so long. But for the first time in centuries, they were overshadowed by something else, by something new. By his feelings for Ember.
The only question was what those feelings were.
He released a slow, unsteady breath. These mood swings were like a pendulum, barreling back and forth without regard for anything else, ceaseless and exhausting.
Starling flitted closer and reached out, touching his cheeks. “You are my oldest and dearest friend, Nyte, and I want only what is best for you. I cannot bear to see you suffer in that pit any longer.”
“My pain need not be yours, Starling.”
“No, but it is all the same. Afford me this favor… Think upon what I have said. Think upon Ember’s wish. One cycle of the moon is so small a time for you to give when you have eternity.”
The corners of his lips curled up. “I will consider thinking upon your words.”
“Good.” She pinched his cheeks. “You are so adorable when you smile. Let her see it, and she will certainly fall in love!”
“Have I ever confessed that I sometimes loathe your company?”
She smirked, eyes sparkling. “Many times. But I know they were lies.”
He shook his head and waved her away. “Off with you, then. I’ve mortal matters to attend.”
Starling giggled and disappeared.
Despite what she’d done and the mess she’d left him trapped in, he adored the sprite.
She really is like a sister to me. Just as the witch said.
“Nyte?” Ember called.
He shook his wings, but the gesture could not shed the turmoil within him.
Composed. Confident. In control. I am a nocturnus of old, a being possessing power beyond her fathoming.
Standing straight with his shoulders squared, he walked back to the kitchen entrance.
Ember wasn’t in sight. He continued through the kitchen, following the direction her voice had come from to find her in a connected dining room.
She stood beside a round table upon which two plates of food had been set, each paired with a glass of water.
“What is this?” he asked as he approached her.
She gestured to one of the plates. “I made spaghetti Bolognese.”
“Are those words intended to mean anything to me?”
“It’s food. You eat it.”
Nyte stopped behind the chair near the plate she’d indicated, staring down at the food. Long noodles covered in red sauce with meat and vegetables mixed in. “I don’t eat human slop.”
“Wow. Okay. That’s not a very nice thing to say.”
His brow furrowed, and he looked at Ember. She was glaring at him with a gleam of hurt in her eyes.
“I’ve told you, witch, that I feed on fear.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know that was all you ate.” She picked up the plate and turned toward the kitchen. “That’s fine. If you don’t want this slop, you don’t have to eat it.”
This brief stay in the world of mortals had introduced him to many things he did not understand, but this exchange was perhaps the most perplexing—and by far the most distressing.
Seeing her upset did something to Nyte. It felt like a taloned hand had reached into his chest, grasped everything within it, and twisted it all into knots.
She cooked this food. She put time, effort, and thought into it, and she wanted to share it with me.
And he’d insulted it. Had insulted her.
Nyte darted in front of Ember before she could reach the kitchen. Eyes flaring, she halted with a gasp.
He took the plate from her. “No. You made this for me, so it is mine.”
Mine.
There was that word again. It echoed through him as their eyes met, thrumming into every part of his being.
He grasped her wrist with his free hand and led her back to the table, struggling to keep from focusing on the warmth and softness of her skin. Returning his plate to its place, he dragged out the chair from her spot and pointed to it. “Sit.”
She blinked at him with wide eyes and sat.
“Good witch,” Nyte said huskily, and his chest heated when her cheeks pinkened and her lips parted with a sharp inhalation.
Something about her reaction, her obedience, was…thrilling to him. But he could not explore that feeling, could not allow himself to fall into it.
He took his seat next to her and stared down at the food piled upon his plate.
His tail twitched behind him through the opening of the chair.
A fork lay beside the plate, set atop a paper napkin.
He’d seen humans eat countless times, had seen them use their hands and all manner of utensils, but that didn’t diminish the strangeness of sitting at a table himself with steaming food in front of him.
Food that had been prepared for him.
Taking the fork in his fist, he poked the tines into the mound of noodles and scooped a wad of them up. They dangled from the utensil, dripping sauce onto the plate. He lifted it higher, frowning at the wiggly food.
So undignified.
Nyte bent his head down and brought the spaghetti Bolognese to his mouth.
Noodles brushed his lips, painting them with sauce, so he opened them wider and extended his tongue, seeking to hook the noodles and draw them into his mouth.
More sauce splattered his chin before he closed his mouth around the bite.
A soft laugh escaped from Ember.
Sliding the fork free, he shot her a glare.
She picked up a napkin, and with gentle strokes, wiped the sauce from his face. “I guess you’ve never eaten human food before, have you?”
He shook his head distractedly as he regarded her. He should’ve felt patronized by what she’d just done, should’ve been insulted by the implication that he could not clean himself, but he felt only…cared for.
Yet another disarming feeling in this mortal’s presence.
But he was afforded no time to dwell upon that, because the flavor struck him all at once. It was intense and complex, comprised of so many little parts, and yet each piece complemented the others to create a harmonious whole.
Tentatively, he chewed. The feel of the food in his mouth, being crushed by his teeth, was undeniably odd. But the experience wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, the texture of the food somehow enhanced the taste. An appreciative hum rumbled from him.
Ember grinned. “You like it?”
With a nod, he swallowed the mouthful, jabbed his fork into the pile, and shoveled more into his mouth. He barely noticed the sauce splattering his skin this time. It didn’t matter.
Like Starling had said, he had eternity. Cleanup could come later.
Ember chuckled and picked up her fork. “Here. Like this.”
She stuck the fork into the pile of pasta and twirled it, wrapping the noodles around the tines. When she lifted it, most of the spaghetti was wound in a bundle, with only a couple short ends dangling. Far neater than his attempts.
Ember brought the fork to her mouth, and Nyte watched her lips as they parted, as she slipped the food past them, as they closed around the utensil before she pulled it free.
That heat inside him intensified, burning like the sun at the center of his chest. Those lips looked so soft, so pliable, so tender. He had to fight to keep from envisioning them wrapping around something else. Had to fight to keep from wondering what they would feel like against his skin.
Her pink tongue slipped out to lick a spot of sauce away from the corner of her mouth.
He forced his eyes away and focused on his food, mimicking her technique to scoop up another forkful of pasta. It was the only way to keep his thoughts from straying down another path.
But he could not hide from the understanding that such flimsy distractions would not long hold his growing desires at bay.