36. Summer
Chapter Thirty-Six
Summer
I manage to gather the books I’d dropped before bolting out of the library.
I run all the way home, trying to center myself, but I can still feel his body against mine.
That heat I felt when he pressed his erection against me was not real because he has no temperature while in his shadow form.
It was nothing more than a phantom touch, but if that is true, then why is my stomach still clenching with need?
My pulse is racing when I arrive back at the house, and I know it’s not only due to the race across campus.
I close my eyes and lean back against the closed door, trying to catch my breath, but they fly open when I feel someone looking at me.
Alice stands in the doorway of the kitchen, blinking owlishly at me.
“Hey?.?.?.” she says, watching me warily. I know she’s trying to decide if I was being chased.
“I was at the library. I got books,” I say, holding out the stack of books and fixing a bright smile on my face, trying to reassure her, though my breathlessness isn’t supporting the ruse.
There is no way I am ready to talk about what happened in the library, and I fix a smile on my face before she continues.
“Uh-huh,” she says, pursing her lips and eyeing me carefully. “Rafe’s awake,” she says, and the words are barely out of her mouth before I’m barreling up the stairs.
I’m still panting when I reach Rafe’s room, but nothing else matters when my eyes lock with his.
They’re darker than they were when he was an angel, but not completely black like when he woke up earlier.
The salves that Alice has been making are working wonders on his burns, and his skin is starting to look new and pink.
He shifts, trying to sit up. His entire body locks up, and he groans loudly, obviously still in a lot of pain.
I drop the books and rush to help him. “Careful. Easy,” I say, gently helping him into a more upright position, but I can tell that no position is especially comfortable.
“Fuck,” Rafe hisses, his jaw clenched from the agony of putting pressure on his back and the still-raw wounds.
“Sum. Hey,” he grates out. His voice is hoarse, and I suspect both his throat and lungs have sustained burns as well.
I cup his face, tears sliding down my cheeks because no matter how rough, the sound of his voice means that he’s alive and safe.
His dark eyes soften a little, and he leans into my hand. “Hey, it’s okay.”
Aware of his still-healing burns, I press my forehead to his, unable to contain a hiccupped sob.
“I’m good. I promise,” he says, but I can hear the pain in his voice.
I don’t move. I just stay in that moment with him, my heart aching in relief that he’s all right, that he’s alive and with me.
“You see him?” Rafe whispers, and I open my eyes, meeting his intense black stare.
“I did,” I say, pulling back.
“Good,” Rafe says, his eyes sparkling with tears and his voice choked with emotion.
“I don’t know how to begin to?—”
“Shut up,” he says, though there is no heat in it. “You know I never fit in as an angel.”
I study his face, and I can see the smallest glimmer of relief. “Thank you, Rafe, for giving us time.”
“You needed it.” Rafe yawns. Being awake for so long while he’s still healing is obviously taking its toll on him. “Was Uncle Lu here?”
I tense and frown, not liking the nickname and how his voice softened a little. “Don’t you worry about that.”
Rafe yawns again. “So tired?.?.?.” His eyes drift closed. “He’s not?.?.?. that bad. It’s just an act?.?.?.” He slumps forward, falling asleep against my shoulder.
Not that bad? He’s the devil, for fuck’s sake. He tried to take Rafe .
Gently, I ease him back onto the bed and press a kiss to his head. He starts to snore softly, and it reminds me so much of Connor, how he looked when he was asleep. Rafe makes the same small noises that Connor used to. I close my eyes, taking a moment to allow the memories to both cut and soothe.
Taking a deep breath, I pull myself from the past and redo his runes before going downstairs to see Alice. She’s still in the kitchen and is poking a very pink slab of meat with a fork.
“Hmm,” she says as she ponders it like it’s one of the greatest mysteries of the universe.
“What’s up?”
She glances at me and then back at the meat, poking it again. “I don’t know how to make it nicer.” She purses her lips. “It’s weird to just give him raw steak.”
“He’s gone back to sleep anyway,” I say, leaning against the counter.
Warmth floods my heart. My violent, chaotic best friend may be the best of us. After Connor died, Alice learned how to cook, trying to entice me to eat. Now, she’s obviously looked up demon diets and is attempting to source food that will be palatable to Rafe as he transitions.
“How is he?” she asks, putting the fork down and wiping her hands on a towel.
“He’s still hurting, but he’s going to be fine.”
“And you? Are you going to be fine?”
I look at her, letting her see my resolve. “We all are. I’ll make sure of it.”
Alice pulls me into a hug. “ We are going to make sure of it,” she says, once again easing the burden.
My arms tighten around her, holding her close. “I don’t care who I need to destroy to ensure it,” I say, my voice hard.
Alice pulls back, obviously hearing the edge in my tone. “None of that self-sacrificing shit, you hear me?”
I sigh. “My head is spinning from the last twenty-four hours.”
“What else is going on?” she asks.
“Other than the berserker I’m fucking, my dead fiancé, a Fallen angel, and a stalker?” Alice gives me a soft smile, her eyes filled with understanding. “It’s just been a tough couple of days. Tough few months, actually.”
Alice exhales, her shoulders lowering beneath her own burdens. “It has.” I look away, and she squeezes me. “Hey. I know I’m not good at this?—”
“You are perfect. You’ve been perfect,” I interrupt.
“So are you,” she says and steps back.
I shake my head. “I’ve been a mess. Still am a mess.”
“And?” Alice asks, sounding vaguely affronted. “What’s wrong with being a mess? Normal is an illusion we all pretend is attainable. What’s normal to us is chaos to the fly,” she says, sounding wiser than she ever has.
“Is that a?.?.?. proverb?” I ask, slightly taken aback.
She shrugs. “But if you ask me, I’d rather be a spider. A venomous one. Gigantic. Man-eating. Like the ones they have in Aztlan.” Alice hisses and brings her hands to her mouth, hooking her fingers to make it look like her fangs are elongated.
I can’t help but laugh. My best friend in the world runs deeper than she likes to let on, and she always knows exactly what I need to hear.
She holds out her pinky to me. “Man-eating spiders, never flies.”
I link my pinky to hers and shake our hands.
Alice hisses again, and I laugh. “Okay, I’m going up to sit with Rafe.”
Alice stabs the slab of meat, places it on a plate, and hands it to me. “Take this to Rafe. He can eat it when he wakes up. I have some tartare recipes to work on.”
“How domestic of you,” I tease, picking up the plate. Alice throws a towel at me, and I chuckle as I go back upstairs.
Rafe is still asleep, but he winces as I come through the door.
I put the plate down and lean over him, checking his runes and trying to figure out where he is hurting.
He shifts restlessly again, and I brush his hair back to soothe him, pausing when I feel the small nubs on the top of his head.
His body tenses, and he flinches when my fingers come into contact with them.
I nick his thumb and use his blood to draw another rune on his forehead.
It makes him look demonic or like some sort of cult leader, but it seems to ease his discomfort.
Once I am sure he is sleeping deeply, I move to the armchair in the corner of the room and curl up in it with Demonology for Beginners.
Every so often I get up to stretch and check on Rafe, monitoring his runes and wiping sweat from his brow.
He makes soft noises as he sleeps, sometimes snores, sometimes growls, but when he yelps in pain, I put my book aside and hurry to his side.
I don’t find anything until I check his hands and notice blood oozing from his palm.
His claws have grown and sharpened, slicing deep furrows into his skin .
“Ow,” Rafe groans as I use the antiseptic to clean the cuts. I glance at him to find that his eyes are barely open.
“Hi. I’m sorry. I know it stings, but I need to keep it clean.”
“They hurt,” he says, holding up his other hand. I am actually really happy that he can feel the pain. That hand had been nearly severed in his fall but is now mostly healed, the nerves attached and working once more.
“It’s your claws.”
“Stupid claws,” Rafe growls.
“It’s just new, Rafey.”
“Cut them off.”
“Rafe?.?.?.” I start to protest, but he’s already drifted back into unconsciousness.
I smear some of the paste Alice made this morning on his palms. Rolling two pairs of socks, I tuck a set into each of his hands to keep his claws from digging into his flesh, before returning to my armchair and picking up my book.