Page 2

“You know, staring at them isn’t going to make them go away.”

I jolt at the sound of Des’s silky voice.

He leans against the wall in a shadowy corner of his dark bedroom, his expression irreverent as usual. His white-blond hair frames his face, and even now, even when I’m bashful and exposed and oddly ashamed of my own skin, my fingers ache to thread themselves through that soft hair of his and pull him close.

He wears nothing but low-slung pants, his muscular torso and sleeve of tattoos on display. My heart quickens at the sight. The two of us stare at each other for a beat. He doesn’t come any closer, though I swear he wants to. I can all but see it in his silver eyes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say quietly.

“I don’t mind being woken,” he says, his eyes glittering. He doesn’t move from his spot.

“How long have you been there?” I ask.

He crosses his arms over his bare torso, cutting off my view of his pecs. “Better question: How long haveyoubeenthere?”

So typical for Des to answer a question with a question.

I turn back to the mirror. “I can’t sleep.”

I really can’t. It’s not the bed, and it’s definitely not the man who warms it. Every time I try to flip onto my stomach or my back, I inevitably roll over a wing and wake myself up.

There’s also the little matter of the sun never rising in this place. The Kingdom of Night is perpetually cast in darkness, as it draws the night across the sky. There will never be a time when the sun glances into this room, so I never know when exactly to wake up.

Des disappears from his spot against the wall. A split second later, he appears at my back.

His lips brush the shell of my ear. “There are better ways to spend long sleepless evenings,” Des says softly, one of his hands trailing down my arm.

My siren stirs at his words, my skin taking on the faintest glow.

His lips graze the side of my neck, and even that lightest of touches has my breath hitching.

But then I catch sight of my reflection and see the wings. The glow leaves my skin in an instant.

Des notices the moment my interest wanes, moving away from me like he was never there. And Ihatethat. I feel the distance between us. But I don’t want him to give me space—I want him to pull me closer, kiss me deeper, make me extinguish this new insecurity I have.

“These wings…”

Des comes around to my front. “What about them?” he asks, blocking my view of the mirror.

I lift my chin. “They’d get in the way.”

He raises an eyebrow. “In the way of what?”

As if he’s unaware of exactly what we’re dancing around.

“Of playing chess,” I say sarcastically. “Of…intimacy.”

Des stares at me for several seconds then his mouth slowly curls into a smile. It’s a smile full of tricks and mischievous things.

He steps in close, only a hairbreadth between our faces. “Cherub, Iassureyou, your wings will not be an issue.” His gaze dips to my lips. “But perhaps your mind would be better eased with a demonstration?”

At his suggestion, light flares beneath my skin, my siren immediately ready to go. Whatever my insecurities are, she doesn’t share them.

I look over my shoulder at my wings, and my worries come roaring back. “Aren’t they a major turnoff?”

The moment the words leave my lips, I wish I could catch them and shove them back down my throat.

The only thing I hate worse than feeling like a victim is airing my insecurities. Normally I don all my emotional armor to hide them—sometimes so deep, I forget they’re there—but after my ordeal with Karnon, that armor is lying scattered somewhere around my feet, and I haven’t yet had the time or the will to refashion a new set for myself. I’m horribly raw and painfully vulnerable.