Charlotte held her breath as he curled his fingers around her ankle. The shadows licked up and around his hand before melting into his skin and back out again. They were a part of him, clearly, but also not. An extension of him, but independent, much like her wings were.
His palm and fingers were callused but warm; the feeling of his magic — dark, wild, like a force of nature barely restrained — made her breaths shorten. She got the peculiar sense that Dom was bigger than his physical form let on. He was packed tightly, all compressed darkness and wild, animal hunger leashed; his power wound into a coil ready to spring at any moment.
In that moment, she understood three things: First, that Domhnall was far, far more dangerous than she initially assessed. Second, that he was no threat to her. And third, that she desperately wanted his hands on her.
How long had it been since she had any contact with another soul? Charlotte knew the pitiful answer: three hundred and seventy-six days. Not since the night she was snatched away from her small birthday party at her favorite bar in the city. Not since the feyrunner drugged her and spelled her into that mossy prison.
The feeling of Dom’s skin against hers, the rich, earthy smell of him in her lungs, the way he looked at her, like he couldn’t tear his eyes away, like he wanted to consume her, made everything in her scream for more.
She watched as his chest expanded with deep breaths, as his eyelids dropped to a sultry half-mast. His lips parted to reveal a glimpse of long, blunt fangs. Dom skimmed his hand up her calf, under the leg of her stupid silver jumpsuit, and whispered, “You’re glowing.”
“Fuck.” Charlotte pulled her leg back, out of his reach, and jumped off of the bed, her heart in her throat. “That’s not— godsdamn it!” She looked down at her bare arms with considerable disgust and more than a little mortification. He was right. Her glow had taken on a new but unmistakable pulsing beat.
Was it not enough that her wings wouldn’t stop making that stupid noise? Now she had to light up like a fucking glow stick?
She couldn’t meet his eye, but Charlotte could see Dom staring at her with open wonder through the fringe of her eyelashes. “Do you… Is it pulsing in time with your heartbeat?”
Closing her eyes, Charlotte prayed for patience and a reprieve from the ceaseless humiliation of being what she was. “Yes,” she gritted out.
“Do you always do that?”
“Only when I’m feeling strong emotions.” Raking her fingers through her spiky hair, she was doubly annoyed to find several tiny leaves knotted into the strands. It wasn’t totally a lie, so the words slipped out with minimum discomfort. She did glow when she felt strong emotions. Charlotte just chose not to explain that the throbbing beat was new. “It’s not— it’s just fey shit, okay? Ignore it.”
“Why?”
Charlotte opened her eyes to glare at him. “Why what?”
“Why should I ignore it?” Dom took a step closer, one hand raised as if he meant to stroke her some more. Charlotte bobbed and weaved until she was clear of his long reach, her back toward the open bathroom door.
“Because it’s embarrassing,” she answered. “It’s always embarrassing.”
“It’s beautiful.” Dom straightened to his full, impressive height. Putting his hands on his hips, he added, “Why don’t you think so?”
“Yeah, no, I am not getting into my childhood trauma with you right now, demon.” Charlotte turned toward the bathroom before he could see the way her blush had spread from her cheeks to her chest. “Thanks for the pizza, but I’m going to take my first shower in over a year and—”
“Your wings.”
She made the mistake of peeking over her shoulder. Dom stood in the same spot, his head was tilted to one side and those amber-on-black eyes narrowed contemplatively as he examined her back. “Your wings are moving. I thought they were supposed to be vestigial.”
“They move when they want to,” she snapped back, defensive on behalf of her silly little wings. “Under certain specific circumstances, a fey’s wings can even sing.”
Like when our bodies recognize a compatible partner, she silently finished. Charlotte was not about to explain that, though. She barely understood the complexities of the mating song, of the pattern her glow had taken on — both meant to entice and bring a fey partner to a frenzy, but something she’d never actually experienced before. There was no way she was going to attempt to explain something so embarrassing and deeply private to the demon she’d just met.
Especially not when he looked at her like he knew.
Discomfited and embarrassed, Charlotte fled to the relative safety of the tiny bathroom. But not even the rush of running water or the whir of the overhead fan could cover the sound of her song.
And no matter how she scrubbed or how hot the water was, Dom’s shadow clung her skin — as gentle and insistent as a stubborn man’s kiss.