Page 142 of Nightshade

He ran his thumb over her lips, looking thoughtful for a moment, before he sat back on his heels. Lowering his gaze from hers, he closed his eyes. At first, there was only stillness. Then a sharp sound sliced through the silence, and Lustina watched, eyes wide in disbelief, as black wings unfurled behind him. Raven black wings with hints of blue and purple that matched the hair on his head. Enormous in size, they stretched well above him and spanned the full length of his body in either direction.

A tight fist of shock squeezed her lungs, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to contain the sound that begged for escape.

Brows lowered, he watched her, studied her reaction. Undoubtedly desperate for a single utterance of acceptance, but as if her mouth had sealed, she could not speak.

She had lied to the baron when she said she would not be afraid. But she did not fear him--only for him.

Tears filled her eyes as she took in the impossibility that seemed as real as the mountains and trees standing behind her. Perhaps every bit of it an illusion, nothing more than a dream, from which she never wanted to wake. “What are you?” she breathed.

“I do not know for certain. My mother, on her deathbed, called me a Sentinel. She told me that I was half evil, half good. Half demon, half angel.”

“Your father …”

“A certain kind of demon. She called him a Dalgoth. Apparently very dangerous and rare. He stole my mother away. Locked the angel in a cage and raped her until I was born.” His lips twitched with what must have been bottled rage. “He wanted to destroy me, but she refused. She threatened to take her own life.” The torment in his eyes struck an unbearable chord of pain inside of her. “His weakness is the light. Her purity. According to her, no human soul can provide the vitality of an angel. For years, he fed off it, weakening her. Until he and the bishop finally killed her.”

“I have always suspected both men to be evil. Now I am certain of it.” She couldn’t take her eyes of his wings, completely captivated by their magnificence. “Were you born with them?”

“If I was, I was not aware of them. Not until I was much older. It was five years ago--I had climbed this very mountain and lost my footing at its peak.” After a quick upward glance, he met her gaze again. “I was certain I would die. Tumbling toward the ground with nothing to catch me. A terrible fear gripped me, but before I hit, an intense pain tore across my back, as my wings emerged for the first time. My fall was nothing short of graceless, but I walked away with no more than a scratch. It was on that day that I swore I would never speak a word to anyone about them.”

“Are there others … like you?”

“Yes. My mother said they would come for me one day. That so long as I remained virtuous and true, they would take me with them to fight the holy war.”

“That is why she did not want you to take vengeance against the bishop and your father.”

“Yes. But it does not matter, Lustina. I do not want their holy war. I do not want to be ushered away and turned into a warrior for their cause.” Sparks danced over the surface of his wings as he spoke, as if agitated by the thought.

“May I … touch them?”

“Of course.”

Pushing to unsteady feet, she stood before him, and even though he remained knelt, the height of his wings still surpassed her. Hand trembling, she ran her fingertip across the surface, and recoiled at the tangibility of what she was certain was only a dream. Swallowing a harsh gulp, she reached to touch them again, and he gripped her arm, startling her.

“Do not touch me out of pity.”

“I can assure you, what I am feeling is not pity for you, My Lord, but for those who would choose to destroy something so beautiful.”

What she surmised as confusion flickered across his face, and he released her. Just as before, she reached out and ran her hand down the surface, that time to the very tips, which she allowed to tickle her fingers. With a smile, she recalled the sensation of earlier when he’d teased her with the feather.

One of his own, plucked from his own wings.

She let her hand skim over the surface of his wings as she circled him, and smiled as his wings shuddered, as if the sensation tickled. When she rounded to the front, he rose to his feet, and she ran her fingertips over the ridges of his chest, where she pressed a soft and reverent kiss.

“Thank you,” she said. “I feel as if I have truly seen you now.”

“Are you not afraid?”

“No. You are right, though. The bishop will surely hunt you for these wings. He must be destroyed.” Lustina reached up, holding his handsome face in the palm of her hands. “Allow me to do this for you. I know of a concoction which will poison him, just as he did your mother.”

“You honor me with this proposition, but my answer is no. It is my vengeance. Should he become wise to your intent, he would surely strike against you first. And if that were to happen, every man, woman, peasant, and nobleman alike would burn for such an atrocity.”

“Then, promise me that, once you have exacted your revenge, you will take me away from this place. All of this senseless judgment and death.”

“You have my word.” Lips slanted for a kiss, he pulled her into his body, and a thousand thoughts overtook her mind. How badly she wanted to steal away with him, to kiss him every day and night without the worry of who might condemn them. She longed for the freedom of lying beside him beneath the stars, with his steady heartbeat pounding in her ear. To make love to him and grow old with him, and always feel the safety she felt right then.

Lustina wished that the wings on his back could fly them away, as carefree as the birds.

She lay her head against his chest, tracing his skin with the tip of her finger. “Earlier, when you said too much would be dangerous. What did you mean? Too much of what?”