Now, one room away from me, so close I could almost hear her breathing, Reagan needed those wings. Actually needed them. Old, familiar shame threatened to undo my newfound determination. But maybe, once my wings were healed, their future use wouldn’t hinder my need to remember past failures. I had to try. Because a part of me, a part that was growing louder each and every day, begged to live this moment.
With Reagan.
When the healing was complete, I didn’t peek at what I knew rested behind me. Wings with feathers that resembled sleek, obsidian blades. Fixed. Whole. I simply rose and walked out of the room, seeking the girl who needed a flying lesson.
I found her sitting on the back of the living room couch, wings tucked behind her. Reagan’s eyes widened when she caught sight of me. She slipped down and strode closer. Her lips parted as she tentatively reached out, like she would stroke one of the streamlined feathers. She jerked her hand back at the last second.
“Tarik, your wings are incredible. I thought they were beautiful before, but . . . they’re glorious.”
My stomach clenched hotly. Not only from her words, but from her hesitation. I had wanted to feel her touch. Actually wanted it. I mentally shook myself, dispelling the ache. “Right. Let the flying commence. Although, there’s a good chance I’ll fall, too. I’m a bit rusty.”
“We’ll be fine.” She grinned, eyes bright with excitement. “I can do this at least.” She stretched her wings out and flapped. If only that were all she needed to know.
I strolled to the open sliding door, turning around when my feet hit the balcony. Caution tugged at my common sense then. Was I really going to fly? In shifter territory? I shoved the feeling aside. When had I ever exercised caution? Besides, night had fallen—my wings should be near invisible against the dark sky.
So, instead of using my brain, I tipped my lips up and said, “Even baby birds can flap their wings. Right before they fall out of the nest,” then fell backward off the balcony’s edge.
Wind whistled past my ears as I plummeted for the cement below. For a split second, fear crashed through me. What if my wings had weakened? Flexing my back muscles, black wings snapped out, catching my fall. With a great flap, I shot into the air, popping up in front of a stunned Reagan.
I hovered, waiting for her to call me out on my theatrics—maybe call me an arrogant Fae prick—but she was a frozen block of ice. Seeing her so vulnerable sent a jolt of protectiveness spearing through my gut, and I carefully landed beside her. Large eyes stared up at me, her earlier excitement snuffed. I gentled my voice, saying, “See? No problem. Just like riding a bike.”
“You dropped like a stone. You’re right, there’s a difference. My lion . . . I’m too bulky. I don’t drop that fast.” She gulped. “Help me.”
“I can do that. But maybe for the first time, you should, uh—” Warmth smacked my face when I realized what needed to happen. I didn’t know if I could go through with it. But her expression, so afraid yet so determined, gave me the courage to try. “Here . . .” I picked up her arm and looped it around my neck, then did the same with the other. With our height difference, I had to curl forward, bringing my head close to hers.
Wrapping an arm behind her, securing her to me, I said, “Ready?”
Reagan choked out a laugh. “No.”
I raised a brow. “You know what they say about trust?” Her eyes widened as I finished with, “You have to take a leap of faith.”
Jumping into nothing, I took her with me, flapping my wings hard so we wouldn’t plummet. She clung tighter, arms like vines around my neck, and I laughed.
“I won’t drop you,” I said, still chuckling. I shouldn’t—I really shouldn’t—but when she continued to strangle me, I couldn’t help adding, “Did you know mama birds push their babies out of the nest?”
“Do you know that I can rapid-shift in a split second?” she growled.
The corners of my mouth twitched. “Can you now? Let’s see.”
She shook her head, hair thickening into bright white.
I almost dropped her. I chuckled again, nervously. “If you become a huge cat right now, there’s no way I can carry you. I mean, how much would you say your lion weighs?”
“That’s incredibly rude. You can’t just ask someone how much they weigh.” But she winked and shook her head, hair returning to the familiar blue and black.
“Point taken.” I stared at her for a moment. The night sky was clear around us, studded with twinkling stars, the city below surprisingly quiet. Only us, with the world at our feet. Her fear of falling had all but melted away, my dumb jokes drawing out her sass. I almost wished things were different. That three years ago, I hadn’t lost my ability to care on a deeper level.
Because this. There was something special about this.
I didn’t want this moment to end.
You can’t have her.
“I know,” I whispered.
“Tarik? You okay? Your eyes got all sad on me.”
I snapped back to reality, to what we’d come here to do. I mentally slapped myself. Get yourself together, man. “Must be the wind in my face. Anyway, your turn to fly. We can start by hovering. You know how to hover, right?”
“Never heard of ‘hovering.’ Could you explain?” She batted her lashes at me, lips stretched into a smirk.
I huffed. “Very funny. But I don’t think this teaching thing is going to work. The best way to learn is by doing, so . . .” I let my grip on her loosen, and she slid down my body an inch.
She groaned. “All right, fine. Do what you must.”
My mind blanked.
Then went places it shouldn’t.
She seemed to have no clue how her words came across sometimes. Or how her nudity affected
