Nightingale Girl (21 page)

Sparrow settled Meg on the bed, pulled the covers over her, and tucked her in.

He didn’t want to leave—knew it was wrong—but that tightness around his throat was so taut it was nearly choking him.

Jim had been draining him, working him ragged. Even though it was the middle of the night, Sparrow was a Hellion, and he did what was commanded of him.

He left Meg alone in the bed, ran to the balcony door, jumped over the railing in one powerful leap, and flew away into the dark night of Hell.

. . .

Meg

My bed is damp. I move my limbs under the sheets only to be met with the sensation of skin on satin. I’m completely naked, still too tired to move, even after sleeping. The events of last night replay in my head.

Something blows out the spark inside me, the one that’s kept me hanging on through all the bad crap I’ve lived through. I’ve been waiting to decide what to do about Sparrow. But deep down, he just made the decision for me.

My door opens, and Noah enters. Nightingale glides in behind him.

“Rough night?” Noah wiggles his eyebrows.

“Shut up.” I’d throw something at him, but I can’t find the energy to move.

“I guess you need something to eat.”

I look away from him, emotions warring within me.

Nightingale heads for the balcony and starts setting out seed and singing to the birds. The girl is in her element here. Who knew that a flock of songbirds could make her so happy? I remember a time when Sparrow was like that, the look on his face when he would find a handful of new feathers. It’s the same as Nightingale’s is now.

Noah returns with a roast beef sandwich and a smile. He sets it on the bed next to me before turning to watch Nightingale. I try to move my arm to get the sandwich, but I can’t. I’m too weak.

Noah turns; his worried gaze scans over me. He waits, watching as I struggle to reach for the food. His eyes widen. “What the fuck did he do to you?” Noah’s expression darkens to pure hatred.

I shake my head. Tears well behind my eyes. I don’t cry. Girls like me don’t cry. I take a deep breath and try to swallow it down, my efforts crushed as a tear slides down my cheek.

Something really shitty is going on. I agreed to come here with Sparrow while he did his time as a Hellion, but this is the second time he’s come here covered in dust and half-dead and nearly sucked me dry.

“I’ll kill him for this myself,” Noah grumbles as he picks up the sandwich.

“Don’t.” I croak.

“What did he do to you?”

I look away from him for a moment and collect myself. When I turn back to Noah, a troubled expression crosses his face as he holds the sandwich up for me to eat. My humble manservant feeds me bite by bite. I wave him away when I’m done and roll over.

Noah leaves the room. When he returns, he’s standing in front of me with a glass of blood in his hand.

“Drink it,” he demands.

Shame fills me. “No.”

“Now.”

Thickness clogs my throat.

“I will hold your mouth open and pour it in,” he threatens. “Damn it, Meg. I have never touched you in anger, but you’re pushing my buttons right now. Drink the damn blood before you die.”

I lean up on my elbow and take the glass, downing the blood in one gulp before handing it back to him.

“Get some rest,” Noah orders.

I pull the blankets over my head and shut the world out. Just before I fall asleep, my last thoughts are about how I’m going to rip Jim a new asshole when I finally wake up with enough energy to find him.

. . .

Nightingale invades my dreams. She’s touching my hair and whistling a slow, soulful tune that I’ve never heard before. I want to tell her not to touch me, but it feels good. I never had a mother to stroke my hair and sing songs to me when I was growing up. I close my eyes and enjoy her soothing touch and song. When she stops, I turn to look at her.

“He needs darkness to rule.”
Her voice sounds worried.
“He needs darkness to lift the curse.”
Her pretty face turns down as she glances over my body.
“He didn’t mean to do this.”

I thought if I brought her here she would stay out of my head.

Nightingale vanishes.

I wake to darkness and silence.

My entire body aches.

Glancing at the nightstand, I see that Noah left me a midnight snack: three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a carton of milk. As I sit up and reach for the food, I notice Sparrow across the room, sitting on the couch, watching. I pull my arm back and yank the covers higher to shroud me.

Sparrow stands and walks closer.

I blink, trying to remember him before the darkness tainted his soul.

Don’t forget me, Meg. Don’t forget that I love you more than anything. The things they’ll make me do
. . .

It’s so hard.

Sparrow stops in front of me. His hair is wet; he smells fresh from the shower. Like cake batter and Christmas, soap, and . . . woodsmoke is lingering there, as well. He’s starting to smell like Hell.

My stomach churns. “No,” I whisper, shrinking away.

I can’t feed him. Not after what he did to me last night. I am reminded of John Lewis and Jim and all the other assholes in Gouverneur who treated me like crap. I don’t want to add Sparrow to that list, but he isn’t giving me much of a choice. This is killing me. I’ve lived through a lot of shit in my life, but I’m not sure I’m strong enough to handle this.

I think I should go back to Gabriel’s Kingdom until Sparrow is done here.

Sparrow drops to his knees at the side of my bed. He looks wounded, scorned, disgusted with himself. He should be.

“Don’t hate me,” Sparrow whispers, his voice deep and remorseful.

I swallow down tears.

“Without you I am weak. I am nothing.” He touches my leg, and I try my damnedest not to flinch away from him. “I can feel it.” He waves his free hand near his ear. “I can feel it on the peripheries of my mind. The memories.” His hand moves higher, resting on my stomach. His leathery wings stretch as he exhales.

“Don’t leave me,” Sparrow begs, as though he already knows I’ve made up my mind to hit the high road. The darkness in his eyes is there, but so is fear. “I can feel it.” He thumps his chest with his free hand. “I can feel it. Somewhere in here.”

I’ve never had a man beg me not to leave. But Sparrow is nothing like the men I’ve been with in the past. I press my lips together to hold back a pathetic sob.

And then I slap him across the face as hard as I can.

“Don’t you ever—”

Sparrow barely flinches before he grabs my wrists, holding my hands down. “Please don’t leave me.” Sparrow’s hand moves to my hip; he drags me across the bed and rests his head on my lap. “I can’t do this alone,” he whispers. “I just couldn’t stop. No matter how hard I tried.”

What do I say to that?

My hands hover above him. I’m afraid to touch this giant enigma of a man. I have known him at his most innocent when he was pure and good, his most dark, and now his most fragile. I settle my hands on his head and let silent tears slide down my face.

I decide that I won’t flee to my father’s Kingdom. I won’t even run back to the earthen plane and start a new life. I’ll stay with Sparrow, as much as it’s killing me. I have to help him; after all, he saved my life in the past. I owe this to him. At least one more chance.

When I am sure Sparrow is asleep on his knees, I move my hands out of his hair.

Sparrow lifts his head. His eyes search my face.

He nods as though he just came to an internal decision. “I will care for you.”

“Don’t you need to eat?” I ask, afraid that he may have taken one of Jim’s Bloodwhores to feed on. The thought of him sucking on some other woman’s neck just about breaks my heart in two.

“Blood from the cooler,” he assures me.

“But you’re strongest when it’s fresh.”

And after seeing Sparrow so weak, I worry about him. Whatever Jim is up to, I definitely don’t want Sparrow weak.

“I’ll be fine,” Sparrow assures me.

He throws the covers back, not seeming the least enticed by my naked body. The sheets are still damp. I think he put me to bed soaking wet last night. Sparrow bends and lifts me in his arms, carrying me to the bathroom. He sets me on the counter, then turns to start the water running in the bathtub.

I turn and glance at myself in the mirror. There is a bright-pink mark on the side of my neck. I shudder, remembering the way he sucked the blood out of me so fast and so hard that it knocked me out in seconds.

My chin quivers. I swallow it down.

As I’m turning away from the mirror, Sparrow’s at my side.

“I can walk,” I assure him.

Ignoring me, he lifts me again, then sets me gently in the tub. The water is warm and the tub so deep it goes to my neck. I instantly regret only having used the shower in this bathroom.

Sparrow gets the soap and shampoo from the shower stall and begins washing me. He wets my hair, scrubs it clean, and then rinses. His hands spread soap all over my body. I flinch when he touches the mark on my neck. He cleans my shoulders and arms, and massages soap over the tattoo on my chest. His fingers linger there. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself silent. The need to physically harm him dissipates with each passing of his gentle hands.

“Is this me? This sparrow?” he asks.

I nod.

“You marked your body for me?”

“You were there,” I remind him.

Sparrow stops washing and pours water over my soapy skin.

“Wait here,” he says as he gets up and leaves the room.

I lean my head on the edge of the tub and close my eyes.

Sparrow returns with a large towel. He holds it open and waits for me to stand. I reach for the towel, but he shakes his head, motions for me to step out, then wraps it around me when I finally do. He lifts me off my feet again and carries me to the side of the bed.

“Don’t put me in there wet again.”

His eyes flash to mine.

Oops, that sounded a little dirty.

Sparrow sets me on my feet and rubs the towel over me until I’m dry. He even dries my hair before tossing the towel aside and pulling the sheets back. They’re dry and clean.

I scramble in, and when Sparrow kicks off his shoes and strips off his shirt, I crawl to the other side of the bed to get away from him. I’m not sure what he has planned, but after last night I don’t think I can handle much.

Facing me, Sparrow wraps his hand around my hip and tugs me tight against his body.

Sparrow nuzzles my neck. I don’t move a muscle.

“You can feed from me,” he whispers.

I freeze. Holy awkward. I don’t even know what to say or do.

“I’m fine.”

He offers his wrist. I push his arm away.

“It’s what we are. You don’t need to be shy.” He nuzzles my neck and splays his large hand over my naked abdomen.

I’ve never been shy about anything, except this. I don’t know why. I am half light and half dark. I was the greatest sinner of all, but this is the hardest thing for me to accept. It makes me feel like a true monster. Even if it’s the highest high I’ve ever felt in my life.

His lips touch my shoulder. I relax only when he simply kisses me. His hands move over my body, a slow seduction. His mouth moves to mine; his tongue toys with my lips until I open for him. Sparrow kisses me deeply, thoroughly, until I forget my name and what day it is. He pulls away, trailing tiny kisses down my neck.

“Do it,” he urges.

I can’t.

He sucks on the sensitive skin of my neck, never drawing blood but igniting a spark deep within me.

I open my eyes. His neck is on display in front of my face, his pulse calling my name, begging me.

“Do it, Meg.”

Oh hell.

I press my teeth into the curve between his neck and shoulder.

Sparrow makes a noise deep in his throat, his fingers move, touching me, bringing me to a high that nearly equals what I felt with him a few nights ago. When I come down, Sparrow pulls me tightly against his body and runs his hands up and down my back until I fall asleep against him.

. . .

In the early hours of the morning, Sparrow kisses me as he’s getting up to leave.

Grabbing his arm, I stop him.

“I have to go,” he says.

I move to get up. “I have something to show you first.”

He wants to remember; I have an idea that might help.

“Come here.” I lead him to the closet. Finding the drawer where I’ve been hiding all the songbird feathers, I open it. Sparrow looks at me questioningly. I take his hand and press it in the drawer of feathers. His hand flexes, closes, and pulls out a handful.

“Do you remember anything?” I ask.

As he purses his lips, I wait, hoping.

He pulls out the red feather of a cardinal, closes his eyes, and brushes it across his cheek. His eyes flash open.

“I think—”

I hold my hand up, stopping him. I feel like this is a good time to make my confession about the bird books. I move to the back of the closet and pull out
Birds of the Northeast
.

“This is yours.” I hold out the book.

Sparrow touches it with his fingertips.

“I stole this from your house.” I look away. “And others. Actually . . . I took an entire stack.” I flip the book open. “It’s damaged.” I show him the crease marks and syrup and pizza stains.

Sparrow takes the book out of my hand and flips through it.

I pull some clothes off the nearby hangers and dress quickly. I don’t want to be naked in front of him when he realizes I marred his beloved bird books.

Sparrow takes his time, reading a few passages, touching his fingers to some of the colorful images of the birds. Finally, he claps the book closed and hands it back.

“You’re not mad?” I ask.

“I’m not sure yet,” he says before leaving.

It has been almost two days since I last saw Sparrow. That means it’s been three days since he last fed. That means he is not as strong as he should be. Maybe he’s mad about the books. Maybe he’s simply busy. I can’t wait any longer to find out. I wanted to do this yesterday, but Noah kept me in my room, stuffing me full of food and holding a
Birds of
study group with Nightingale.