Nightingale Girl (18 page)

Sparrow didn’t bother knocking. He twisted the handle of the door and slipped inside silently. He closed it again; glad that he could barely hear the soft click of the latch engaging.

Sparrow was hungry—could barely wait—but he forced himself to stand there a few moments and listen to the soft sounds of her breathing as she slept.

There was a shadow outside her window. Sparrow moved toward it and saw the tiny owl fluttering back and forth, catching moths in the moonlight. He had the sudden urge to capture the small creature, tug two feathers from its wings, and tuck them away in his pocket.

Movement from the bed drew his attention.

Meg was propped up on her elbow, watching him in the darkness and pale moonlight that seeped through her windows, which lit her in a sepia glow. Hunger overtook him, and Sparrow didn’t trust himself to move.

“Now,” he called.

Meg was insolent, making no attempt to get up and come to him. He called her again, but she refused, burying her head under a pillow like a child.

Sparrow wanted to make her pay for the scene in New York City. His muscles tensed as he moved toward her. He crawled across the big bed, focusing on her pale arm in the dim light. The pulse in her wrist throbbed, and Sparrow could think of nothing else. He fed, his gaze drifting to the ring on her finger. Often she toyed with it, and Sparrow knew it had meaning, something he couldn’t quite recall. He touched the ring, hoping it would bring something to the forefront of his mind. Nothing happened. Too tired to move, he settled next to Meg and fell asleep.

Sparrow woke before dawn. Shifting up on his elbows, he looked down at Meg and found her sleeping peacefully. He moved off the bed, eager to put distance between them. As he stood, he felt something in his pocket, reached in, and pulled out a bright-blue feather.

Sparrow had a vision of Meg standing in the sunlight with a blue jay perched on her open palm. She was smiling, her eyes flicking between the bird in her hand and Sparrow. There was laughter and trust, and he was a different man. Disappointment struck. Sparrow couldn’t remember seeing her smile like that since they’d been down here, and that was his fault.

Jim called—that invisible collar tugged tight around Sparrow’s neck. He crossed the room, leaped off the balcony, and took off into the early-morning sunrise. Sparrow tried to focus on the steady beating of his wings instead of a peacefully sleeping Meg.

. . .

Meg

I dream that my hair is super long and cascading down my back in dark waves. I hate my hair long. I’m walking outside in a strange park packed tight with a horde of the walking dead. They’re pulling on my hair. They wrap the tendrils around their arms and tug, making me lose my balance and fall. I smack my face on the concrete, and all my front teeth fall out. When they hit the ground, it sounds like a beaded necklace breaking and falling to the floor.
Ping, ping, ping.

I sit up in bed. My hands fly to my mouth to make sure my teeth are still there. I exhale, relieved. I’m going to throat punch Nightingale. I can’t take any more of these ridiculous dreams.

Sparrow’s gone.

I get up and dress myself.

Noah walks in my room. “Morning.” He’s carrying breakfast: a bagel and a glass of orange juice.

I walk toward him, take the food, and eat it as quickly as I can.

“Feeling okay?” he asks.

I swallow my last bite. “I need you to cover for me.”

“Why?” He leans around me and gets a good look at the bed.

“Just cover for me.”

“Meg—”

Poof.

Nightingale is stretched across her bed, her head bopping along to whatever music she’s listening to on headphones.

Deciding not to cause Nightingale physical harm at this moment, I clear my throat to get her attention.

Nightingale turns. A smile spreads across her face when she sees me. She rips the headphones off and jumps to her feet, skating toward me, then around me in circles. She giggles and whistles three short tweets.

“Oh, I knew you’d finally come! How are things in Hell?” she asks.

“Hellish.” I run my tongue over my teeth. “The dreams are the worst.”

Nightingale beams proudly. “I knew you’d get them.” She throws her arms around me in a tight hug. “It’s something I’ve been working on. Strange how I can reach you so easily. But I can!”

I stiffen. “Please don’t touch me.”

“Oh.” Nightingale backs away. “I forgot about that.” She skates across the room. “Let me get my things. I already packed a suitcase.”

“Why did you pack?”

Nightingale bends near her closet, and every curve of her butt is visible in the tiny shorts she’s wearing. She picks up a giant piece of luggage. “I knew you’d come for me.”

I settle my hands on my hips. “Just where do you think I’m taking you?”

“To Hell.” Nightingale shivers. “Oh, let me get my toothbrush!” She skates away, down the hall, returning a few moments later with a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste in her hands. Nightingale unzips her suitcase and shoves them inside. “Okay. All ready.” She stands in front of me, waiting proudly.

“Why would I bring you back there?”

“I hate it here. My father keeps me in the basement.” Nightingale smiles and holds her hand out, wiggling her fingers at me impatiently.

I look her up and down. She’s wearing a crop top and those ridiculously tiny shorts—and they said
I
was sinful.

“You should probably put on more clothes. That is going to attract attention,” I warn.

Nightingale giggles, skates over to her closet, and removes a pair of stretch pants. She pulls them on over her shorts, then adds a fitted zip-up track jacket.

“Let’s go!” Nightingale skates toward me. “Before someone alerts the Legion.”

“Christ,” I mutter, taking her hand.

“Oh. You shouldn’t beckon him.” Nightingale shakes her head, worry masking her face.

“Sorry.”

Poof.

We’re back in my bedroom in Hell.

“Meg?” Noah walks in. He stops in his tracks as soon as he notices Nightingale. “Fuck me. Please tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did.” He gapes at Nightingale, moving to get an eyeful of the downy white feathers on her back. “You are in deep shit.” Noah thrusts an accusing finger in my direction. “Deep, deep shit. Mounds of it.”

“Oh hell
oooooo
, handsome.” Nightingale skates toward Noah, whistling the entire way. She circles him, inspecting. Her satisfied grin tells me everything she’s thinking. Noah is a good-looking guy. I know this; I used to date him.

“Hide her,” I order.

“I can’t hide her.” Noah points at Nightingale. “She’s a freaking Angel. The Hellions are going to smell her a mile away.”

“We could hide her in the closet.”

Noah scoffs. “She’s not E.T.”

“The bathroom?”

Nightingale wrinkles her nose.

“You want her that close while Sparrow’s in here feeding off you? From what I saw last night, you two need some privacy.”

“Oh, what were they doing?” Nightingale asks as she skates around my room.

“He drinks her blood.” Noah watches Nightingale, his face masked in disbelief that there is, in fact, a female Angel in my room skating around like she just stepped out of a magazine from 1987.

Nightingale turns to face me, her cheeks rosy. “Dirty girl.”

“Shut up.”

“Maybe you should just fuck him. I’m sure that will make him remember.”

“He’s your brother!” I want to reprimand her over the foul language; she is pureblood, after all.

Nightingale shrugs. “So?”

The Hellion Sparrow is definitely dark and hot, but a part of him scares me. Even if watching him suck my blood sets my loins on fire.

“He’s not like I knew him.”

“He never is. Won’t be until the curse is lifted. And then all we can hope is that me and him don’t suffer any long-term brain damage.” Nightingale skates around me. “You still like him?”

“Very much.”

“Take a roll between the sheets.” Nightingale whistles. “It’s already written in the stars. You will be together. Take advantage of his dark side. Some girls like that. I read about it in human books.” She winks.

Noah raises his hand. “I’m still here. And I don’t need to hear any of this.”

Nobody has ever had to tell me twice to take an attractive man to bed, but this thing with Sparrow is deep and torturous.

My bedroom door bursts open.

“Brother!” Nightingale zooms across the room. She whistles the same melodic trill as the last time she saw Sparrow and leaps into his arms.

Sparrow stiffens. Confusion masks his features; his arms stiffen at his sides while Nightingale swings on him. A few moments pass before Sparrow pushes her away.

Nightingale skates backward, stopping next to me. “You should definitely bone him.”

I shove her away.

“I think you both need to leave,” I suggest.

“What am I supposed to do with her?” Noah points at Nightingale.

She skates toward him, grabs his hand, and twirls herself. “Take me somewhere dark.” Nightingale’s voice is breathy and innocent. She kisses Noah’s cheek.

“Take her to Clea,” I tell Noah. “And be careful. That girl is crazy.”

Noah leaves the room, with Nightingale holding his hand and skating slowly behind him. She’s whistling a slow, sexy tune. Someone should really let her know that Noah doesn’t communicate with birdcalls.

The door closes.

Sparrow’s gaze falls on me.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

He pulls the blue feather out of his pocket and brushes it across his cheek.

“If you ever do what you did with him again, I will salt the earth and end his lineage.”

My back straightens. Crap. I’m still in trouble.

“I could smell his sweat all over you last night.”

“We were—”

“Never again.” Sparrow tucks the feather in his pocket.

“Okay.” I shiver.

I’m not sure if he just came here to yell at me or if he’s hungry. I hold my arm out and offer him lunch.

Sparrow grabs my arm and yanks me toward him, hard. I knock against his chest, and it forces the air out of my lungs. His free arm snakes around my back, holding me against him. Sparrow’s other hand tips my head to the side and moves my hair out of the way. He lowers his mouth.

I close my eyes.

Sparrow kisses me, short little pecks all the way down my neck. He pulls the collar of my shirt down, exposing my shoulder. He licks the skin there, then settles his firm lips. There’s the pinch, the heat. My knees weaken. I press my face to his shoulder, breathe him in. He smells so good.

I open my eyes and notice the pulse in his throat. I lick my lips. Sparrow sucks harder. I whimper. His pulse beats against the taut skin of his neck. I angle my face closer. Sparrow’s arm tightens around my back. I lick my lips again, open my mouth, and lean in.

Sparrow stops. His tongue brushes my skin, and he stands up straight.

“You want that?” Sparrow peers down at me.

Shit. I almost latched on and took a taste. I feel the rest of my blood drain from my face.

Sparrow catches me as my knees give out. He picks me up, and I grip the leather of his vest between my fingers, holding on for dear life. He carries me to the bed, lowers me gently, then steps back.

“Do you?” Sparrow asks again. “Is that what you want?”

“I . . . I’m not sure.” I sink into the mattress, wishing it would swallow me up whole. I’ve done plenty of bad shit in my life, and I’ve never been embarrassed about anything, but sucking Sparrow’s blood like some lovesick vampire mortifies me.

Sparrow smiles for the first time since he took his place as a Hellion.

“Later, baby,” he promises, before turning and leaving the room.

I die inside. Both humiliated and furious, I want to run after Sparrow and punch him on the chin. But being Sparrow’s very own personal buffet is exhausting. I stretch out on the bed and pull the blanket over me.

I’ve never taken so many naps in my life.

. . .

“She’s awake.”

I recognize Clea’s voice.

I sit up to find Clea, Noah, Nightingale, and one livid Lucifer standing in my bedroom.

Lucifer steps toward me. “Do you know the shitstorm you’ve created by bringing her here?” He points at Nightingale. “She is pureblood, the daughter of an Archangel.”

I open my mouth to say something, but Lucifer takes another step toward me, and I snap it shut.

“You broke very explicit rules. She has to go back.”

Nightingale’s face blanches.

Oh no, I’m not taking her back and putting up with those dreams again. And she doesn’t deserve to go back. The way Remiel treats his daughter, locking her up because he can’t stand to look at what he’s done to her. It’s no better than the way John Lewis treated me.

“He keeps her in a basement,” I reveal.

Lucifer’s face remains placid, like he couldn’t give a crap.

“Remiel keeps her locked up in a basement like a troll. He put this curse on his own children, and he”—I point at Lucifer—“punishes them all.”

“She has to go back. My hands are tied. Do it. Now.” Lucifer spreads his giant wings, taking up the width of my room.

Oh, that’s terrifying. Last time he did that was when I first met him, and it had me whimpering on my knees. Not this time, though.

“No.” I scoot off the edge of the bed and stand. “You owe me one favor,” I remind him. “I brought your daughter back to you, and in return you promised me one favor.”

Lucifer quickly pulls his wings in with a snap and steps back. I move toward him. He could turn me to dust in a heartbeat, but I don’t care. No one ever stood up for me against John Lewis, even though the entire town knew what was going on. I’m not going to let the same thing happen to Nightingale.

“She stays,” I demand.

Lucifer touches his index finger to my forehead. After he sees what I’ve witnessed, he mutters something. I can’t make out the words, but I don’t think it’s good.

“You promised,” I remind Lucifer.

“Fine,” he snaps.

Lucifer walks toward Nightingale. She skates backward until she hits the wall and has nowhere else to go. She looks up at him with large green eyes. Her face pales. Lucifer waves his hands over her.