Nightingale Girl (19 page)

Nightingale’s wings turn black.

“This will mask you from your father and the other Angels searching for you. Behave,” Lucifer warns her, before leaving the room in a puff of smoke.

Clea lets out a breath of relief. “I’ve never seen him that angry before.” She floats toward me and settles a hand on my arm. “Not since I ran off to Heaven with your father.” Clea turns toward Noah. “You have two to keep an eye on now. Congratulations.”

Noah’s face drops.

. . .

By dusk, Nightingale is settled. Clea put her in a room on the level below mine, closer to Clea’s quarters, where she can keep an eye on the girl. She said she was worried about Nightingale disrupting
things
.

I shower and change into a T-shirt to sleep in. Exhausted from the day, I move toward my bed, but a noise from the balcony stops me. It’s a subtle hooting that I can barely hear.

I move to the window and push the curtain aside.

The tiny elf owl is perched on the railing. It’s looking out over the landscape of Hell. After a few moments it turns to face me, hooting again before lifting into the air and flying away.

I let the curtain fall back into place and close the window. Hell is cold tonight.

After walking across my room, I crawl into bed.

. . .

There is movement on my balcony. It’s late, nearly pitch-black outside on this moonless night. The curtains flutter and the glass knocks. I switch on the lamp next to my bed.

Sparrow is standing outside my window.

I get up and let him in.

“Why—” I start, but words escape me as I notice he’s covered in dust and he’s pale, like he hasn’t been feeding off me regularly.

“Now,” Sparrow whispers, his voice empty with exhaustion.

I run to the nearby table where my blade rests, cut my arm, and run back to where Sparrow stands, offering it to him. He latches on, sucking hard like a man who just ran a marathon and thirsts for water.

I reach out to touch him, but he backs away, releasing my arm. He looks unsure of what to do next.

“You should get cleaned up,” I suggest.

Sparrow turns and looks over the balcony. His expression reveals that he isn’t thrilled with the idea of flying away and using his usual entrance.

“You can shower here.” I step back and motion for him to come in.

Sparrow takes a hesitant step, then another. What the heck is wrong with him? I lead him to the bathroom, start the shower, and leave fresh towels on the counter. I close the door behind me, listening for the sounds of Sparrow getting in the shower.

There’s a loud thud, the whisper of clothing being torn, the interrupted spray of the water. A scrubbing sound. Satisfied, I move away from the door and sit on the bed.

Sparrow is in there so long that I become bored. I crawl under the covers again and get comfortable.

Just as my eyes are about to close, the bathroom door whips open. Sparrow stands there with just a towel around his waist.

Sweet baby Jesus in Heaven. I almost forgot how magnificent he looks half-naked.

He stares at me expectantly.

I don’t read minds, but I get the feeling he’s looking for clean clothes.

I throw back the covers and move to the door. Opening it, I call, “Noah.”

My manservant arrives in a flash. His cheeks are flushed; his hair is tousled.

“Meg?” Noah asks.

I tip my head. “What have you been doing?”

“Nothing,” he answers quickly. “Did you need something?”

I’m pretty sure he’s lying.

“I need some Sparrow-size clothing.” I glance back at Sparrow waiting at the threshold to the bathroom. He looks hungry. “And some food and drink.”

Noah disappears in a flash, then returns with a plastic bag and a pile of clothes.

“Anything else?” Noah asks.

I shake my head. “Carry on with whatever wicked deeds you were occupied with.”

Noah grins before disappearing again.

I turn to face Sparrow and kick the door shut. I set the bag of food down on a nearby chair and walk across the room to hand him his clothes.

He takes the clothing, looks at them, then looks at me.

I smooth my hands over my nightshirt.

Sparrow tosses the clean clothing on the floor, then whips his towel off and lets it drop, as well. There is no time for me to react before he advances, lifting me off my feet and carrying me to the bed. He drops me and reaches for the hem of my shirt.

I hold my breath and press my hands against Sparrow’s shoulders. He looks into my eyes.

“Do you remember me?” I ask.

“You are Meg,” he replies.

I bite my lip and nod. “Anything else?”

He grabs my hand, and his finger rolls over the ring. “I gave you this.”

“You did.”

Sparrow drops my hand and rips my shirt down the middle.

I gasp.

“I like you,” he says.

I sure as hell hope he likes me; he’s been drinking my blood down here for weeks. For Christ’s sake, I’ve spent the past few months avoiding any of my blood spilling, and I’ve allowed him to take it willingly.

My heart thunders against my ribs.

“I like you, too,” I say. “But you’ve been a Grade A jerk for a while now.”

Sparrow advances. I scramble backward on the bed, unsure of what he has planned.

“That strange girl is my sister?” Sparrow asks.

“Yes.”

He licks my abdomen. “She said you should just fuck me.”

My mouth snaps shut. His soul is definitely tainted. Sparrow always scolded me for using that word, and I have never heard him utter it in all the time I’ve known him.

Sparrow pushes the scraps of my shirt away. His tongue rolls over my bare breast.

“Sparrow?”

He stops. “Is this what you want?” he asks. His head tips to the side in an odd movement that is totally birdlike and completely Sparrow. “Say yes. You have to tell me yes.”

There he is. “Yes.”

The lacy underwear is gone in less than a heartbeat.

Sparrow presses tiny kisses all over my body. I feel his lips, his teeth, his tongue. He’s biting me all over, and while I know I should be turned off by it, with each nibble my blood simmers hotter and hotter.

Soon he has me writhing beneath him. I touch his body, which seems oddly unfamiliar to me now. The change has turned his muscles to stone; there is not one bit of softness left on him. The angles and planes are deep and taut. Sparrow stills over me. I look up. His eyes are liquid green, but now a ring of black taints the edges. He blinks slowly. He’s fighting it, just as I had done during my time in Heaven.

“You are so small. I’m afraid of hurting you.”

I try to control my facial features. I am actually completely average and a bit tall for most human women at five feet six.

“You won’t hurt me.” I run my hands down his back and open my legs wider.

Sparrow touches his forehead to mine. “Your name is Meg,” he whispers.

“Yes.”

“I want you more than air to breathe.” Sparrow trails his nose down the side of my neck. “You tempt me.”

I stretch my fingers into his hair.

Sparrow’s teeth skim my shoulder. His hot tongue licks the skin; he bites down at the same time his hips thrust, filling me.

Everything tingles and burns as he simultaneously sucks and thrusts.

Sweet Jesus. I’ve never experienced this with him before. All rational thought leaves my mind, and the only thing I can do is
feel
and let the darkness take over. I think my body is on fire. I touch his warm skin. The pulse in his neck throbs. I lick my lips, pressing them to his shoulder.

Sparrow moves faster, harder.

I open my mouth and press my teeth against his skin.

Sparrow makes a deep noise of satisfaction.

I bite. Warm blood fills my mouth. Stars disrupt my vision. Oh, this is better than that glass of cold blood Jim handed me weeks ago. I drink. The world stops. There is nothing but the metallic taste on my tongue, the sweetness that I know is Sparrow. This is too intense. My head feels dizzy and full, like it’s going to explode. I release his skin and cry out.

Before everything goes dark, I think I hear him humming.

I wake feeling exhausted and exhilarated. Lifting the covers, I inspect my body. There are little bite marks all over. Pink and healing. Shit. Emotions churn inside me. I cover my face, remembering what I did last night.

Rolling over, I check the nightstand for money. There’s nothing there but
Birds of the Northeast
. I check the floor. The clothes Sparrow threw there last night are gone.

There’s a knock on my door.

“Go away!” I shout.

Unable to face anyone right now, I throw the covers back and run to the bathroom, locking the door. I turn and inspect my naked body in the mirror. There are tiny marks all over. Logic tells me I should be embarrassed, but remembering how it felt having Sparrow’s mouth on my skin squashes everything. There’s dried blood on the corner of my mouth. I lick it away, close my eyes, and remember.

Hearing the flooring creak, I open my eyes. There’s a shadow outside my bathroom. It dulls the light creeping in from the space under the door.

“Go away!” I can’t see anyone right now. I have to pull myself together and make it look like Sparrow and I never participated in a bloodfest last night.

I get in the shower and wash everything off. I scrub my hair, even loofah the skin of my lips. When I get out, I’m rosy pink all over. I crack the bathroom door and find whoever was knocking got bored and left. Still, there’s a chance Noah might show. Not wanting anyone to see the bite marks before they heal, I run to the closet and close myself inside. I grab a pair of tight jeans, a long-sleeved top, and a thin high-collar leather jacket. When I’m dressed, the only skin visible is on my face and my hands. I pull on a pair of tall boots and leave the closet.

Clea is waiting near the window. I sniff. Something smells sweet. Strange, I’ve never noticed her wearing perfume before.

“Hi,” I greet her. “Were you knocking? I just—”

Clea turns and assesses my outfit. An approving smile marks her face. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.” She crosses the room and takes my hand. “Glad to see Sparrow is coming around. I told you it’s not so bad, is it?”

I shake my head.

“Sometimes, Gabriel and I would do it twice—”

“Stop!” I swallow down the bile rising in the back of my throat. “I don’t need to know.”

Clea shrugs innocently.

“Your girl is causing a ruckus.”

My girl? And this is Hell—who cares about a ruckus?

“Nightingale has been collecting the small creatures of the caves. She wants to keep them as pets.”

“She doesn’t get out much,” I reply.

“Those creatures have work to do. They are not puppies or kittens.”

“I guess I’ll tell her.”

Clea glances out the window. “Why are all those birds on your balcony?”

I turn. There’s a row of colorful songbirds staring at the window, expectantly.

Crap, when was the last time I put out seed?

“They’re hungry.” I open the window and locate the bin of birdseed, scoop out a handful, and spread it on the railing. The birds feast with thankful chirps and tweets.

When I turn around, Clea is watching me with fascination.

“What?” I ask innocently. “I was bored, and Noah wouldn’t get me a Jeep, and I was too weak from Sparrow feeding to
poof
myself somewhere fun.”

Clea smiles before drifting toward my door and leaving.

I decide to hunt down Nightingale.

After jogging down the hall and descending to the next level, I find Nightingale racing down the hallway on her roller skates. She’s grasping at a short creature that resembles a raccoon standing upright. The feathers of her now-black wings flutter. Nightingale is whistling. The creature turns to her and hisses before running faster and disappearing into the shadows along the wall.

Noah is standing outside her door. He raises his shoulders in defeat.

“Manservant, you never brought me breakfast.”

“I was busy with her!” He points at Nightingale.

Nightingale speeds toward us, twirling in a circle. “Wasn’t he the most precious thing you’ve ever seen?” She comes to a stop, her elbow resting on Noah’s shoulder. “I’ve been chasing him for hours. He’s so fluffy!” Nightingale’s cheeks are bright red; excitement radiates off her.

“You need to stop,” I say. “Lucifer told you to behave. Rounding up the creatures of Hell so you can have your own personal petting zoo is not behaving.”

Nightingale’s smile vanishes.

I immediately feel guilty for ruining her mood. The poor girl has been living in a cellar most of her life, she should get to have some fun.

Noah thumbs toward the door. “She’s got a whole bunch of them holed up in there.”

“What?” I move to open her door. Nightingale’s hand lands on mine. “Don’t touch me,” I warn her.

She lifts her hand and shies away. “Sorry.”

I push her door open, and a dozen or more creatures scatter out, grunting and hissing, running in different directions down the hall.

Nightingale whistles a gloomy trill, like I stomped on her heart or something.

“You can’t do this.” I start walking down the hall, motioning for her to follow me. “Come on. I have something to show you.”

“If you’re going to babysit her, I can get breakfast. What do you want? Pancakes, waffles, fried eggs?” Noah asks.

“Sure.” My stomach barely grumbles.

He disappears.

I bring Nightingale to my room and out on the balcony.

“Oooooh,” she whispers when she sees all the songbirds.

I grab a handful of birdseed from the bin. “Hold out your hand, like this.” I show her.

Nightingale mimics my stance. I pour the seed into her open hand.

“Move closer,” I suggest.

She pushes off using the toe of her left foot and glides closer to the railing. A few of the birds hop around her; some flutter away, landing farther down the railing.

Nightingale frowns. She looks sadder than ever.

“Whistle to them,” I suggest.

A light trill comes from her lips, melodic and gentle. She calls to the songbirds as though she is their kin. I watch spellbound as, slowly, one by one, songbirds start fluttering up to land on her open hand and extended arm.