“What are you thinking?” he asked warily as I spun my bracelet on my wrist. “You look...well, you look terrified right now, and your bracelet is going to start smoking, you’re spinning it so fast.”
Logan reached his hand out and pressed his palm on top of my wrist, effectively stopping my nervous tick.
“What do you really look like?” I asked in a whisper.
He was silent for a moment.
“Do you want me to show you?” His reply was just as quiet.
I nodded, and Logan pushed himself off the sleeping bag, unzipping his hoodie as he stood. He shrugged out of it, and then pulled at the hem of his shirt.
“What are you doing?” I asked, scrambling to my feet and covering my eyes with my hands. “I meant your demon form. Not, um, what I mentioned earlier. The whole human and half-demon compatibility thing, I mean. Oh, please don’t take your pants off, I am so not ready for that conversation tonight.”
“Paige,” Logan called with a soft chuckle, and I peered out at his body from between my fingers. He was wearing his dark jeans—and a very self-indulgent grin.
“I should have explained. I have wings. I didn’t want to rip my clothes.”
“Wings?” I squeaked. Forget that, take your pants off instead.
“Yeah, wings.”
“Like Aiden?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
“I’m nothing like him,” Logan vowed, his body tensing as he gripped his shirt tightly in his fist.
“Okay. Do it,” I ordered weakly as I kept my eyes on the ground.
A hushed fluttering sound drew my attention, and I looked up. Logan stood before me, his hands clenched into fists at his side, broad shoulders lifting slightly with his measured, steady breathing. While shirtless Logan was a very nice sight, it wasn’t what made me lose my breath: it was the black wings beating softly behind him, slowly enough that they made a faint sound but not quickly enough to take flight.
Logan’s eyes—which had been closed—opened when he heard me gasp, and they anxiously searched my face for my reaction.
I took a step closer, studying his eyes—the irises were now a crystal-clear violet, ringed with his familiar brown. But where Aiden’s were cold and frosty, Logan’s eyes held the same warmth I’d always found there.
I rested my hand against his heart again, feeling it beat rapidly in his broad chest. Aiden’s skin had turned gray and corpselike, but Logan’s skin remained the same pale, peachy tone. His muscles were slightly more defined—the cut of his stomach a little sharper, his biceps more rounded—but not in an inhuman, exaggerated way. My hand slid to his shoulder, curving over the sculpted muscle as I slowly walked around to his back, to study the wings that he brought to a stop.
I trailed one finger along the edge of his wing, feeling the smooth black bone beneath my skin, and Logan shivered.
“Does that hurt?” I asked, my hand stilling.
Logan shook his head, turning his face to the side to watch me over his shoulder as I stroked his wing, the smooth, glasslike texture contradicting its unfathomable strength.
I let my fingers travel down, to the diaphanous black wing that felt like delicate silk, stretched tightly between the bones. I crossed behind Logan as I continued my exploration, letting my hand gently press against the center of his wings, at the swirled knot of black bone between his shoulder blades.
You’re standing behind your boyfriend, exploring his wings.
His wings.
Your boyfriend has wings.
My fingertips shook slightly, and I willed them to stop, trying to reconcile the Logan I knew with the one standing bare before me. Logan was otherworldly, in the literal sense of the word. But he also was a pizza snob who lived in hoodies and baseball caps.
You’re either all in, or you’re out, Paige. When you face him again, you need to let him know one way or another. He deserves that.
I pressed my hand on his back—home, human territory—and caressed the expanse of smooth, unblemished skin that, hours before, had been painfully injured. Logan’s agonized face, struggling with pain as he held me close, protecting me, flashed before my eyes, and I laid my palm against his shoulder, thankful that he was healed.
I took my final steps as I finished circling his body, coming to face him again.
Silently, we stood before each other, my eyes searching his and seeing nothing but love—and fear. Logan was standing naked before me, after all, in more ways than one.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and Logan merely nodded his head in acknowledgment, his dark eyebrows pulling together with some unspoken question.
“Do you hate me like this?” he finally asked, his voice rough.
I shook my head, clasping my hands around his neck as I rested my head against his chest. I was all in. I wanted to heal what was there, now more than ever. Now that I knew the real him.
“All of you is beautiful. But especially your heart,” I murmured, planting a soft kiss where it beat in his chest. They were words I would normally laugh at, or repeat in a mocking tone, making fun of anyone who would say something so cheesy and trite. But I couldn’t help it; the words were true—all of Logan was beautiful. And he did have a beautiful heart.
As soon as my lips touched his skin, Logan’s arms circled around me, and we both relaxed more deeply into each other.
“It’s yours, you know.” His voice sounded deep and low in his chest, rumbling against my cheek, and my pulse sped at his admission.
“I hoped so,” I confessed as I snuggled into his embrace. They were the same, familiar arms, but at the same time, they felt different. They felt stronger.
“Hoped so?” Logan repeated, and he tilted my chin up with two fingers, urging me to meet his eyes. “Paige, you have to know by now that I love you.” His eyes were brimming with emotion, a shy smile on his face as he brushed a lock of hair back behind my ear. “I started falling for you the first time I heard you speak, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop falling in love with you.”
My heart, which had been keeping a speedy rhythm along with his, might have stopped at that statement. That wonderful, perfect statement, spoken in a voice that managed to be confident and tender at the same time, promising me his past, present and future all at once.
“When everyone else says I love you, they make it sound like a punch line. You make it sound like a promise,” I said as Logan moved his hands down to my back, softly rubbing in circles.
“It is.”
“It is for me, too,” I said. Logan’s hands stilled on my back, and I lifted my eyes to meet his.
“Really?” he asked, the beginnings of the brilliant smile on his face.
I stretched up on my toes to kiss him, but Logan met me halfway. He leaned down to press his lips against mine, the words he’d just spoken repeated in breathy tones amid gentle touches.
“Can I ask you one more thing?” I asked after we’d broken apart, punctuating my question with another, albeit brief, kiss—which earned a chuckle.
“When you ask if you can ask a question, I know to brace myself. Those ones are the worst,” Logan reminded me, and I snorted.
“Well, can I ask it or what?”
“Can I put my shirt back on and, uh, my wings away?” Logan bargained, and I pretended to think it over.
“Deal,” I said, keeping my eyes on him as I walked backward toward the sleeping bag. His wings fluttered lightly, appearing to shrink behind his back, where they disappeared into nothingness. He pulled on his shirt and joined me on the sleeping bag moments later, only this time Logan stretched out on his side, his head propped up by his hand. I mirrored his position as our hands intertwined between us.