“We’re past the part where I pressure you and act like an asshole,” Oliver said bluntly. “We’re not past me wanting to go, though.”
Hearing this, I would normally remind him that there was nowhere to go. But that was no longer true, was it? I knew what I was truly capable of now. I held the feather tightly and swallowed, unsure why the thought of telling Oliver had transformed my heart into a panicked bird. “Ollie…”
What if I was wrong? What if I couldn’t repeat what I’d done with the tree and the beasts in the woods? What if Oliver and I made plans, real plans, and I broke his heart for the millionth time?
Fear won again.
The stars were coming out now, I noticed desperately. Seeing them brought another conversation to mind.
“It’s not, you know,” I said. Oliver looked at me and I clarified, “Love isn’t worth it. You probably don’t remember, because you were ridiculously drunk, but you asked me once. You were babbling about the stars, asking if they were worth loving. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what you really meant.”
I could tell from his expression that he didn’t remember—no surprise there. But now Oliver thought about what I’d said, completely sober. After a few seconds, he spoke with the same gentle firmness that he used to hold a paintbrush.
“I think it is. Worth it, I mean,” Oliver said.
I looked at him. His gaze was steady, his meaning clear. I didn’t want to demean Oliver’s sincerity or make him feel belittled, but I couldn’t stay silent. Not this time. “I’m literally the only human being you’ve ever met, much less dated,” I told him softly. “What you feel then might utterly pale in comparison to the love you feel for me.”
“You and I have been on a thousand dates. We’ve been to the carnival. We’ve gone stargazing. Swimming. I’ve taken you on picnics.”
“You’re missing the point, and none of that counts, Ollie.”
“Why not?” Oliver asked. There was nothing curt or confrontational about his demeanor. “Because there were no other people around?”
When he put it that way, I knew it wasn’t the reason I’d never thought of our nights as dates. But Oliver gave me a rueful smile, faint lines appearing at the corners of his eyes. “I’m not trying to change your mind about us. But… I’m valid. What I feel is valid. That’s all I wanted to say.”
I held his gaze and nodded to indicate that I’d heard him. That I’d really heard him. Maybe I belonged in a hospital, because it was the truth. By this point, it seemed impossible that Oliver wasn’t real. The world was full of magic. Out loud, though, all I said was, “I like it when you stand up for yourself.”
“Why don’t you try to get some rest? I’ll wake you when I think of a plan.” Oliver tugged at the end of my ponytail, but I saw right through him. He wanted me to fall asleep and wake up in the real world, where it was safe. While he was stuck here, alone, weaponless and vulnerable.
I gave Oliver a dead-eyed look, a clear indication of how I felt about that. “Nice try. I’m not…”
I looked down, and my words trailed off when I caught sight of something buried within the nest. It gleamed through the tangle of sticks, grass, roots, and dirt. My eyebrows drew together. Tucking Oliver’s feather away, I shifted so I was lower on the edge, making it easier to dig. In seconds, I wrapped my fingers around the object and pulled it out. I knew instantly what I’d found.
It was a talon.
I frowned at the deadly-looking point, thinking of ways I could use this newfound weapon. In my mind’s eye, I saw the harpies in the nest below ours. An idea bloomed.
“Ollie,” I said urgently, my gaze flying back to him.
But he was staring at the eggs behind me. I turned just in time to see a head poke through the layer of slime. Eyes, round and dark, landed on me. They lit up with something that was unmistakable. Something that had shone from my own eyes, I was sure, during those dark moments of invincibility, consumption, and power.
Hunger.
“Oh, fuck,” I swore softly. Suddenly it was all-too clear why the harpies had left us here. Being eaten alive by their newborns was not the way I wanted to die. I whirled and climbed the edge of the nest again. “We need to go!”
“Go where?” Oliver demanded.
I halted at the very edge, and he stepped up beside me. “To the nest underneath us! Hurry.”
“Wait! In case we die…” Grabbing my hand, Oliver’s gaze dropped to my lips, then rose back up with obvious intent.
There were so many reasons why I should’ve turned away, and I wanted to defy them all. Fuck it. I grabbed the back of Oliver’s neck and closed the space between us. His mouth opened to mine and his other hand fisted on my lower back.
It was a good kiss. Hard, urgent, and over too soon.
A screeching sound made us break apart. All the hatchlings had broken free of their eggs now. Two of them had started to move toward us, wobbling precariously on the tips of their wings and their stick-thin legs. They’d reach our perch in seconds.
Oliver was still holding my hand. He tugged at me, and I focused on him. There was no time to count or rethink it. In the next breath, we pushed off the edge like this was the cliff we’d spent our whole childhoods leaping from.
For a handful of wild, terrible moments, we plummeted in a freefall. It felt like we’d jumped out of a plane with no parachute. The distance was farther than I’d thought, and though I fought to remain vertical, the rushing air pushed me into a horizontal position. My hair streamed behind me and tears slid from the corners of my eyes.
Then I was hitting the nest, the air leaving my lungs in an agonizing whoosh. I realized that I’d landed on the same side that I had fallen on before. A moment later, I felt Oliver’s hands wrap around my arms. The rough bottom of the nest scraped and poked at my legs as he hauled me backward. Away from the half-grown harpies staring at us just a few yards away.
Both male and female heads followed our movements.
Miraculously, I’d managed to hold onto the talon. I stood slowly, instinctively holding out one hand toward the harpies, as if they were feral dogs. In the other I adjusted my grip on the talon, making it easier to swipe and slash. It wouldn’t come to that, I told myself.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” I said. “But we do need to borrow you for a bit.”
One of them hissed, and I flinched. Great. This would officially go down as my worst idea ever. I was about to attempt talking to the hatchlings again when Oliver walked past me—he must’ve figured out what I was trying to do.
“Ollie,” I growled.
He acted as if I hadn’t spoken, striding right into the cluster of harpies without fear or hesitation. If they didn’t kill him, I’d do it myself, I decided as I rushed forward. Oliver flung his hand out, palm-up. He didn’t look at me, but his message was clear. Stop. Trust me.
“I am like you,” he murmured, keeping his focus on the bristling creatures. The sound of his voice made the loud one cock its head. Oliver caught its gaze and nodded. “I am part of this world. We’re made of the same magic.”
I watched, spellbound, as he moved amongst them. Still offering the creatures calm reassurances, Oliver ran his fingertip along the edge of a wing. The harpy he’d pet made a purring sound. They trust him now, I thought.