Rafe paused for a long time before he answered, “No.”
She looked at her hands, watching his wings heal inch by inch beneath her touch, and focused on the work instead of the unease coiling in her stomach. But the silence just made her nausea grow, as though her body and mind were at war—one aware that what she was doing was wrong in every sense, and the other heedless as it took pleasure in the sizzling heat of his skin, in the searing twinge of his magic rising to meet hers.
Rafe writhed his shoulder blades and turned his head so it faced the wall instead of her. Then he cleared his throat and asked, “So, how are things going with Xander?”
Lyana kept her focus on the injuries healing beneath her glowing fingers, trying not to wonder why he kept bringing the conversation back to the one topic she didn’t want to discuss with him. “Fine, I guess.”
“The two of you seemed happy. In the square I mean, before everything happened…”
“I didn’t know you were watching.”
“I wasn’t,” he hastily replied, head twitching as if he had winced again. An amused smile played on her lips as he went on, “I mean, I was, obviously. But just for your protection— Xander’s protection— Both of your protections.” He managed to toss her a frustrated look. “Would you just answer the question?”
“Which was…?”
“Are you happy?” He paused again. “With Xander?”
“We’re…” Lyana searched for the words, keeping her attention on his wing. The area beneath her hands had been healed for a few moments now. She shifted her weight, moving farther down his wing, far enough from his torso to breathe, far enough the air coming in from the balcony cooled the back of her neck—just enough of a shock to clear the turmoil from her mind.
“We’re different people,” she continued as she brushed her fingers down the outer edge of his wing, finding the breaks in what should have been smooth bone. A shiver rippled over his feathers, catching the light from the lamp, the way she imagined an ocean wave might reflect the moon at midnight. “But maybe we’ve found a happy medium.”
Her eyes flicked up, finding his.
He dropped his gaze. “Good.”
Lyana finished healing the rest of his left wing before standing and walking to the other side of the bed, sensing his attention as she knelt at the far side of his right wing, starting from the outside this time.
“Why are you limping?” he asked softly.
“I can’t heal myself,” Lyana said with a shrug. “It’s nothing, just a scratch, gone in a few days.”
He frowned. Lyana could feel it without having to look up, as though his dissatisfaction were a tangible thing pressing against her, a finger nudging her arm like a petulant child. Somehow, she found it endearing.
“I’m fine, really.”
“I—” He released a heavy breath. “It’s a little strange, isn’t it?”
This time, Lyana looked at him. “What?”
“You’ve never met anyone else with magic, have you?”
She shook her head.
“Neither have I." The crease in his brow deepened. "What are the chances that when we finally do, the person we meet has the exact opposite power to ours? Strange, right?”
“Unless…” Lyana swallowed to ease the sudden dryness of her throat. Because she’d never spoken to anyone about her theories, not even to Cassi. Magic was forbidden. Even mentioning it was dangerous. But here, in the ever-shrinking firelight, her power touching his, an act more soul-baring than words could ever be, Lyana felt safe enough to wonder out loud. “What if it’s not magic?” He cocked his head, confused, as she pursued, “What if it’s a gift? From the gods?”
She waited for his instant denial, his joke or his rejection, but it never came.
Instead, he simply asked, “How do you mean?”
“Have you ever been to your sacred nest?” Her mind was already jumping ahead, her magic flaring with her excitement. Palms glowing more brightly, she funneled all her power into his bones, moving to a spot still unhealed.
“Not since I got my wings,” he answered.
“Well, I’ve been to mine, plenty of times, and there’s something about being so close to the god stones—” Lyana flicked her gaze to his face, finding him enraptured, then returned to her work, letting her thoughts race as her hands moved again and again, faster as the energy pulsed through her. “When I was there, my magic would light up, as though something within me recognized the power inside the stones, as though they were one and the same, as though Aethios himself had reached out and put a little piece of his spirit in me. I don’t think what we have is magic, Rafe, at least not the kind our ancestors feared. I think we were chosen—by Aethios, by Taetanos, by all the gods even. We were chosen for something more.”
“For what?” he whispered.
Lyana put her hand on his shoulder, realizing that in her frenzy she’d finished healing his other wing and was kneeling beside him. Her fingers traced the curve of his biceps, running along his skin. His eyes followed.
“I don’t know. I only know I’ve always had this feeling,” she said, mesmerized by the contrast of her dark skin against his. She was made for the golden glow of the sun, just like her magic, while he was made for the silvery sheen of the moon. Two opposites, yet the same. “This feeling that I was meant for something more. A yearning in my gut, a beating of my heart, a sense that my destiny is bigger than what’s expected of me. And I’ve always been looking for it, searching the world for a sign, for a clue, for a map to the adventure I know is waiting. I haven’t found it yet, but I found you, and maybe we were supposed to figure out the rest together.”
Her fingers had stopped and rested in his, curled so they almost held hands but not quite. Silver-and-gold static filled the empty space, crackling and sizzling like stolen starlight.
“Ana…” Rafe said her name as though it caused him pain. He removed his hand and snapped his wings closed, rolling to the other side of the bed and jumping to his feet. His face was stone, carved into resolute blankness. “You should go.”
“Rafe,” she countered. Even as the word rolled out of her lips, she knew it wasn’t enough, didn’t pierce him the way her informal name, Ana—short and simple and steeped in so many unspoken implications—pierced her. Again, she was struck with the frustration of knowing Rafe wasn’t the name she was supposed to use, but Lysander wasn’t either, not anymore. He was someone else, something else, something she hadn’t figured out yet.
And she wouldn’t tonight.
Not when his wall was back up.
He walked to the curtain draped over his balcony and pulled it aside, looking at everything and yet nothing, certainly not at her. “You should leave, now, before anyone sees you.”
Lyana listened.
She crossed the room and stepped out into the shadows of night, breathing the fresh air, her chest tight. As she spread her wings, she looked over her shoulder, meeting the blue eyes watching her beneath hooded brows. “I’ll be back.”
With a beating of wings she was gone, not giving him the chance to tell her no.