Page 32 of Forged By Shadows
“Avery?” Theo calls after me. “Shall I walk you back?” His desperation to stay close pushes my speed walk into a full-out run. My ankle screams in protest but I don’t hold back, keeping Meg on call until I feel I’m a safe enough distance away. I slump behind a tree, my lungs crying out for a break.
“That was weird,” I gasp, dropping my head back. Meg grunts in agreement.
“I was seconds from calling the cops. Are you nearly back at your dorm?” Peering at my screen, I bite down on my bottom lip. The outline of my face is dimmed, only reflected by the light of the window in front of me. “Oh shit, Avery. Where the fuck are you?”
“I went on autopilot,” I hiss, shrinking down into a ball. “I didn’t want to go back to the dorm, Theo might drop by to check I’m there. I’ll be fine, trust me.” Meg tumbles into a rant about me being untrustworthy right now as I pepper the air with kisses and whisper I love her, before ending the call.
Shoving the phone into my cleavage, I grab the rope ladder and climb the side of the trunk, shimmying along the thick branch Dax once shoved me onto. Reaching for the window, I find it unlocked and sigh in relief. Thankfully, my leotard and tutu allow me to climb inside with all of the finesse of a large feline. Music blares through the house, all of the lights on downstairs. I remain glued to the wall furthest from the railing, creeping past doorways. My hand wraps around a handle and I slip inside without incident, until a pair of chocolate brown eyes land on me.
Huxley stills mid-step, exiting his bathroom. Water drips down his body, from his long wavy hair, down his abs, to the towel held lazily over his dick. Either side, his thighs are thick and firm. The skull planted there, dripping in ink and shadow, seems to scream directly at me.
“Um, hey.” I clear my throat, standing straight instead of creeping around like a hunchback. “Can I stay with you tonight?” His face doesn’t shift, a long pause causing doubt to fester. Huxley’s eyes track my skin-tight pink leotard and settle on my ballet shoes. They’re ruined, caked in dirt. Now I’m staring at them too, the bruising around my ankle is starting to deepen, drawing all of my attention to the throbbing pain surrounding it.
“This is becoming quite the habit.” Huxley’s mouth turns down, but it’s not my presence he’s frowning at. Winding the towel around his waist and tucking it in place, his strides close the gap between us. Sweeping me off my feet, Huxley holds me close and carries me into the bathroom. I’m dropped onto the counter while he draws a bath.
As he tips bubbles into the swirling water, I watch the tattoo on his back shift in time with the corded muscle underneath. An angel sits central, her dress tattered and head turned downwards. In her hands, a sword lays horizontally, highlighted from the jeweled hilt to glint in all the right places. Her wings are the true masterpiece, sprouting from her back to cover the rest of his. The feathers, black with white tips, are spread wide and etched in such fine detail, I’m convinced I’d feel their softness if I were to reach out and stroke them. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I slip from the countertop. Tentatively brushing my fingertips over Huxley’s shoulder blade, he stills.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Little Swan.”
“Why not?” I breathe, continuing my exploration. He shudders.
“Because I can’t be the first one to fuck you.” Spinning, Huxley grabs my ass and hikes me up the length of his body. My thighs rest on his hip bones, our lips almost touching. “I’ve spoken with the others and we’ve come to an agreement. There are many things we’re willing to sin for, but taking your virginity isn’t one of them.” My lips pop open, my cheeks flushing.
“What happened to seeking you out if I needed to cum?” I repeat back his words from the ballet studio. His resulting smirk is so cocky, I blush further.
“Is that why you sought me out?” I bite my bottom lip, preferring that reason to the truth. My pianist freaked me out and I ran a mile on a twisted ankle. Huxley takes my silence as an invitation to ravage my mouth, his tongue consuming my argument. His touch sets me on fire, his taste pushing me over the edge of inhibitions. Huxley may have made his agreement, but I’ve done no such thing.
My fingers sink into his wet hair, pulling him flush against my chest. The lycra of my leotard rubs in all the right places, tightening alongside my core. My nipples press into the fabric, brushing over Huxley’s firm chest. He holds me as if I weigh nothing, his hands splayed over my ass and fingers tantalizingly close to my pussy. I roll my hips, hoping to shift his touch closer. In return, his dick tents the towel separating us and Huxley groans into my mouth.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters, sinking his face into my neck. Placing me on the edge of the tub, Huxley helps to strip me with the care and desire that contradicts his earlier statement. In the depths of his chocolate eyes, I reckon he is willing to sin for me. Once I’m bared, naked and openly wanting, Huxley lifts me into the bathtub. The water is delightfully warm and smells like him, apple perfuming the air. “Take your time,” Huxley presses a kiss to my forehead. I try to reach for him but he’s too quick.
“Where are you going?” I whimper like a desperate fool. Whatever happened to avoiding the guys and ignoring my libido just crashed and burned. Huxley palms himself through the towel.
“I’m going to beat my dick into a gym-sock so I don’t explode all over you in your sleep tonight.” Oh right, the pact against screwing me into next week. Just fucking perfect.
“And who said romance is dead?” I sigh. Once he’s fallen asleep, I’ll have to hunt for the pink vibrator he is yet to return and do the job myself. Huxley pauses in the doorway, his face growing stoic.
“Do you want me to romance you, Little Swan?” He stares at me so intently, I’m glad half of my face is covered by bubbles. The flush coating my cheeks underneath is something fierce, thanks to the sudden change of atmosphere. I can deal with sexual tension - it’s practically second nature to me at this point - but romance? That’s another ball game entirely.
The door across the other side opens, Dax stalling mid-step into the room. His blue eyes travel from me in the bathtub, my clothes on the floor, to Huxley turning away whilst squeezing his towel-covered cock. I expect him to do the same, but the longer he stands there, the more I sink into the bubbles.
The others, aside from Wyatt obviously, possess that wild streak which makes me want to tiptoe the edge alongside them. But Dax can’t be painted with the same brush. He’s sweet, attentive. He meets me for coffee during our breaks, arranges my highlighters so they don’t roll onto the floor, duplicates his notes when I miss class. I find myself second guessing laying naked in his tub, worried about changing his impression of me. The silence isn’t helping either.
“Vampires, bikers or stalkers?” he finally says after an age. My eyes widen blankly.
“Are we playing fuck, marry, kill while I’m in the bath?” Dax’s brow tilts and the ghost of a smirk kisses his full lips.
“No. I’m going to read to you while you’re in the tub. Pick your poison.” Shifting to lean against the doorframe, the strong set of his jaw becomes more pronounced as he produces a full smile. If I weren’t already in water, I’d have melted. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I decide to test Dax’s resolve.
“Fae,” I raise my chin. He nods and retreats into his room without a trace of hesitation. Just how many romance books does he have in his arsenal?
Chapter Twenty Four
“Axel honey, come on in. Don’t be shy.” Stepping into the darkened ballroom, I’m shocked to find it empty. My mother is standing on the podium in a glittery black dress, diamond pendants hanging from her earlobes. Looking around suspiciously, I edge further into the room. “Ahh, there you are.”
Pulling at the navy tie that is almost choking me, I shuffle forward in my polished brown shoes. Running a hand over my head, I feel the soft locks I’ve grown to fear. Mother’s smile widens, the cherry red lipstick popping against her pearly white teeth. Beckoning me forward, she outstretches her hand, pulling me up onto the stage and hugging me tightly.
“I have a surprise for you,” she whispers into my ear. Turning me by my shoulders, I face the vast space, my heart jolting at the sight of a vertical container that wasn’t there before. Ten feet tall, the cell is made of glass and steel, filled to the brim with shimmering water. My fourteen-year-old self is looking back at me in the reflection of the glass, an unsure look in my hazel eyes. A splash at the top causes some of the water to spill over onto the marble flooring, and a panicked Avery appears inside. I rush forward on instinct, but my mother’s hand grips my arm and yanks me backwards.
