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Alis Volat Propriis, Latin for “She flies with her own wings.”
We were so naïve to think anything in the human realm lasts forever.
“Sometimes.” Morpheus drops a black velvet cowboy hat over his blue hair. “A few weeks ago it was a definitive always. In a matter of days, you’ll be professing your undying lo—” “Loathing?” I interrupt.
He falls backward off the ledge and leaves me standing there, my body humming with power: a full-fledged netherling queen—freed of my webby cage, yet spellbound by a devil’s almost-kiss.
“So, we’re off to ancient Rome, then?”
“Hmm. Have Jebediah mooning over you in a half-awake dream state, or have him unconscious and drooling. What do they call that here? A no-brainer.”
“Hello, luv,” he says through a thick curtain of blue hair. “Hope I’m … interrupting.”
“Shh.” I squeeze his hand. His palm feels clammy. “We have to try to keep it down, okay? We don’t want my dad coming in.” He grits his teeth against more shivers. “Always knew I’d end up in your bed … and hear you say those words one day.” He manages a smirk.
Morpheus places his hand on Jeb’s busy fingers, eyes opened to slits. “Ah, my pretty pseudo elf.” He takes a labored breath. “Is it time at last to express our unrequited feelings?”
“You make me crazy!” His eyes light up, glittering onyx against a backdrop of violet jewels. “And you inflame my soul.”
