Falling

by Christina Lauren

Short of terrible illness or injury, Cat couldn’t think of anything much worse than attending a Halloween party hosted by the best friend of a guy she planned to break up with later.

Damn

Unsurprised, Cat watched him go and then turned her wry grin up to the other woman. “You don’t have to babysit me; I promise I’m fine.” Regina laughed and tilted her head for Cat to follow. “Jake is hopeless. Come on. There’s a group of us over by the couch.”

From the side of the room, he watched the little lamb.

a truly aspirational costume, given that the man couldn’t be more than five foot six—who

Hahaha

Feeding was endlessly more fun when they had a little fire in them.

oh...okay

But strangely, the lamb’s pulse didn’t lurch, her lips didn’t part in a gasp, her eyes didn’t ignite and then glaze over. She simply blinked away, uninterested. 8 Shock flooded him, and he was immediately—desperately—curious.

What kind of idiot brought the most beautiful girl to a tawdry, cacophonous party like this and deserted her? If only he knew there were monsters out there, waiting for their turn.

The kind who aren't interested in the truly good ones but then bitch when they don't have one.

When Jake suggested the coordinated costumes, his idea that she be the lamb to his shepherd struck her as vaguely patronizing and overtly patriarchal—not to mention the unspoken expectation that she somehow manage to be a sexy lamb.

I swear y'all be giving boys too much credit...he probably thought it would be cute but is an idiot and forgot then did his own thing.

“You’re beautiful, little lamb. Everyone in that room noticed you.” He smiled. “I’d wager everyone in any room notices you.”

“I followed you in here because you looked lonely. I followed you in here because you’re beautiful, and I like beautiful things.” A pause, and then the rest slipped out of him: “I followed you in here because I’m lonely too.”

Maybe she did know him. In a past life, or in dreams, or in something else that seemed impossible but true at the same time.

“Are you seducing me, little lamb?” “Shh,” she whispered, smiling, enchanted again, but this time she didn’t try to shake the tether off. She knew where this was going: She wanted him, and he wanted her to want him, and it didn’t matter where her desire ended and his invisible persuasion began. Wanting him didn’t scare her, didn’t feel impulsive or shameful or dangerous. It simply felt inevitable.

Brigan couldn’t remember a lover who hadn’t mindlessly devoured whatever he gave them and then greedily demanded more. He reeled in understanding when it hit him, for it had been so long: This was what real desire looked like.

Madness, he thought to himself. This is what madness feels like, to want to exist in a moment that isn’t reality. And what a relief it was to know that he couldn’t fall in love with her, was incapable of it, because if this was a fraction of love, he would never be able to let her out of his sight.

“What are you?” Brigan stilled. Not who, but what. He rocked back on his heels, swallowing his shock, and raised an eyebrow. “That’s an odd question, Catalina.” “But the right one,” she said steadily. He felt his nostrils flare but tucked away any other reaction to this. “We barely know each other,” she continued. “But did it feel like sex with a stranger to you?” Brigan swallowed, hating that the truth slipped so easily free: “No, it did not.”

“Maybe so, but you’re the one who criticized Jake for leaving me as soon as we got to the party, and now that you’ve fucked me, you’re going to leave me alone on the doorstep?”

With a soft growl, she relented. “Fine. First question,” she said pointedly. “How old are you?” He looked surprised; obviously this wasn’t where he expected her to start. “Twenty-five.” And she’d expected him to be honest. “Yes, but how long have you been twenty-five?” Brigan grinned, saying cheekily, “A while.” A laugh burst out of Cat’s throat. “Is this your way of admitting to me that you’ve read Twilight?”

He studied her as she lifted her beer and took a sip. For a beat, she stared down into her glass, and when she looked back up, her gaze was suddenly wary, as if something had just occurred to her. “You don’t tell people about yourself very often, do you?” He shook his head. “Never in my existence.” She swallowed, holding his gaze. “You’re not going to kill me, are you?” Brigan wanted to laugh at this, to wave it off as absurd, but there was a growing kernel of awareness at the back of his mind that urged him to do exactly that. He’d told Catalina too much already, and even as infatuated as he was with this soft, rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed little lamb, he should probably kill her anyway.

“I’m doomed to walk the earth, alone and immortal, until my beloved finds me and rescues me.”

Something rooted inside her told her he wouldn’t kill her. That he couldn’t.

He imagined lifting his hands, wrapping them around the thin, vulnerable column of her throat, and he couldn’t, not in a million years. So Brigan bent, resting his lips on her pulse, feeling the life thrumming there, coveting it so deeply it made phantom pain slice through his torso.

She sent her hands up his back, and he bent to taste her, those lips, that soft, teasing tongue, to suck and lick and indulge in this final taste, but as they moved together, the contact deepening into something lush and promising, Brigan became aware of the path of her touch, diverging from the norm. Lovers’ hands always passed hungrily from his backside to his shoulders or the same path in reverse, groping and possessive and entitled, but invariably their fingers would pass, unfeeling, over the site of eruption, the obstacle of powerful muscle and bone and feather extending from his back. Brigan stilled now as Catalina’s tentative caresses circled the wide base of his left wing where it joined his taut back muscles and traveled up over the broad arc of it, gently, seductively, exploring the enormous wind-roughened curve all the way down to the erotic, sensitive, feather-soft tip. He gasped, electrified, his entire body gone rigid. She pulled back to take in his expression, her wonder immediately crashing into remorse. “I’m sorry! I should have asked. I just didn’t know if they were real.” Thunderstruck, mute, he stared down at her and simply nodded, for all around him the world began to melt into color and vibration and sound; her face, which had been beautiful to him from the moment he saw her, was now something else altogether, still beautiful but now irresistible; dear to him in a way that held her tenderly at the very center of each cell in his body. His life, his lo...

“If I’d given you another, what was your final question going to be?” he asked her, his voice hoarse with emotion. Catalina looked up at him, her eyes adoring and concerned. “I was going to ask you whether you could fly.” He could; he could fly and glide and soar and dive, but right in that moment, with his soul and heart returned to him, with Catalina standing before him and their future spreading out ahead like a vibrant, luxurious tapestry, Brigan could only fall to his knees.