Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)

by Rainbow Rowell

I get under the blanket. Snow reaches out to me and pulls me against him. He’s still sleep-warm. I feel his tail sliding over my thigh. We’re face-to-face, but he’s not looking in my eyes. “Don’t be angry with me yet,” he whispers. His breath smells rotten. Maybe if he were someone else, I’d mind. “When do I get to be angry?” I ask. He knocks his forehead against mine, still looking down. “Later.” “All right,” I whisper. He brings his hand up, catches his thumb on my bottom lip. “You’re pink.” “Breakfast,” I say. He rubs my lip roughly against my teeth. My jaw goes slack. Simon glances up, into my eyes, and then rubs my lip again, more gently. I shiver. I touch his side, his skin, his ribs. He thinks he’s fat—he isn’t. He just isn’t a starving teenager anymore. He’s solid and stalwart. And so warm . . . His skin feels different when he’s been sleeping, I don’t understand why. Thicker somehow, more lush. I move my hand to the small of his back, just above his tail, and pull him closer—he grimaces. I lift my hand away. “Are you injured?” Snow shrugs. “A bit. My wing’s cut up. From the glass in the Chapel. I have to heal the old-fashioned way.” I kiss his cheek, quickly. “What can I do?” “Can you . . .” He pushes me onto my back (I let him) and rolls partly on top of me. It frees up his wings, and he relaxes them, half spread, above us. “Thanks.” I reach up to pet the edge of one wing. It twitches. “Does that hurt?” I ask. “No, it . . .” He wrinkles his nose, like he isn’t su...