10

Not before he grew fat with fledglings that Icarus would give him after a particularly intense Heat. They would be little ones with cherubic white feathers—not black like his own—white. And he would cry when he saw them—evidence that he was still capable of creating innocence and good. His little boys would cleanse his soul, and finally he would forget about Euodia's hold on his being—

This time, his eyes fluttered open, and she prepared for attack, prepared for anything. But instead of the cat-like slits she was so used to, the madness that shone in his eyes. Helios stared up at her with pupils so dilated they were a solid gorgeous black.

They were circles that grew, like the eclipse of the moon, so generous and so heavy they lit her skin on fire. Dilated, they swallowed the pretty soft gold irises into voids of nothingness. It was an unfamiliar colour on him, and it sent a jolt through her, her heart thumping hard in her ears.

His gaze was strained, and it reminded her of something primordial, something that existed within her far beyond time, called to the reasons for her existence. The motives of her biology, the needs that thrummed through her 'Beta' body—

Clearly confused, he licked his lips lazily staring at her—up then down, in a slow generous meander. It made her nipples tingle and her belly tightened. Then he moistened bouncy soft pink lips into a gorgeous red, mumbling out words in a sweet mellifluous hum.

Her heart was ricocheting, and it ached a call for the warmth that thrummed between their fingers. She felt the need to press her hands over him, to pull him so close to her that the connection would begin again. They were two pieces pulled so far that she couldn't feel him no more, couldn't hear the whispers of a flowing red thread between hearts of dripping, melting gold—

"Baby?"

The question was so soft and so tender it had her heart soaring out of her body. And he gave her those words, enamoured and with eyes that warmed when they graced her skin. It was nothing like what Euodia remembered, nothing that he would direct her way if he were of sound mind. But it was enough to let fly a steady beat between her core, the thump of her heartbeat felt too strongly between her thighs.

Arousal.

"I'm not your spawn, you dumbass," she'd responded with a huff, but her cheeks turned red at the man, so incredibly beautiful and dreadfully unclothed. Or at least not enough for her to forget about his body, cheeks turned red at the glisten of sweet slicked up skin.

He was not dressed for the weather, clearly a foreigner in these parts. All he had on was a loose billowy satin long sleeve that had been torn into shreds from the wind. It revealed the hot planes of a smooth muscular abdomen and the wink of pierced pink nipples, like strawberries on cream. The curve of a fit chest, the dip and ripple of strength and heat—it was displayed before her on a silver platter.

He had on a pair of jeans that had been violently torn on his landing. She squinted. And was that a split down the middle of his ass? Quinn tried not to look at the colour of his underwear or the muscles that twisted when he moved, black feathers caressing his skin as they shifted, bloody as they stained his flesh.

Fuck.

And now she felt like the biggest asshole in the entire world.

"W-where am I?" he continued, voice strained, delirious as he watched her, his wings flapping sadly behind his back as if they were trying to get him to stand. He moaned softly, his voice cracking just a little and it slurred revealing his condition. "I'm cold, baby, I'm so cold."

Right.

She sighed, giving up on being a bitch to him as she began to start a fire. It crackled, sparked, and roared before him and still he shivered. She then dumped a pile of freshly purchased duvets on him; propped hot water bottles all over his frame. It didn't work and she sucked on her bottom lip, chewed on the flesh not wanting to think about what the romance movies suggested because she was not going to go naked—

"You're so stupid," he growled and this time she flinched, surprised at the hostility. The sudden glare that he shot her way was oddly clear. "I'm not cold like that." The fuck? She stared at him, opened her mouth wanting to talk about how he'd clearly said he was. "I'm hungry." Helios moaned, licking his lips. "I'm so hungry."

"No." Quinn's brain short-circuited, and she panicked, scrolling through the app. She knew what he meant by a fey's hunger. A siren's hunger. An Omega's lust. Her mind blanked, and she sucked in breath after breath through her mouth. "I'm not buying you a cheeseburger. Those blankets were expensive. But if you want you can have a biscuit, and some of my—"

"You," Helios whispered, the wind blew tousling the silky tresses of his hair that had dried in the fire. The glow of the flames turned pink hair into ruby and pitch-black eyes a honey that was warmer than it seemed. He burnt brighter than a star in the cold deep blue. "Want you."

Quinn was immobilised by his eyes, caught in the sweet lull of his voice spelled in words of utter, complete submission.

"What?"

"I…" he gulped, turning towards her, revealing more of his face, more of his eyes—they shifted and turned a lighter citrine. He was petite but beautiful, godly so, cheeks cherubic and lips the softest rose. Then his wings rose, and he was the devil. "Alpha."

There was a brief silence as their eyes locked and something within Quinn gave way to floodgates of heat. A small shiver, the tight squeeze of her cunt and the seep of wetness. He couldn't possibly mean what he said, could he? And she caught herself before she could breathe him in and succumb.

"Bitch, no," she told him because she had to. "You've got the wrong person, dude."

"What you should say," he drawled, voice a whiney teasing hum, "is yes, please, my sweet, little, baby Omega." His lips moved into a pout, the energy to mess with her remained in his hallucinating frame. The charm was like a slap to her cheeks that only grew redder.

"You are no one's Omega," she answered, like a motivational speaker on the web with a backdrop of an orchestra. She paused for dramatic effect, and also for her heart to stop thundering against her rib cage. "No one but your own."

He laughed, soft gentle (not crazed) giggles that was unlike the man she knew him to be, or at least, the one Euodia did. It seemed like a trap, words of longing from one intent to kill her. Because how could his eyes look that warm? How could he act as if he'd struck gold, won the lottery? How could he look happier than the day he'd killed Euodia?

"You want me to fuck myself?" He seemed a little scandalised, with a raised brow and a glance down to his cock. She could almost picture him, body bent and sucking. She flushed, swallowed, then turned to look away.

"Go ahead if you can. I won't look."

"Touché," he mused, fingers running through his hair, "no siren can eat his own lust, not even the best. But I might be able to lick my dick, if that's something you want to see." His tongue probed at the corner of his lips.

"Then go find a lizard or something," she jerked a hand into the corner, "I'm sure there's a couple screwing around in the dark."

But that didn't seem to stop Helios from approaching her, crawling, moving away from the blankets, away from the bottles that costed her a fortune. His body was serpentine as it sleeked up to hers, pupils blown wide as he inhaled an invisible scent from her body.

A smell he seemed to enjoy so desperately as he nosed at her neck and swallowed down as if it were a drug. And in begging juxtapose, she held her breath, allowed it to catch in her throat. She couldn't let herself taste his salted caramel at the back of her tongue, couldn't let herself take in a solid full breath of his scent.

But he moved, his face close to hers, too close because even in the damned storm, she could feel the radiation of his heat. The throb of his skin and the phantom scent of his lust. She could feel his breath fanning against her cheek, he was moaning as he sniffed. The whines rippling out of his throat in soft little purrs that made her insides quiver.

His scent called for her to let go.

"Can't you smell it darling?" he said in a singsong syrupy voice that stunned; the words poured from his lips in a deep endless growl. "You're mine. Mine. Mine. Mine." He teased, voice dropping one octave then three, hissed as he sniffed her all over. "Mine." And she noticed now, bathed in the glow of the fire, that his cheeks were pink and his eyes more glazed and waterier than it should be.

Pre-heat.