FINNIAN
The moonlight was soft on her face.
I sat beside her on the stone bench. Not too close. Not too far. Close enough to feel the warmth coming off her skin. Far enough that she did not feel trapped.
She was still shaking. Just a little. Her hands were folded in her lap. Her shoulders were hunched. She stared at the white flowers growing along the edge of the clearing.
I did not speak at first.
I let the silence settle between us. Let her breathing slow. Let her heart stop racing.
"The first time I grew wings," I said finally, "I was seven years old."
She turned her head. Looked at me.
"I woke up in the middle of the night. There was blood on my sheets. My back was on fire. I thought I was dying." I paused. "I screamed so loud that the whole palace woke up."
"What happened?" she asked. Her voice was soft.
"My father came into my room. He looked at my wings. He looked at the blood. He looked at me." I stared at the flowers. "Then he walked out. He did not say a word."
She was quiet for a moment. "That is terrible."
"That is my father."
"Did your brothers grow wings too?"
"Jayce grew his a year later. He was eight. He did not scream. He did not cry. He just walked into the throne room with blood dripping down his back and announced that he was now an angel."
She almost smiled.
Almost.
"Darlington was nine," I continued. "He cried for three days. Not because of the pain. Because he thought he was a monster."
She turned her body toward me. "He is not a monster."
"No," I agreed. "None of us are. But we have been treated like monsters our whole lives."
She looked at me. Really looked at me. Her brown eyes searched my face like she was looking for something. A lie. A crack. A reason not to trust me.
I gave her nothing but the truth.
"The curse," I said. "Our great-great-grandfather made a deal with a witch. He wanted power. She gave it to him. But the power came with a price."
"Wings?"
"Wings. And something else. Something we do not fully understand yet."
She waited for me to continue.
"I do not know everything," I admitted. "My father does not tell us much. He sees us as weapons. Not sons."
Her hand moved. Just a little. Her fingers brushed against mine on the bench.
I did not grab her hand. I did not pull her closer. I let her touch me first.
"I am lonely," I said. "All the time. Even when my brothers are in the same room. Even when the palace is full of people. I am always lonely."
"Why?"
"Because no one sees me. Jayce is loud. Darlington is kind. I am just... there. In the background. Watching."
She looked down at our hands. Her fingers were still touching mine.
"I see you," she whispered.
My chest tightened.
I turned my hand over and took hers. Her fingers curled around mine.
"You ran," I said.
She flinched.
"That was naughty."
She did not pull away.
I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed her palm. Soft. Slow. Her skin was warm.
She shivered.
I kissed her wrist. Her pulse beat beneath my lips like a trapped bird.
"I should punish you," I murmured against her skin.
She held her breath.
I kissed the inside of her elbow. Her arm trembled.
"But I do not want to scare you."
I pulled her closer. She came easily. Her body leaned into mine. Her head rested against my shoulder.
I spread my silver wings. They wrapped around us like a blanket. Like a cocoon. Like a secret world that only we shared.
She looked up at me. Her eyes were wide. Her lips were parted.
I kissed her neck.
Soft. Worshipful.
She sighed.
I kissed her shoulder. The fabric of her dress was thin. I could feel her skin beneath.
She moaned.
I smiled against her skin.
"That is what I wanted to hear."
Her fingers curled into my shirt. She pulled me closer. I went gladly.
I kissed her collarbone. Her throat. The soft spot behind her ear. Each kiss was gentle. Each kiss was a promise.
"You are not alone anymore," I whispered. "I see you. I have always seen you."
Her arms wrapped around my neck. Her face buried in my shoulder. She was crying. Quiet tears that soaked into my shirt.
I held her.
I ran my hand through her hair. Slow strokes. Gentle. Calming.
She relaxed against me. Her body softened. Her breathing evened out.
We stayed like that for a long time. Me holding her. Her crying. The moon moving across the sky.
---
After a while, she pulled back.
Her eyes were red. Her cheeks were wet. But she was not shaking anymore.
"Finnian," she said.
"Yes?"
"Why are you being so gentle?"
"Because someone has to be."
She looked at me for a long moment. Then she reached up and touched my face. Her fingers traced my jaw. My cheek. My lips.
"You are not cold," she said. "You pretend to be. But you are not."
I said nothing.
She smiled. A real smile. Small. Shy. But real.
I wanted to kiss her again. But I heard wings in the distance.
Darlington.
He was coming.
I did not pull away. I kept my hand in her hair. I kept her close.
"Darlington is coming," I said. "He will want his turn."
She looked toward the sound of the wings. Her face was calm. Not scared.
"Do not be afraid of him," I said. "He is softer than he looks."
She turned back to me. "Softer than you?"
"I am not soft."
"You are soft with me."
I did not argue.
Darlington's dark wings appeared above the hedges. He landed softly at the edge of the clearing. He saw us sitting together. My hand in her hair. Her body leaning against mine.
He did not speak. He just waited.
I looked down at Samantha.
"Samantha," I said.
"Yes?"
"Are you ready?"
"Ready for what?"
I looked at her face. At her eyes. At the small smile still playing on her lips.
"Are you ready to share me?" I asked. "With my brothers. Both of them. In the moonlight. Doing mundane things."
She blinked. "Mundane things?"
"Talking. Sitting. Kissing. Holding hands." I paused. "Being together."
She was quiet for a long moment.
"How?" she asked. "How do I share you? How do I belong to three men at once?"
I kept my hand in her hair. My thumb brushed her temple.
"You do not belong to us," I said. "We belong to you. There is a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes. We are yours. You are not ours. Not unless you want to be."
She stared at me. Her brown eyes searched my face.
"I do not know what I want," she admitted.
"You do not have to know tonight."
"Then when?"
I looked up at Darlington. He was still waiting at the edge of the clearing. His dark wings were folded. His golden eyes were soft.
"Soon," I said. "But not tonight."
She followed my gaze. She saw him too.
"Finnian?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For being gentle."
I nodded. Once.
Then I turned to Darlington and gestured for him to come closer.
He walked toward us. Slow. Careful. Like he was approaching a wounded animal.
I stayed where I was. My hand still in her hair. My body still close to hers.
She was not alone.
And neither was I.