“Father had me thrown in the dungeon for a few days while he decided what to do with me. I had time to think.”
My heart clenches. Merrick went through a lot after we left. “And?”
He shoves the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal my name written in Enochian. “Remember our theory about these coming from the ether?”
I carefully rub oil into each feather barb, feeling a bit of pride while I look after my angel. I may be a brat, but I like serving. I’m a fucking conundrum. “More like conspiracy theories.”
“Call it what you like, but if our ether theory is correct, your love of me put this here.”
“Gods, Mair. Now you’re reaching. I didn’t manifest a shiny tattoo on your arm.”
He shrugs. “Even if it was the Gods, that doesn’t change anything. It means a deep connection. Don’t be surprised if you get a tattoo of your own.”
“You said your dad has one for Michael and Michael for him, and they’re not together.”
“Who said they weren’t? They’re not mates, but they have relations—when Father says they can.”
“Good for them. I’m not looking for anything serious right now,” I insist, just to get his goat. He’s a real ass for telling me what I feel and using his shiny tattoo as “proof”.
“Nothing serious? You have a husband.”
“And we’re in our dating era, thank you very much.”
“You’re impossible when you’re like this,” he says, but his eyes are slowly being lulled shut. I don’t know what this oil has in it, but it must also numb the pain.
“I’m generally impossible.”
“Which is why you need a husband and a mate.”
“Close your wings and lay down.” I’m not sure he’s okay. Can angels run a fever? I wish I could talk to his dad. “C’mon. Just gonna wash my hands, and I’ll even lay beside you,” I coax.
I don’t wait for an answer, hopping off the bed. By the time I’m back, he’s already out cold, but at least he sent his wings to wherever they go. Before this injury, I’d never seen Merrick sleep. Angels don’t sleep, but this is forcing him into some kind of slumber. I pull out my contraband phone and open my book app—thank the Gods the author wrote many tales about my favorite characters—and lie next to him while he heals.
* * *
My eyes pop open to the sound of boots on a mission. Disoriented, I take quick stock of where I am. Our room at the palace. Phone … on Merrick’s stomach. My hand over my name on his forearm.
Zhang lights the room with the soft glow of him. I sit up carefully so I don’t disturb Merrick, but if he hasn’t stirred yet, I think he’s dead to the world—also unlike him. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Hewillbe fine.
I wave Zhang over. “Did I miss a good time?” I whisper.
“Only if you call giving a report and then getting reamed out by my father for hours a good time. I’m on thin ice, babe.”
We don’t even have ice in our nebula. I salute him. “I promise not to make it harder for you.”
“I see, so you’ll keep it to just half the galaxy after you then?”
“Only some of that’s my fault. No wait, none of that.”
“You started a rebellion.”
“And I’ve said, what I did in my human era doesn’t count. Lay down with us. I want you wrapped around me.”
Zhang doesn’t move. “Did I miss a good time?”
I knew it. Hewastelling us to bone. “Only if you consider falling asleep on top of a grouchy angel a good time. I think when I touch him, he heals faster. I’m fucking worried, babe.”
Zhang huffs a sigh and sheds his jacket. “Strip to your underthings.”
