A Shadow of Wings (22 page)

Cam shook his head. “Well, maybe a little. I was going to make dinner for you.” He lifted the bags he held.

“Yeah, I saw the cleaning job inside. Nice. Thanks. But you didn’t have to.”

“I know. I just had an urge this morning. Here.” He thrust the bags at Dylan. “Could we go in now?”

His mind whirled with questions, but he knew patience was the key to getting details out of Cam. Dylan stepped closer, set his lips against Cam’s in a soft kiss, then said, “You bet.”

The addictive tingle that ran through him reminded him of why he was in this mess to begin with, and likely to stay.

Chapter Fifteen

Cam gave Dylan only the vaguest details about the weasels—that they were well-trained animals capable of projecting the illusion of a human form so they might move freely in populated areas. Dylan’s eyes widened considerably with that information, but Cam thought it unwise to go further, to tell him they were lesser demons harnessed by the
reformatore
, an oppositional group that worked against the church, a group even more shadowy than the order that controlled the cockatrices. 

He stressed that the weasels likely wouldn’t harm anyone but that it still was a bad idea to pursue them. No doubt the creature had been looking for Cam. Although he could tell Dylan still bristled with questions, Dylan respected the promise he’d made not to dig too deep, and Cam went about fixing supper, hoping that would be the end of it. 

Making the simple dinner for Dylan would have been much more enjoyable if it wasn’t for the constant low cramp in Cam’s belly. Even as he stirred the tomato sauce and kept an eye on the boiling pasta, the twinge acted up again, not awful, but enough to be noticed. Still, when Dylan came up and put his hand flat between Cam’s shoulder blades so he could lean over and sniff the aroma wafting from the meat sauce, Cam managed a smile.

“Damn, baby, that smells great.” Dylan loosely wrapped an arm around Cam’s back, and Cam leaned into him, inordinately pleased. 

“It’s nothing. If I had more time and more ingredients, I could really make you something special.”

“Trust me, this is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in forever.”

Cam leaned in for Dylan’s kiss, dinner forgotten as their lips met and Dylan’s tongue gently slipped along his. Dylan’s hand wandered down to give his butt a squeeze. He flushed all over, hotter than the stove. Already his cock was stiff, which Dylan must have noticed because he reached with other hand and gave that a good feel too. Cam grunted and tried to grind into his palm. All the tension of the afternoon begged for release in Dylan’s arms.

“Later, I’ll show you my appreciation,” Dylan said with that wicked grin Cam adored.

“I’d appreciate that,” Cam joked through a haze of need.

Then Dylan grew serious. “You doing okay today? I’m really sorry last night was so…rushed.”

“Rushed? It was perfect.” He gave the sauce an extra little stir, nearly shivering with the pleasure of the memories. “I’ll never forget it, as long as I live.”

“Eh, I shoulda done better by you.” Dylan leaned back against the counter, his arms folded. “Romanced you a little, maybe. Roses, candles.”

“There was a candle. And God knows we have plenty more.” He waved his spoon toward the white pillars they’d lined up by the door.

“Jesus, what is up with that anyhow? Not that I mind so much. The cake was tasty. When I first moved in, before me and Jose started tussling, Manuela made me guacamole that was out of this world. Maybe she’ll leave us something else tomorrow.”

“It wouldn’t be right to accept it. She’s under the misconception that I’m someone I’m not. It happens now and then.”

“What, like you’re some celebrity or something?”

“Something like that. Someone from Mexico.” 

“Maybe it’s the dark hair and those Hollywood shades.” 

Cam gazed at Dylan from under his lashes and saw he was not at all fooled by Cam’s excuses. Likely he was in that limbo of not really wanting to know an answer he feared, just as Cam feared to give too much information that would drive Dylan away. This odd tightrope they walked was awful. Already, he’d told Dylan too much. How he could have blurted out the word “weasel” earlier was beyond stupid, goaded by emotions he couldn’t quite handle. One dumb step after another, bashing down doors that, once opened, couldn’t be shut again.

“Hey.” Dylan cupped his cheek and brought his face around. “Don’t go hiding away on me. I know there’s shit going on, but it’s okay. We can handle it.”

Leaning into the warmth of that palm, Cam forced himself not to close his eyes out of habit, though he kept his gaze focused around Dylan’s mouth. “I just want everything to go away. Everything but you and me.” He risked glancing into Dylan’s eyes and felt that instant connection, the tumult of feeling that was so novel to him. Thank goodness Dylan pulled him in for another kiss or he might have continued babbling on. And oh yes, that mouth, the rough rasp of stubble against Cam’s chin, the tongue growing more demanding as Dylan’s hands wandered…

Dylan worked his wet kisses down the side of Cam’s throat, and Cam could feel his smile against his skin. “Pretty soon you might get your wish. Just you and me in our cozy cardboard box under a bridge somewhere.”

He drew back and put his hand flat on Dylan’s chest. “You know that won’t happen. You’ll get another job. I can go back and talk to Dr. Martin, explain that I screwed up and it was my fault.” He let his hand drop. “I feel terrible about that. It
is
my fault.”

“No, it’s not. Look, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I have to take responsibility. I heard the alarm go off and didn’t get up.” He crowded a little closer so Cam dropped the spoon in the sauce and turned into his arms. “I just couldn’t leave you when you were all nice and warm and I was feeling so, so good.”

“It was lovely, this morning,” he admitted shyly.

“And it will be lovely again.” Dylan’s hands mapped the back of Cam’s jeans, his fingers pressing into the Cam’s ass, pulling him closer, and Cam laid his head on Dylan’s shoulder, growing hotter under the seductive touch. Safe—that was how he felt here. Safe and wanted, so wanted. He ran his hands over Dylan’s strong shoulders and down his spine, then tasted the salt-sweet skin of Dylan’s neck, tracing the bold red wings of the fiery phoenix with the tip of his tongue. 

Dylan hummed low in his throat. “I got something in mind for later. Something to round out your education.”

“Whatever you want. You know I’m yours.” And he meant it. A shudder of dangerous vulnerability ran through him, and he knew his wings must be showing by the way Dylan paused in his caresses, then started again. “Can you see them?” Cam whispered. His skin pebbled with dread and desire both.

“Yeah.” Bold fingers threaded up into Cam’s hair, and firm lips took Cam’s mouth before Dylan pulled back enough to say, “They’re beautiful, like you. And fucking weird, like you.” He snorted a laugh and backed out of their embrace, leaving Cam shivering, his cockhead already damp with wanting. 

“Weird?” He couldn’t help a slight tone of hurt.

“Ah, come on, I don’t mean it that way. Not in a bad way. I like weird.” He turned and, ignoring Cam’s lust and confusion, started spooning the spaghetti around in the boiling water. “You wouldn’t believe some of the shit I’ve seen over the years. I knew this guy once who dressed like a chick, only that was all he did—dress like one. He’d still have, like, three days’ worth of beard and big ol’ hairy legs sticking out and work boots, but he loved them dresses.” 

He grinned and shook his head. “And another one? I was partying with this guy I was with at the time, and this dude got buzzed on something. To this day, I don’t know what it was, but I swear he started talking Latin. My boyfriend recorded it on his cell phone, and we looked up some of the words later. Didn’t make no sense, but certain words were definitely Latin. Like, who talks Latin anymore?”

“Only those of us in Latin Club,” Cam said with wounded dignity, returning to the stove. He tasted some of the sauce, then held the spoon for Dylan, who sipped from it.

“Delish, as my mom used to say. When do we eat?” The hot gaze he rolled over Cam made Cam want to rush things.

“In a few minutes. I just have to finish the garlic bread. Uh-oh, garlic…”

Dylan laughed. “Don’t worry, if we both eat it, we cancel each other out.”

Excellent—nothing to impede lots of kissing, then. “Sounds good to me. Could you drain the pasta, please?”

“
Pass
-ta,” Dylan repeated, using Cam’s accent. “I love the way you talk.”

“I could say a few words in Latin if you like.”

“Yeah? Like e pluribus unum and ix-nay on the arlic-gay?”

“I thought you liked garlic.”

“I’m kidding.” A big cloud of steam rose as Dylan drained the pot into a sieve. At least he’d had a few pots and pans for Cam to work with. Although his current state of existence seemed quite destitute, the confident way Dylan worked around the tiny kitchen made Cam wonder if he hadn’t grown up with better. 

“Hey, don’t look so serious,” Dylan said, glancing at him. “I got this. Even I can do spaghetti.”

Cam relaxed his mouth into a smile. “I had no doubt. I was just thinking. About everything. Wondering…what you must be thinking.”

“Hey, I don’t think much. No more than I absolutely gotta.”

He slid the pan with the slices of garlic bread under the broiler, then straightened. “Still, you must be curious, about the weasel. About me.” He shrugged awkwardly, wiping his hands on a dishrag. “With everything that’s happened, I can’t believe you haven’t run away screaming or tossed me out.”

“Hell, baby, it’s only been a few days. You gotta work harder than that to get me to toss you. I mean, you cook, you clean. You’re great in bed.”

Cam actually felt his face flush. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Well, maybe we need another round to prove it.” He gave him a wry look. “Anyhow, I think you’re pretty fucking cool. Maybe I’m the one who should be getting kicked to the curb. If you knew more about me…”

“I’d like to. Know more about you, that is. You started to tell me…”

He shook his head. “Nah. There’s nothing worth knowing, anyhow. Everything I am, I am from this moment forward. That’s what they taught me.”

“Who?”

He shook his head again and scratched the back of his neck. “People who helped me. Compared to me, you’re golden. I’ve definitely made my share of mistakes.”

“Like what?” In his heart, he knew. Having been around the world, he’d seen the terrible state some humans sank to. But he felt Dylan needed to unburden himself. “I promise, there’s nothing you can say that would make me think less of you.”

“Yeah? Even if I told you I was an addict?
Am
an addict. Recovering.” He didn’t lift his gaze from the steaming spaghetti. “Hate saying that still. You know, nobody wants to face it, but…” He dropped his fisted hand to the counter. “It is what it is.”

“And that guy you said you were with. He was part of that?”

“Oh yeah. We got into some deep shit together.”

“Did he hurt you?” Cam asked, having to curl his fingers tight to stop from reaching out to Dylan. He didn’t want to do anything to stop him talking.

“Sometimes. I guess. Sometimes…” 

Though it nearly killed him, Cam waited for Dylan to fill in the empty space.

Instead, Dylan jerked up his head with a strained half-smile. “I don’t wanna talk about this shit now. Do you? I don’t.”

His chest tightening, he recalled how Dylan had said he’d been tested for STDs several times in the past few months. He could read between the lines, knew more had gone on between Dylan and his ex than Dylan would say. “How long?” he asked gently. “Since you’ve been clean?”

“Maybe six months. I figured I had to fix myself or lie down and die, and, well, quitting drugs aside, I never been a quitter. So I cleaned up best I could, got a job, got this place.” He swept his hand around grandly. “Dr. Martin was the first person to give me a chance.” He dumped the pasta into a plastic bowl. “Someday I’ll go back there and show her I’m okay.” 

With a sniff, he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Anyhow, I don’t know why I’m bringing all this up now, except you seem so miserable about your wings and your funky eyes and the cake and the weasel and all that shit. I just want you to know…” He burst out in a dry laugh. “Guess I want you to know you’re not the only hard-luck story here. Hell, if wings were my only problem, I’d be pretty happy. Does that make you feel any better? Please tell me it does, or I’ll feel like a real fucking idiot.”

Moved beyond words, he went to Dylan and put his arms around him, holding him tight, breathing him in, this wounded, kind soul who accepted him. “I don’t feel better knowing you had to go through all that. But if you hadn’t, I suppose we wouldn’t be here now. And I wouldn’t have you.”

“Yeah, well, jury’s still out on whether that’s a good thing or not. But at least we got dinner.” Rubbing his cheek with the heel of his palm, Dylan straightened brusquely and stepped back as if nothing had been said, though Cam wondered at the sheen in his eyes. “So now you know the truth about me. Least the short-story version. Still not scared off?”

“Not at all.” He wanted so badly to hold Dylan again but sensed he didn’t want coddling. Instead, he said, “I admire what you’ve done. You’ve come so far.”

“Oh, hell, yeah, I’m living the dream.” He scuffed a laugh. “I got a long way to go, but at least I’m going. Sort of.” Then he took Cam’s hand loosely in his. “You’re all right too, you know. Don’t you worry. Everybody’s got baggage and stuff they wish no one would find out about. It’s a big world, with plenty of room for all kinds of people in it. Plenty of people more screwed up than us, believe it or not.”

Cam tightened his fingers around Dylan’s, wondering if Dylan felt the slight trembling. “In your world, perhaps. Although I have to say, that’s good enough for me.”

Dylan tipped his head, catching his gaze, his fearless knight in faded denim. “Let’s eat, huh?”

The smell of the garlic bread starting to burn under the broiler was enough distraction to make Cam turn away, but his heart thundered and his knees felt a little watery. The ache in his belly disappeared under the weight of a staggering realization.