Chapter 58 Not Yet
Avery leaped from the window, ready to embrace death.
She saw herself falling past the ledge, a soft smile on her lips as the ground rushed closer. For a fleeting moment, she imagined Leroy’s arms waiting below.
Then….
arms caught her.
Large, impossibly strong arms wrapped around her waist, spanning her ribs with strong force. Her heart stuttered, then stopped altogether. Her eyes flew open.
The ground hovered inches from her face.
Too close. Close enough that she could feel it—the certainty of death that should have claimed her. Instead, her body hung suspended, swaying slightly, held back from the pavement that should have ended everything.
“No,” she whispered.
She turned her head, desperate to see what had stopped her fall and all the air left her lungs.
Wings.
Massive golden wings unfurled around her, glittering like scattered stars, impossibly bright against the dark. They filled her vision, radiant and unreal.
She looked higher.
The face.
Beautiful in a way that hurt.
Skin pale as moonlight. Sharp cheekbones. A jaw carved with deliberate grace. Full lips curved into a faint, knowing smile that held no warmth. Midnight-black hair fell in loose waves, catching the wind like smoke.
And the eyes.
Gold. Molten. Ancient. Burning with a light too bright, too knowing, too hungry.
Elegant horns curved from his temples, dark as old blood.
Perfect.
Avery’s breath caught.
The world tilted.
Her vision tunneled, wings, gold eyes, blinding light.
“Leroy…” she whispered, once.
Then darkness swallowed her whole.
She went limp in the arms of the being that had caught her.
Avery stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open, then closed again as awareness slowly returned. Confusion followed, then memory—Ravial’s words, the crushing weight of them, her decision to end it all and then the fall.
Her eyes snapped open.
A figure stood a few feet from the bed, its outline blurred in the dim light.
“You’ve awoken,” a deep masculine voice said.
She blinked, recognizing the room, the guest bedroom she’d been given upon arriving at the villa.
She tried to sit up. Instantly, the figure stepped forward, his broad frame filling her vision. His chest nearly brushed her face as he adjusted the pillows behind her with efficient care, then stepped back, taking his warmth and scent with him.
Her vision cleared.
It was one of Ravial’s men.
She scanned the room again, no wings, no golden light, no impossible being. For a moment, doubt crept in.
“Where is it?” she croaked.
“Where is what?” he asked, stepping closer. His face was handsome, impassive.
“It… it saved me.”
“What?”
Tears burned her eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that? How am I even here? How am I alive?”
“You were found in the mango tree behind the master’s study window,” he replied evenly.
Avery shook her head, harder this time, pain flaring in her temples.
“No,” she said firmly. “That’s not possible. I jumped. I was falling. I felt the air. Then something caught me. Arms. Wings. Massive wings. Golden. And eyes, burning gold eyes.”
His expression didn’t change. He stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, observing her like a problem he had no interest in solving.
“You hit your head,” he said flatly. “Concussions cause hallucinations.”
“I know what I saw,” she insisted, pushing herself higher despite the pain in her ribs. “It wasn’t a tree. It wasn’t my imagination. It had horns. A face like something out of a painting. Beautiful. Terrifying.”
She searched his face for any crack, any sign.
“You believe me, don’t you?”
He studied her for a moment—not with concern, but calculation.
“I believe you’re alive,” he said. “That’s what matters.”
Her fingers clenched in the sheets.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why save me? I wanted to die.”
His gaze flicked briefly to the window, then back to her.
“Some choices aren’t yours to make.”
“But you saw it,” she pressed, desperation bleeding through. “The thing that saved me.”
His jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly.
“I didn’t see anything.”
“But you were there.”
“Yes.”
“So you’re lying.”
A pause.
Then, calmly, “If something like that had existed,” he said, “you would not be alive to describe it.”
Cold slid down her spine.
He turned and walked toward the door.
“Rest. The boss will want to see you once you’re stable.”
The door closed softly behind him.
Avery lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Her body ached—bruises, scrapes, the dull throb of a concussion.
But her mind was clear.
It had wings.
Those eyes were not human.
And whatever had caught her
had chosen not to let her fall.
Not yet.
The question was why.
And what it would want in return.