Caged With The Alien Warrior

05.

Aanya

Ouch. My head hurt worse than my hangover after my 19th birthday. Without opening my eyes, I took stock of where I was.

Hard metal beneath my back. An ozone-y, metallic-y smell. My flesh goosebumped. It was colder here than in my cell or the torture room.

Slowly, I opened my eyes and stared at the dingy metal ceiling. I was lying at awkward angles like I'd just been dropped here like a sack of potatoes.

I turned my head from the ceiling to the side, and the slight movement took all my energy. My eyes landed on another cage, separated from me by a set of bars.

A sense of deja vu hit me. I'd run past here with Lani. The man with those mesmerizing blue eyes... I blinked at the big man hidden by shadows in the back of his cage.

He stiffened with my eyes on him. We stayed like that, neither one of us saying anything. Apart from Lani's mom, I hadn't seen or spoken to another being in so long. And I wasn't sure that he was entirely human.

"You're alive?" his low, gravelly voice asked from the shadows.

"No, I'm a dead person blinking at you." Sitting up, I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I'm alive!"

I winced. The movement hurt. Belatedly, I realized I should probably be afraid of the huge, muscled stranger, but we had bars separating us. He couldn't get to me.

I looked up at him from my spot on the floor, neck craning. He must've been at least seven feet tall.

He pushed off the wall and stepped forward into the light, illuminating his features. I openly stared at him, face heating. My lips parted as a small gasp escaped me.

His dark, tousled hair hung down to his shoulders. It was such a contrast to his icy blue eyes. He had brooding features, almost perfect, if not for his slightly crooked nose that seemed to have been broken more than once. And not to mention his wickedly sensual mouth. Those full, pink lips on such a grim face were a sin.

His jawline was hard as rock, leading to the corded muscles of his neck and his chiselled, bare chest. He had bronzed skin with a purple sheen to it. All he wore were a pair of dark pants slung low on his hips. My eyes followed the v of his hips until I realized where my gaze was going and flashed my eyes back up to his unreadable ones. His gaze went molten, and heat pooled in my centre.

I wrapped my arms around myself. Here he was, looking like a Greek god, and I was wearing this stupid, see-through dress on the floor, too weak to even stand up.

He crossed his well-muscled arms, large black wings flexing out behind him.

I choked on my spit, spluttering. He had wings?

He had fucking wings and an impressive wingspan too. They were covered in what looked like feathers, but the edges had a hazy quality to them, like some sort of smoke or energy swirled around them. Whoa.

He cocked his head to the side.

"What are you?" he asked, his accent unlike any I'd ever heard. His words were rough and clipped, but I don't think he was angry; his language was rougher, more guttural.

"I could ask you the same thing, wingman," I said, still eyeing his wings. He definitely wasn't human, and those dark wings gave major fallen angel vibes. But that was the question, wasn't it? Was he an angel or a demon? Should I even be talking to him?