Her wings thrummed low and filthy behind her, scattering black-diamond motes that fizzled into nothing before they could touch the drinks. Glacial blue-white light pulsed through her translucent skin, catching every bottle, every glass, every surface in a private, sinful aurora that existed only for the boy who could see her.
She'd assumed this position the exact second the auburn girl asked about Delilah, Sierra, and Maddie.
Phei was certain it was deliberate.
Because from his angle—the only angle that mattered—the veil did nothing.
Less than nothing.
It was an act of war against the concept of coverage.
The frost-thin fabric clung to her breasts like starlight poured over sin—full, impossibly firm for a four-foot body, dark nipples peaked and pressing hard against the material, twin points of deeper shadow that stabbed through the shimmer like accusations.
