“And then you will log out—change the passcodes and be done with this,” I say firmly and, begrudgingly, Marsha agrees. In the meantime, we gather around the small screen watching the post climb in popularity in a matter of minutes.
“Your world and ours seem to have one thing in common,” Holly says, her pupils dilated as she stares transfixed by the tiny screen.
“And what is that?” Marsha asks as her fingers slide across the keys.
“The love of drama.”
“If it’s one thing I know it’s this,” Marsha says, addressing the whole room now, “she’ll be home in no time.”
15.
Heather
Iwant to lash out with my claws and cut through the ghostly pale flesh of his neck. With a deep breath, I steady myself with a deep breath; every inch of me starts to shake as I fight against my instincts. I don’t know how our deal works.
If I hurthim—what will happen tome?
Another growl erupts from my lips as I fight against the urge to slice through him. Exhaustion builds as the room goes from red to black to red to black.
The way my bones push and pull inside my body makes me curl in on myself, and I collapse onto the floor. Still shifted, I shake, balling my talon-tipped hands into fists.
I could tear every inch of this castle down, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
“Deep breath—in and out,” Magnus urges. “The anger isn’t you, sweet Heather. Listen to my voice.”
I stare up at him, trying to blink the red from my eyes. As much as I want to give into my frustration, I can’t let myself do anything I’m going to regret, and with the way I’m already shaking with exhaustion…
“Now, think of a place—something to ground you—where you can let your armor fall and just be yourself.” Images flicker through my mind: Moth and I lying in bed or relaxing on the couch. But, even after two years, the vision of Chris with rope inhis hands creeps back into my head. Scales and feathers poke out of my skin, and my jaw becomes so tight I worry it’ll stretch into a beak.
It fucking hurts. Worse than the tension I feel when my wings are hidden beneath my skin. Under the calm surface, is this what shifting feels like for Moth too? He always makes it so easy and—ah! The feeling of bones expanding makes me double over. I pat my dress, searching for my fragmented Mothman keychain as something to comfort me and find nothing. My head continues to spin with memories I can’t forget. The smell of sawdust suddenly overwhelms everything else.
“Please—focus, darling.” Magnus’s voice snaps me back to the reality. The two of us alone in his bedroom. Another captor who thinks they know what’s best for me.
This is me, and it’s not, and I don’t know what to do. Panic grips my lungs as my face begins to contort, then settle, and shift again.
“Not there,”he says. It would sound like an order if it wasn’t so panicked. I shake my head, the fear and anger building over and over again. Where would I go, if I could be anywhere right now?“You need to picture a place where you can let your armor fall and just be yourself.”
The field of flowers.
The first place that felt like a date.
I breathe in the scent, remembering the way his body looked sprawled out among the blooms. The sharp contrast of Moth’s claws as he stroked the petals made it all that much more appealing.
The scent of garden mums and canna lilies tickle my nose as soft blades of grass graze the backs of my thighs. I think and focus and dream of that small slice of heaven that feels so much like home.
The place where I knew for sure I loved Moth and I hoped he would love me back.
Our lips touched, soft and sweet, with a need to be filled for the rest of our lives. His body and mine among the flowers, hands and mouths entertained for as long as faeries live.
I’ll never tire of him.
As I breathe sharply, I am dimly aware of the sensation of shrugging off the weight of an oversized sweater—I am lighter but so very cold. Magnus grips my hand and I pretend with everything in me that it’s Moth.
“That’s it.” Magnus’s voice is a cruel reminder that I’m a world away from my future husband.
I let go of his hand in an instant, and my body begins to collapse into itself. The warmth of Magnus’s heavy black cloak falls over my shoulders before skin replaces my feathers, and I’m thankful for the sliver of modesty. As my legs shake, I wrap the garment around myself. But I’m still raging—my arms covered in feathers, and my eyes bursting with fireworks.
“There… your beauty restored.”
