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While I’m still debating if he’ll watch me fade away right here on the forest ground, a new sort of power wraps around me—not entirely new. I’ve felt it when he locked me to my chair at dinner, but this time, it isn’t the hard restraint of magical bonds but a gentle stroke along my side before it wraps around me, cradling me like a pair of arms.
I only realize the arms are solid and feathered when my cheek is pressed against a silken surface and I open my eyes to a layer of raven-black feathers on Myron’s shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers as I groan again the moment he starts walking. “I’m taking you home.”
I know I should object, should struggle and kick and thrash until he loosens his hold on me. But much as my mind is eager to flee, my body is worn out, and the thought alone of falling from his arms and hitting the ground one more time makes new fireworks of pain explode inside my body.
Perhaps it’s the head injury throbbing where I hit the tree trunk; perhaps it’s exhaustion, but I don’t move as he carries me through the forest, his eyes on his path like his life depends on bringing me back safely. It’s the first time I see his features from up close, and the angle just emphasizes his strong jawline and brutally sensual mouth. However, it’s the all-ink-black of his eyes framed in midnight lashes that I can’t seem to look away from.
For a long time, neither of us speaks—he because he’s so focused he doesn’t seem to perceive the world around him other than that path he cuts through the greenery, and I because I’m busy breathing through the agony of each step that jostles my bones. His wind and pine scent help the slightest bit, as does the way his magic seems to build braces around each place where my muscles are failing to prevent movement. Like his magic can detect each little spike of pain and wraps around it like a bandage.
The trees aren’t as dense anymore, and the sun is illuminating the silken black waves falling into his face by the time he glances down at me. The moment our gazes lock, a tingle runs through my body, and I can’t help but notice how my heart picks up pace the slightest bit.
Because this is the most dangerous predator of them all, and he is carrying me back to his lair, I tell myself.
As if noticing my flash of fear, he turns away, facing forward again as his hair fades into feathers and his features turn into those of a bird. He hisses softly as he steps out of the trees, assessing the bone-white palace ahead.
Words are collecting on my tongue, questions of how he knew where to find me or why he bothered at all, but I don’t voice any of them as he walks up that gravel path, step never faltering despite my weight, despite holding me so carefully that my injuries are only minimally affected by the rocking movements of his chest against my side, his arms around my shoulders and under my knees.
He strides up the stairs, hissing at the two guards left and right of the door—the ones who watched me run out the door earlier—and they have the decency to cast their gazes downward as their king admonishes them with a single glare.
A few steps up the main staircase, my head slides onto Myron’s shoulder, and I get a clear view of the line where his feathers meet the smooth, pale skin stretching over his chest. It’s a fascinating detail I’ve never spent a moment on, but as I stare at the structure of the feathers, the way tiny, fluffy ones cover the area where the first layer of long, slender black feathers begins, a part of me is eager to touch them, feel the soft texture, the contrast between muscle and skin and the airy material coating his arms.
It must be the head injury for sure, or I’d never even notice such a thing.
At the top of the stairs, my eyelids are drooping, and my racing heart is worn out—so is the rest of me—and I almost drift off when Myron jostles me, kicking the door to his bedroom open with his boot.
He doesn’t stop and set me down on the threshold, though, or sit me down on the next best chair. No, he continues walking until we are at the bed where I spent our wedding night. My throat is suddenly tight, and the shudder running through my body forces a groan from my lips as it painfully reminds me of my injuries.
Without a word, Myron lays me down on top of deep blue sheets and gently pulls his arms out from under me. I don’t fail to notice his wince as some of his feathers are bent the wrong direction when he slides them free of my weight, and I can’t help but reach for the patch of shiny black where they stick out in odd angles as he stands there, glancing down at me as if he has no idea what to do with me. They are an inch from my hand, begging for me to smooth them back into place.
“Does that hurt?” About to touch the nearest feather, I lift a fingertip, but Myron cringes away, stepping back a foot so he is out of reach. I have no idea why his rejection stings, but it does, and so does the war in his gaze as he keeps staring down at me, mute like a fish.
“Why?” It’s a mere whisper, but it’s all I can get out under his scrutiny. His beak and feather-hair recede, bringing back his human features and wavy black strands, and the tight line of his mouth and furrow between his brows make breathing difficult—as do the many injuries on my body.
“Because, no matter how much I wish I didn’t care if you live or die, I can’t stop now that I’ve started.” He takes another step back as if physical distance will protect him from those words he just spoke, and whatever battle is going on inside of him is coming to an end. If I only knew which side is winning—and what he’s been fighting.
He forces down a slow breath, chest expanding and feathers rustling along his arms, and I can’t help noticing the strength rippling through his body as he straightens an inch, obviously remembering who he is—who he is supposed to be.
“Where does it hurt most?” His voice is gruff, but his eyes are gentle as he assesses me from a little distance, gaze lingering on my shoulder, my bloodied sleeve, then the side of my head.
Any place is as bad as the other, so I tell him it’s the shoulder, which makes him return to the side of the bed and drop to his knees as he probes the side of my shoulder so lightly I am not even sure I feel it. What I do feel is the throbbing pain spreading from my dislocated joint all the way to my neck and down my arm, which has nothing to do with his touch.
“I fear I’ll need to set this before I can heal you.” The fact that he sounds disgruntled about the idea eases the tight knot of fear and fascination within my stomach the tiniest bit.
“You can heal people?” My voice hitches mid-word as he places his second hand flat on my shoulder as if readying to hold me in place while he pushes the joint back into its socket.
In response, he gives me a rueful smile that makes me wonder if he regrets possessing an ability that can actually help someone. “On occasion. But mostly, I am good at hurting people.” The way he says it reminds me of how Ludelle used to speak about not having sailed east yet whenever the topic came up. Regret. But something more… Shame.
A curtain of silken black hair hides his eyes from me as he lowers his head, examining my shoulder with his free hand.
“This might hurt for a moment,” he announces as he grips my biceps in a firm yet gentle grasp, and I hold my breath, readying myself for said pain. But before I can panic, he looks up, eyes weary but with a new sort of curiosity that I haven’t noticed on him before. “If you could go one place in this world, Ayna, where would that be?”
Images of the Wild Ray flood my mind, brine filling my nose and crashing waves echoing in my memories so hard that I almost miss that he called me Ayna instead of Wolayna.
I’m about to say ‘the ocean’ when he pushes on my shoulder, and a surge of searing pain rips through my arm as the joint clicks back into place with a pop.
“Brute!” I shout instead, balling my bad hand so hard it distracts from the agony in my shoulder.
