Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Sometimes it sucks sharing a mind with someone that can hear all your thoughts. Fine. Stitches come out tomorrow.
And then you will see all of me once more and see that there is nothing to worry about. His eyes gleam with triumph. And then we will kiss.
Such confidence.
21
ZOHR
The next morning, as agreed, we ready for Emma to remove my stitches.
She is clearly not happy about this. While she does not smell of fear, I can see the wariness on her face as I sit down on the floor in front of her and present my back. She gets a tiny pair of scissors and a metal thing she calls “tweezers” and studies my wounds. “If you’re bleeding a lot or if I have any doubts,” she warns me, trailing off.
Of course. We will do what we think is best.
But I am impatient to get it done. Already the small stitches itch and chafe against my flesh. I am eager for them to be gone, to be able to transform.
To feel free.
It is almost as if I have traded one sort of prison for another. It is unfair of me to think like that—I know my Emma has done the best she can and she has tended to me well. But I hunger to transform to my battle-form. I do not feel whole trapped as I am. I want to see what my wings look like, what they feel like.
“Here we go. Tell me if this hurts,” Emma murmurs and presses her scissors against my skin. I feel something slight, like a prick, and then the itching in that spot stops. She wipes at my skin. “There’s a little bit of blood, but you’ve actually healed up really well. I’m impressed.” And surprised, judging from her thoughts.
Good. That means there is no reason not to remove all of the stitches. It is difficult to remain still as she continues to the next one, and from a glimpse through her eyes, I know there are a lot of them. I am humbled at how long she worked to sew my back up, to ensure that I healed as well as possible. She is a good mate to me and…I am impatient to be done. I want to be free of this already.
I force myself to sit quietly as she works. She murmurs soft encouragement to me, telling me how well I have healed. I know this. I can sense that my wounds have mended, but I curb my impatience. She does this because she cares and does not wish for me to suffer. It is not her fault that I tore my wings to shreds in my haste to protect her. I do not want her to feel I am angry at her. I am simply ready to shift forms and feel my powerful limbs return. I do not know how she can be “human” all the time with no battle-form to transform to. I would go mad.
Well…madder.
When Emma smooths her hand down my back one last time and gives a little sigh, I realize she is finished. Done? I ask, just to make sure.
“You’re going to have some interesting scars, but yes, I think so.”
I turn to look at her and I cannot stop the grin from spreading across my face. And you will not run away and hide when I change to battle-form?
She gives an indignant little snort that belies her anxious thoughts. “Hide? No. I just worry about your wings, though. I stitched them, too, and I don’t know how that’s going to work with your transformation.” Concern shows on her face. “What if they tear to pieces again because I tried to save them?”
I caress her cheek, comforting her. The same thought has gone through my mind, but there is nothing to be done. The time for worrying over such things has passed.
Says you.
I pull her against me and wrap my arms around her, because I am pleased. I stroke her hair and nuzzle her. She is trying hard, and I feel the need to touch her and let her know I understand this. That I realize how difficult this is for her to put away her unease and help me. To be brave even when she does not wish to be.
Emma stiffens in surprise in my arms, as if she was truly not expecting to be touched, and then relaxes. I catch pleasure in her thoughts, and surprise. She thinks for a moment and comes to the realization she has not been held in a very, very long time.
In that moment, I vow that my mate will be held, a lot. She deserves to know that she is loved, and to know it often. She deserves caresses and affection.
Come, I tell her. Let us go outside so I can shift forms.