Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
It has been two days and I’ve had to cancel my training with Scott as I can’t go. I can’t go anywhere. They will not go back in.
Oh, we’re having a grand time bonding, the wings and me. I’m definitely learning the art of patience and the zen of keeping calm, as these things are sensitive.
I can’t sleep. When I try to get comfortable, they do random things.
Like smacking the walls, which is painful and causes bruises across the soft, silky membrane that covers the thin, bendable bones.
I think I broke a small bone, but it healed before I calmed down enough to investigate.
Both wings look the same, so at least it healed straight.
Bones take seconds to heal, yet the bruises seem to take forever in comparison.
I have to admit my wings are beautiful. In direct light, they are purple.
I sigh. God, I wish they would go away. Malcolm said to shift back, all the bears had to think about was their human selves.
I close my eyes for what feels like the millionth time and think human.
Nothing happens. Nothing ever happens. I let out a manic laugh at the entire situation. What a clusterfuck.
I’m doomed.
I breathe one deep breath in and one deep breath out.
I try my best to relax. I bet my mate can help me.
I groan at the unhelpful thought. The entire left side of my face twitches.
I don’t want to rub it in case my wings go nuts and pop out from the movement of my hand. I much prefer them to be still.
Yeah, the thought I can’t seem to banish, that is continually running through my brain, is: I need John. I need his help. With his experience, he must have an idea about how to help me. I have no one else to turn to.
I can’t ask Malcolm or Scott—it’s too much to ask, it’s too much trust to give.
There is only John. How’s that for irony?
My soul m—nope. John, the monster, has been texting me, demanding to know where I am. The missing time at the gym didn’t faze him. But when I called the stables to arrange care for Bob, the demanding messages came in. I haven’t replied, as I don’t know what to say.
But after two days with still no headway, I’m admitting defeat.
Each hour that passes, I step closer to breaking rule number one: Don’t be a dickhead.
I promised Bob that I wouldn’t leave him for long and these wings are going to make a liar out of me.
So I mentally pull on my brave pants, grab my mobile phone, and message John back.
We arrange to meet at his house.
I wear jeans, but my top half is an issue. Ha, I’m screwed. I carefully rub my face.
In the books, when a character has random wings appear out of nowhere, they slit two holes into the back of their shirts and thread the wings through. Voila. Hey presto all sorted.
Oh yeah, that’s okay if you’ve got help and your wings are not trying to knock you out.
There’s no chance a tiny bit of fabric is going over my giant-ass wings, not a chance in Hell.
I end up wearing a shirt backwards. I button it at my neck and my waist. It is not ideal, but if I keep my hands down, pinned to my sides, I shouldn’t flash anyone. At least I’m covered.
I think maybe I’m making a mistake, going to John for help.
But after days of pure frustration, I have no other options left.
I step through my door and appear outside of John’s house.
When I think of leaving my doorway, I imagine stepping out of John’s door so I don’t step into his home. I could, but that would be rude.
I run my fingers through my messy ponytail. I turn. The driveway stone crunches underneath my trainers. I step up to the red door and tentatively knock.
My wings twitch at my back.
Moments later, as if he’s been waiting for me, John flings open the door. I fidget as we stare at each other.
Oh my, he is still alluringly handsome. I haven’t seen him in weeks and my eyes drink him in greedily.
John’s gaze flicks up and down as he takes me in, from my tired eyes to my wings.
With a head tilt, he studies my new appendages.
My wings rustle. I smartly drop my eyes and stare at his chest. He is wearing tight black fatigues, and his black combat top is so tight it almost gives way under the strain of containing all those muscles. I swallow and fiddle with my shirt.
“You’re looking pretty demony, Emma,” he says as he raps his knuckles on the doorframe. I grind my teeth. Why did I think he’d be able to help?
I reach up and cover my black lips. The strange colour is the least of my problems. With all my wing drama, that little detail I pretended to overlook. At least my eyes and mouth match.
“The wings are cute. Is that the biggest they get?”
I drop my hand and my lips part with shock. Cute? My eyes flick to his, and I growl at him, insulted. “What? They’re massive.”
“Oh, okay…” He coughs into his hand. “So I see you have a problem.” And then the dickhead dares to smile. His bright-green eyes twinkle.
My nostrils flare, and I glare at him. After a few minutes, I break the awkward silence with a cough. “Urm…can I come in?”
“Of course.” John steps away from the door and waves me inside.
As I walk over the threshold and pass John, a rogue wing snaps out and smacks him in the face.
Oops.
That wasn’t intentional, but heck, I want to give my wing a high five. I do my best to hide my grin.
When we enter the living room, he circles me and inspects my wings. They twitch. I’m sure the little buggers are waiting for the ideal opportunity to smack him again.
“This is the reason you’ve been MIA,” John says as he rubs his now-wing-red face.
Sorry-not-sorry.
I nod and suck in my lower lip. “Can you help me? I can’t…I can’t get them to go back in.” John pauses behind me, and the heat of him sends shivers down my spine. I can feel our combined energy like waves battling against each other. Caressing each other.
He leans in closer. His warm breath on my ear. “May I touch you?” I shiver as his whispered words tickle the back of my neck. My mouth fills with saliva and I gulp; I can’t speak. I gnaw on my lip and nod my head.
Even after I nod my head with permission, John seems to take forever to touch me. So I jump when his hand finally touches my back, landing gently between the wings.
My wings fling out with a snap. Flap-flap-flap. “They have a mind of their own,” I say with an embarrassed whisper. John makes a noncommittal grunt, perhaps because he’s dodging my wings.
I wish he wouldn’t touch me. I like his hands on me, and that’s bad, very bad. I swallow again. I force myself to stand still and not squirm. I like it and I don’t want to. He runs his hands down my back and across my shoulders and neck.
“You need to relax—”
“I have been trying to,” I bite out. I roll my eyes heavenward with exasperation. As if I can relax with John touching me…yeah, that’s going to happen. Ha, I’d have more chance with Freddy Krueger standing behind me offering a head massage.
“Close your eyes.” I huff. “Close your eyes, Emma. Think of your wings, think of how happy you are with them…how special they are.” I scrunch my face in disbelief. What has that got to do with anything? I’m not bloody happy. I sigh and force myself to do as he says.
I am happy I’ve got wings…I grind my teeth. So happy. I puff my cheeks out. Okay, let’s start smaller: I am happy I’ve got magic.
I have the means to protect myself, which is incredible.
Seriously, looking at my messed-up situation, it could have been worse.
I’ve got wings…I could have had a mouthful of serrated teeth and scary nails to go with them.
At least I look like me. Me with black lips and dark-purple wings. I guess it’s kind of cool.
The possibility that I might be able to fly is nuts, mind-boggling. I mean…how amazing is that, to fly…crash. I gulp.
Oh heck, what goes up must come down. Perhaps I’m not ready for that step yet.
“Shush, Emma, calm your thoughts. Relax, you are safe, now relax.” John’s hands continue their light attention to my skin.
My skin tingles in response to his touch.
He touches the membrane of my left wing, and it flutters.
Wow, the wing is so sensitive. I can’t help the small moan that leaves my lips. I cringe at the sound.
Oh God, that wasn’t embarrassing at all.
John’s hands move back to my shoulders and he digs his thumb into a sore spot.
The wings are so heavy and my shoulders are so sore with carrying all the extra weight.
His hands feel so good. I allow myself this one moment to enjoy his attentions.
I need his help and it won’t do any harm just this once.
I breathe in deep to fill my nose with his bonfire-and-linen-fabric-softener scent.
My shoulders relax, my wings drop, and my chin drops to my chest. I let go.
I let go of my fear. I forgive myself for being frightened of my wings.
I mentally release the tight grip that I have had on my magic. I let go of the ball of magic that I’ve been unknowingly, fearfully clutching inside me; I allow it out.
The black smoky magic pours out of me and gently caresses my skin. Human…I aim the thought at it. My magic shimmers, and between one breath and the next the wings dissipate. They are gone. Thank you. I sigh in relief.
“Well done,” John says behind me, his hands still on my shoulders. He did it, he helped me.
I force myself to step away from his hands. With my back still turned, I remove my shirt and put it back on the correct way. “Thank you,” I say as I quickly button it up. I turn and fix my eyes on John’s chest. “Thank you for your help.”
“You’re welcome. Emma, why won’t you look at me?” My heart misses a beat at his question. I gulp and attempt a blasé shrug.
“Thank you for helping me. I need to go,” I mumble.