Chapter 60
MYRA
Myra didn’t know when she had fallen asleep or what time it was based on the soft shadows in the room.
All she knew was that there was a heavy weight pressing on her chest. She peered down and found Laurince’s arm resting on her.
Looking back at his face, she noted his pinched brows and the flat line of his mouth.
With the fog of sleep still blurring her vision, she slipped her arm from underneath the blanket and went to grab his arm to adjust their position—
Laurince’s eyes sprang open.
Myra barely had time to inhale before she was flipped over. In one fluid movement, Laurince was on top of her, holding her arms above her head. His eyes were wide, gaze frantic and unfocused. His chest rose and fell as fast as Myra’s heart rate.
"L-Laurince?" Myra breathed out, shock making her voice tight.
Gasping in horror, Laurince released her wrists instantly and sat back. "I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—" He choked on his words. His hands trembled as he held them up.
Yet, for some reason unbeknownst to her, heat rose low in Myra’s core as she felt Laurince’s thighs barricading hers and heard his heavy breaths. She forced her gaze back to his face.
Her jaw dropped, and she was struck utterly speechless.
Myra knew without a doubt that it was Laurince who sat atop her, yet he was not the same man whom she had fallen asleep next to.
"What? What is it?" Laurince asked, twisting around to see what had caught Myra’s attention.
A painting hanging on the wall fell, and Myra ducked.
"What the fuck—" Laurince jumped off the bed, but it only made things worse.
"Laurince," Myra called out, maneuvering to her knees. "Calm down. It’s going to be—"
"No, no, no," Laurince repeated over and over.
His panic only made him spin faster as he tried to get a full glimpse of the new wings that had grown overnight. Various items fell as the wings knocked over everything in their path. A small vase shattered as it hit the ground, and dozens of ceramic pieces littered the ground.
With each frantic movement, the surrounding air crackled with trepidation and horror. It wrapped around Myra’s throat. Her fingers curled into the blankets as she tried to ground herself and not let Laurince’s emotions consume her.
When Laurince finally caught sight of the wings that had sprouted from his back, disbelief washed over him. Myra stared at them in awe.
Where Armen and Mynhos’ wings were all webbed shadows, Laurince’s wings were nearly incandescent when the slivers of light from outside hit them.
The feathers were as white as pearls. Some feathers even had a sheen to them that in the light made them shift colors, as if tiny opals or diamonds had been woven throughout them.
They were, simply put, breathtaking. And as much as Myra wanted to tell Laurince that, she knew now was not the time.
She erased any drop of terror from her expression and crawled to the end of the bed. She held up her hands, trying to calm him down. "Laurince, it’s all right. It’s going to be—"
"Nothing about this is all right!" he shouted. "There are fucking—"
"Wings," Rian gasped, having burst through the doors. "You—you have wings."
"Get rid of them! Cut them off!" Laurince demanded, spinning around.
Myra dodged a wing that came straight toward her.
Laurince shoved Rian out of the way, and Rian flattened himself against the wall as he tried to evade the wings. But when Laurince tried to leave, his wings blocked his exit. He yelled out in frustration and shoved them through the door. A white feather ripped free and fell to the ground.
On the other side of the wall, Phaia squealed as the captain stormed past her. The sound of shattering glass followed in Laurince’s wake, and Myra ran after him, Rian on her heels.
In the small kitchen, drawers opened and slammed shut as Laurince rifled through them. He dug through the contents, tossing them onto the floor carelessly as he searched and searched. "Where are the knives? Where are—"
Myra and Laurince saw the knives at the same time. She charged, knocking him back and grabbing him by the shoulders. Rian ran behind her and snatched the block of knives before Laurince could grab one.
"Give those to me!" Laurince reached for the knives.
Myra dug her nails into his shoulders. "Laurince," she shouted. "Laurince, stop!"
"Cut them off! I want them off! Now!"
"Look at me, Laurince," Myra demanded. She would not let him harm himself. She refused.
Laurince struggled to meet her gaze, as if by doing so, he would only see what he feared to be true. But Laurince was not a monster, no matter what he believed or what the wings suggested. No matter how Rian and Phaia were looking at him as he screamed and fought them in the quaint kitchen.
When Laurince finally looked at her, the whites of his eyes were red, and water collected on his lash-line. "Please."
His plea broke her. Because no matter how much she tried to calm him, no matter what she said, she could not change this.
Cutting his wings off would only hurt him more.
And who knew whether they would grow back?
Myra had witnessed how much pain he was in yesterday; she would not let him suffer even more.
"We can’t cut them off, Laurince."
A teardrop slipped free at Myra’s words. "I don’t want to be one of them."
Myra slipped her hand to the back of his head and wove her fingers into his hair. "You’re not one of them."
"But—"
"No, you’re still you, no matter what. Got it?"
Tears slipped down his cheek, and he squeezed his eyes shut, sobs shaking his body.
"We will get through this." Myra wrapped her arms around him, careful not to touch his wings. Not because she was afraid of them or what they meant. In fact, they were perhaps the most beautiful wings she had ever seen. She avoided them only to prevent more unnecessary pain.
Laurince collapsed against her. He wrapped her in his arms, squeezing her waist. His shoulders shook as he cried, his sobs dampening her blouse.
Myra only held him tighter.
It took Laurince a while to calm down, to release all his anger and grief.
No one said anything.
No one rushed him or complained.
At some point, Phaia and Rian had retreated to somewhere else in the small house. Occasionally, she heard the ting of glass being swept up.
Myra remained with Laurince. She would stay there for as long as he needed.
Eventually, Laurince peeled their bodies apart. "Is there…" He cleared his throat, his voice raw. "Is there a mirror?"
"Come on," she said, sliding her hand down his arm and interlocking their fingers.
She led him through the house, down the hallway, and toward the bathing chambers. Faint whispers came from the other bedroom, but she ignored them.
At the bathroom, she faced Laurince and blocked his entry, her arms spread out. "Are you sure you’re ready?"
Laurince glanced behind her and nodded. "There’s no point in delaying the inevitable," he said, rolling his shoulders back. She didn’t comment on the sparkle of fear in his brown eyes.
She moved to the side and let him pass.
Wanting to give him some privacy, she went to close the door as he shuffled past, but then Laurince froze just beyond the threshold.
His hands were trembling. She had the urge to reach out and grab hold of them, but she wasn’t sure if he wanted that.
Some people preferred to grieve alone. Kallie was like that.
Myra had also dealt with her own struggles and grief in solitude, unable to seek support.
Sometimes, it seemed like Laurince was the opposite, but she wasn’t sure if he wanted company in a situation like this.
This was personal, transformative, life-altering.
Something many would want to face alone first.
"Will you stay with me?" he asked quietly.
Myra blinked. "Of course."
He offered her a small smile in gratitude and moved further into the room. Myra shut the door behind them, offering him as much privacy as she could. Pressing her back against the door, she rested her hand on the doorknob, ready to pry it open at a moment’s notice in case he needed to escape.
Laurince’s footsteps were slow, as if it took every ounce of strength he had to walk toward the sink where the mirror hung on the wall.
When he reached it, his head hung low, his gaze fixed on the floor.
His wings were folded back behind him. The room was just large enough for them not to touch the walls.
He grabbed onto the sink, his fingers curling around the basin.
The veins in his arms were prominent, but they had lost some of their eerie blue hue they had the day before.
Myra laid her hand on his, and the trembling lessened marginally.
Laurince took a deep breath. When he exhaled, he finally lifted his head. The color drained from his face as he took in the wings behind him. His lips parted, an intake of breath, but no words followed. Not right away, at least.
Myra didn’t dare move, giving him the time to process everything. Although, she wasn’t sure if there would ever be enough time.
"They’re—" He swallowed hard.
"Beautiful," Myra answered, the word slipping free before she could stop it.
His gaze snapped to hers in the reflection. A rebuttal was on the tip of his tongue, yet it never came.
The wings twitched, and he looked back at them. The lit sconce made the wings appear warm, its light catching on the tiny iridescent notes in the feathers.
"I…I suppose they could be worse," he said, a small flicker of a smile forming. But it was there and gone before it truly took shape. He reached up and gingerly touched the sides of his wings. At the contact, the feathers ruffled and his body shuddered. His eyes widened in shock.
"You’ll get used to them," she promised.
"Will I?" He stared at his reflection, doubt marking his features.
Myra didn’t know whether it was rhetorical. Still, she answered, knowing he needed to hear the words either way. "In time."
He took a deep breath. "I never wanted…I didn’t want to become one of them."
She slipped her hand over his shoulder. "You’re not one of them, Laurince."
"But…" His throat dipped, his brows furrowing. "Look at me. Look at what I’ve become."
"I am looking, and all I see is a kind, courageous man who would do whatever it took to protect those he cares for and those who cannot protect themselves. The wings do not change that." She slid her hand up to the back of his neck and gently squeezed, beckoning him to face her.
Laurince stared back at her as if searching for the lie hidden within her words. But he wouldn’t find any lies. Myra meant what she said. Now, he only needed to believe it, too.
"They do not change you," she said.
He nodded, but it would take him time to believe it.
"Do you feel different?" she asked.
He looked down at his hands. "I…I don’t know. Everything feels more now."
"More?"
He nodded. "Yes, like the light is brighter than normal. Sounds are louder, like a thunderstorm in my ears. Everything is too much. It’s as if my senses are overloaded, going insane at every sound, every sight."
He grew silent, and Myra drew circles on the back of his head with her thumb, unsure how to support him but wanting him to know he could talk to her.
He squeezed his eyes shut at the movement and breathed out, "Every touch is—" He swallowed hard.
Myra immediately stilled her hand. "I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you." She quickly dropped her hand, but Laurince caught it before it could fall to her side.
He shook his head. "No, you misunderstand me." When he looked at her, there were so many emotions flitting about his irises that she struggled to comprehend them all. "Your touch…it’s the one thing that doesn’t hurt."
A blush rose to her cheeks. "Oh."
Smiling softly, he brought her hand up to his cheek and leaned his head into her palm. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being here, for being you. I remember only bits and pieces of yesterday. I think the pain was too great, but…" He brushed the tips of his knuckles across her cheek. "I remember you, being there. Staying."
Myra looked up at him. He spoke with such earnestness that the cracks within her heart, the emptiness that she had felt for so long, felt a little less.
"I’ll always stay if you ask me to."