Chapter 65
MYRA
Myra pressed her back against the door of the bathing chambers. The satin fabric crumbled in her fists as she held it against her stomach. She rushed over to the mirror and gripped the porcelain sink. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breathing labored.
What were they doing? Laurince was recovering. He was avoiding his feelings.
Myra blinked at her reflection. She was avoiding them too, wasn’t she? After all, she had just run from Laurince, a man she was interested in. Beyond interested, really.
She was infatuated, consumed, and overwhelmed by him.
Was that all this was, though? Was Myra simply physically attracted to him?
Her fingers loosened around the sink, and the nightdress slipped from her grasp, landing at her feet.
Myra knew it was a lie the moment she questioned it.
Her interest in Laurince went beyond physical attraction.
The captain was funny and kind. He was protective, but not aggressively so, like some of her past suitors had been.
He didn’t want to shrink her down. Instead, he sought to arm her, prepare her, and push her.
He even trained her—something no other man had ever taken the time to do.
Armen had even joked about how ridiculous it would have been for her to wield a weapon.
Laurince’s instructions were always respectful but never lenient.
And while Myra was terrible at wielding a sword, Laurince never gave up on her.
Even over the course of the past two days, he had frequently asked if she was keeping up with her exercises. When she had lied the first time, he had gently chastised her and encouraged her to keep practicing. She hadn’t lied since.
That was the type of man Laurince was. Rather than focusing on his own problems, Laurince always checked on her. He checked on everyone.
Laurince was more than an excellent captain; he was a good man.
Yet Myra had run from him.
She tipped her head back and groaned. She was such a foolish woman.
Her gaze fell on the satin green fabric pooled at her feet. She could still rectify this.
Myra snatched the flimsy fabric and threw it on.
Once changed, she stared at her reflection and frowned.
She should have inspected the garment more closely when Phaia had given it to her.
The green fabric melted over her curves, and the neckline framed her breasts almost obscenely.
She tugged on the flimsy straps that were barely the width of her pinky.
Sighing, Myra pushed her hair over her shoulders, letting it fall over her collarbone. Her blonde hair wasn’t as thick as Kallie’s and barely covered her bare skin. If she walked out of this room, there would be no hiding.
She eyed her discarded clothes. She could change back. She could go ask Phaia for a sweater. Or maybe a burlap sack.
Turning away from the mirror, Myra leaned her hips against the sink and rubbed a hand across her face. She didn’t know why she was suddenly feeling shy. The men she had been with before had seen plenty more of her, yet this felt different. Everything felt different with Laurince.
Maybe Laurince would already be lying down by the time she returned. If she blew the candle out right away, he wouldn’t have the chance to notice what she was wearing.
By the gods, she was being ridiculous.
She didn’t think she was misreading the signs, but he could have changed his mind since she left.
Would he still want her to sleep in the same room as him, though? She practically ran away screaming.
Myra winced. He probably thought he was the problem. She had to at least apologize to him. Since the attack, she had made it a point to ensure they all treated him the same. Had she just ruined all of that work?
She pushed open the door and poked her head into the hall.
Phaia’s door was still closed, and there were no flickering lights coming from the living room.
She scurried across the hall. When she raised her hand to knock, she heard grumbling on the other side.
Cracking open the door, she started to call out Laurince’s name but stopped short.
Laurince struggled to undo the middle buttons on the back of his shirt.
He reached for them, but his wings kept getting in the way.
Slipping inside, Myra shut the door and hurried over. She dropped her clothes on the trunk that sat at the foot of the bed. "Here. Let me."
"No, I can—" Laurince started but stopped when her hand touched his back. His entire body went rigid, the fidgeting coming to an abrupt halt.
"I got it." She swiftly undid the rest of the buttons.
Laurince stood immobile for a second, then another. Ever-so-slowly, he slipped his arms out of the fabric and gripped the shirt in his hands. "Thanks," he mumbled, the syllable tight.
"You’re welcome." Frowning, she took a step backward, giving him some space. "Laurince, I wanted to—"
"Don’t," he gritted out.
Myra flinched at the interruption. But before she could say anything else, a faint crackling noise sounded. Her gaze dropped to the chair where Laurince’s hand curled around the wood. The tips of his knuckles were stark white, the blood drained. Then, the wood snapped in half.
"Laurince!" she gasped. "Are you all right? Let me help."
"Stop!" he blurted, jerking away from her.
Myra’s eyes glossed over. "Laurince, I-I’m sorry."
Laurince didn’t respond, though. He stood, unmoving, unspeaking.
Was this because she had run out of the room before? How could she prove he wasn’t the problem? That she was the one who needed a moment?
"Please," he said, his words tight, "remove your hand."
Myra blinked. "What?"
"Remove. Your. Hand. Please."
Myra looked at her hand. Her palm lay on his back with her fingers woven into the white feathers. With a gasp, she snatched it away.
Laurince nearly collapsed against the wall, his hand flying out just in time to catch himself. He slumped his head forward and took several sharp breaths.
She hadn’t even realized she had touched his wing. Were they still causing him pain? The surrounding skin was less red than it had been yesterday. Its normal warm shade had almost returned completely.
Myra stepped forward.
Snap.
Lifting her foot, she spotted the splintered wood on the ground. She crouched down and started cleaning up the pieces. The last thing they needed was someone to get a piece of wood stuck in their foot. She was lucky she had been wearing a pair of Phaia’s slippers.
"Don’t," Laurince nearly growled.
Myra rolled her eyes and reached for the wood. "I will not leave pieces of wood around for one of us to—"
"Please, Haze. I need…I need you to stop moving."
Myra halted at his strained, yet soft, voice.
She took a moment to really look at him.
Laurince stood with his head hanging, his right hand curled against the wall in a tight grip.
His shoulders were hunched toward the wall, and his wings were flared out behind him.
His entire body was trembling. She had never seen him so shaken before.
Not even when he had found her after the two men had abducted her.
Fear rose in her throat, but not fear for herself, fear for him.
"What’s going on, Laurince?"
He clenched and unclenched his fist. "I’m having some…trouble maintaining control."
"Control?"
"Mhm."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Just…" He cleared his throat. "Don’t move. When you move, I—" He swallowed, and his hand twitched.
Silence filled the space between them. With each passing breath, the space grew larger and larger until Myra couldn’t take it anymore.
"You what?" she asked. She didn’t understand what was happening. Was he this mad at her?
The veins in Laurince’s arms became more prominent, and the muscles in his back rippled as a shudder tore through him.
"Fuck," he groaned and tipped his head back. "Haze, I—I think you should go. Get Rian."
"But you said not to move," she said, confused.
"I know what I said," he said through clenched teeth. "But if you don’t go, I might do something I regret."
Whatever was going on, Laurince didn’t trust himself. But Myra didn’t believe running was the answer.
In the light, silver flashed on the table, and her gaze darted to the blade he had given her.
The logical side of her told her to grab it, just in case.
But she couldn’t move, her entire body telling her not to reach for it.
If it came down to it, Myra knew she wouldn’t be able to use the weapon against Laurince.
But more than that, she didn’t believe Laurince would hurt her—as ignorant as that might have made her.
"I’m going to stand up," she warned, moving slowly. As she got to her feet, the muscles in Laurince’s back rippled.
Her gaze slid over to his wings. In the torchlight, the pearlescent feathers were like tiny flames.
They were mesmerizing. As if entranced, she found herself inching toward them, reaching for them.
Before she could feel the soft feathers brush her fingertips, the room spun around her in a flurry. Her back hit the wall, and she released a soft oomph as her hair whipped across her face.
Laurince pinned her hand to the wall. His breath was hot on her flushed cheeks.
"Haze, you didn’t listen," he said, voice low.
Unable to refute his claim, Myra gawked at him, her eyes darting between his.
They were wild and consumed by darkness, yet she felt no anger dripping from him.
Not a single ounce, despite his words. Instead, something else saturated the thread of emotions, something just as red and bright and… alluring.
Myra’s breathing quickened as heat gathered low in her stomach. A scattering of chills ran up her neck and over her arms. Chest rising, she swiped her tongue across her lips.
Laurince’s gaze dipped down. But just as quickly, he snapped his eyes shut. His grip on her waist tightened. "Don’t look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like…like…" A low rumble sounded in his throat.