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)
Her reluctance gives way to amusement. I guess you can’t do it in here. Then she visualizes me changing inside and the apartment we are staying in crumbling around us. I have to chuckle at such a thing. Even I am not so crazed as to destroy our home, no matter how temporary.
I take her by the hand and lead her outside, scenting the air automatically, my protective instincts at work. There is no faint smell of strangers, though. No other humans, no metal dragons, nothing that would say that others are lurking nearby. Good. I do not care how badly I wish to transform, I will not risk my mate or her safety.
“All clear?” she asks, glancing up at me.
All clear, I agree. Step back. I caress her cheek lightly with my claws and then move forward. I brim with anticipation—no, need—at the thought of shifting. It has felt like far too long. With one last touch to Emma’s mind, I close my eyes…and release.
Ahhhh.
It feels so good to be in my scales again. Pinprick flares of not-quite-pain move along my wings, and then I stretch my limbs, embracing the sensation of being in my battle-form. I open my eyes and spread my wings, determined to check the extent of the damage.
Nearby, Emma stands, her hand to her mouth, worry on her face. Are they okay?
They do not hurt, I tell her, stretching them. That is not entirely true. They ache, but it is the ache of an old tooth or a long-unused muscle. They also do not stretch very well, and I flex harder, knowing that the sinew and tendon should extend farther, that the full sail of them should grab at the breeze. Instead, they feel…thick. Heavy.
Clumsy.
I cannot fly. I know this even as I try to stretch them again. There is a lightness to the wing when you fly, and my wings feel tight and bulky. I twist them forward, trying to see. Scar tissue striates up once-delicate membranes, dense and ungainly. These will not carry me.
I knew this. I knew this would happen, and yet even now, I feel the crash of disappointment. I had hoped…and yet this is another thing Azar has taken from me. The dim rage starts to build inside my mind again, growing thick. Thick, like my destroyed wings—
My mate flicks a worried look at me and then moves forward, her fingers still pressed to her mouth. Can I see?
I lower one for her, and she moves her hand lightly over it. Strangely enough, despite the thick membranes, I can feel her touch. It is something, at least. “Do they hurt?” she asks.
They are tight. I cannot unfurl them properly, I tell her, and demonstrate. I extend the wings, stretching as far as I can and they only come half uncurled. If I push any further, they will tear. It does not matter.
She looks thoughtful. Her hand skims my wing again. “I remember back when my brother was younger, he hurt his leg playing little league softball. I don’t remember what the injury was.” She seems frustrated for a moment, and I can sense her irritation at her own poor memory as it flashes through her mind. “But I remember he went to physical therapy and he told me they did a lot of stretching.”
Stretching?
Emma nods and strokes her hand down my wing again. “Maybe we could try something like that. And I could get some lotion from a pharmacy somewhere and we can lotion your wings and stretch them to try and make the tissue more supple.” She cocks her head. “I wonder if we could find a book on physical therapy? We need to find a library or a bookstore. Or both. And then another pharmacy.” She nods to herself, and I can feel a sense of determination in her thoughts. “How does the rest of you feel?”
I flex my claws. It is hard to push past the disappointment of my wings, but I force myself to focus. Other than the fact that my wings are useless, I feel good. My back is strong, my limbs strong, my tail strong. I am strong all over. I lean down and nuzzle my mate, who seems so much smaller and far more delicate now. I am fine.
She looks up at me with worried, dark eyes. And your mind? You’re not going to…you know, lose it?” Her gaze moves over me. “I can tell you’re not feeling…a hundred percent in your mind. I just worry.”
If you were not here, I would struggle, I admit. Even now, I feel the pangs of frustrated anger, and it would be far too easy to sink into them. For her, though, I do my best to ignore. She is the only reason my mind is as clear as it is, and so I focus on her. On her determination. Do you truly think we can mend my wings?