I refuse to open my eyes, but a new feeling tingles through me as I feel his body lean into me. His soft shirt brushes the insides of my thighs as his hands settle on my hips.
“You’re okay,” he says again.
I bite my lips as the pain begins to slowly subside. My wings shake out at my side as I start to sit up. A tightness overpowers my throat, and I swallow harshly. Shaking fingers meet my cheeks and I wipe quickly at the dampness there.
His strong body is settled between my legs, his chest nestled comfortably against my core. His fingers skim my outer thighs, sending a shiver across my flesh before he finally pulls away.
My breath comes back in a heaping rush, relieved by the space I now have.
Until he begins to unbuckle his jeans.
Tight black briefs cover him as he pushes down his pants to reveal matted blood covering his upper right leg. Fresh blood trickles from the deep puncture wound. He doesn’t seek my help as he begins shaking the bottle over the injury that the gate must have given him also.
His back rests against the steely wall as he leans there, his chest rising and falling with a rapid pace. Faintly, I see the tic of his jaw while his lips form a tight line.
Not one sound is emitted. The silence in the room is pressing while I watch him drop two more doses of the honey colored medicine over his thigh. His eyes clench closed, his face tipping up to the ceiling.
I watch every second. The liquid disappears into the dark smatter of blood. Slowly the flesh melds together, appearing to burn into a scarred texture of twisted pink skin.
A heavy breath leaves his lungs just as the wound heals entirely.
“Are you okay?” I ask in a quiet voice.
Without looking at me, he nods over and over as if he’s convincing himself more than me.
“How’s your wing?”
At the mention of them they ruffle, an unconscious movement that startles me.
Quietly, he buckles his jeans.
“Okay, I guess.”
Another jerking nod and then he’s walking back to me, his steps stiff and striding.
“Lie back.”
Once again, I lie back as he instructs. My wings tense beneath my weight.
“On your stomach.”
At the sound of his demand, my thighs shift against the thin blanket before I slowly turn on my side and then my stomach.
I fold my arms, my face nestled into the crook of my elbow. I can sense his attention on me, making me feel more naked in my underwear and tattered vest. My heart pounds just waiting for whatever it is he’s about to do.
“Extend your wings,” he says in a quieter tone.
With an abundance of thought, I push my wings out at my sides, my muscles constricting to complete the task. They’re sore. The simple movement pierces pain through the fine tendons and into my shoulder blades. They’re all the way out, laying tiredly against the bed, covering my arms and nearly hiding my face.
“Shit, your wingspan is enormous, Kara.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I say but my voice dips just as his legs brush the outside of my thighs, his weight settling against the small of my back. He straddles me, and I suddenly don’t remember how to breathe.
“Just relax. Stop thinking about your next witty comeback, beautiful.” His voice is smooth. Calming.
The feel of his fingers pushing through my feathers has my eyes closing on contact. At the tips, the edges, his hands are gentle before massaging into the mass of my wings. Strong hands circle over the tender muscle, kneading across my left wing before meeting my torn vest over my spine. My wings ripped the material almost right off my back when they first appeared. He pauses there, and at the distinct sound of fabric tearing, my eyes fly open.
“What the fuck, Ryder?”
