Niala-58

There I was, in a cold bath, every part of my body on fire with an urgency I’d never known before, and confused as he pulled away.

Why would he stop when it felt so good?!? Isn’t this the point of testing fires and melding? The point is to eventually fully meld?

Fully melding.

Binding.

At sixteen, I had zero business whatsoever binding. I couldn’t even legally drive a car, not to mention I only had my fires for less than a week. My belly ached for something that I didn’t even fully understand.

I leaned back in the water, sinking as I let my knees poke up into the colder air. Then, finally, I let my face slip beneath.

I ran my hand over my neck, sending pangs of pleasure through me as I reignited the soft bruises at a touch. Things tingled, and I simultaneously loved and hated it.

“That’s enough of that, Niala!” I announced to myself as I stood with an abrupt slosh. Standing made me dizzy, so I sat down once more and let my head settle. Gaff had to feel similar, and I had just let him leave. His head was probably fine; He’d had enough time to heal. But, of course, he’d need an actual healer once we got back to the village just in case his jaw had been crooked. I’d given him enough of my fires and mana to set him straight, too much of my fires, too much of my mana. A heat burned over my cheeks like a fever. I felt sure I had crossed a line that I couldn’t come back from.

“Fucking molt,” I muttered to myself. It always happened when I molted, the light fevers and the tiredness. I hadn’t needed a moment of any of this. I just wanted Gaff, wanted him back with me, holding me and telling me that everything would be okay. Then I wanted to find Kiromir and make sure that Rolyn never got to see the light of day again.

I pulled myself onto shaken feet and stripped myself of my sodden pants and my twisted shirt. I vaguely recall wearing as a child what I wore beneath it, a winding bundle of hand-woven strips of cloth that bound my chest. Breasts were a bane to flight. I didn’t have much there to bind, but Gaffriel’s wandering hands had brushed my chest, and it felt good, almost as good as melding our fires.

I stood in just my underwear and toweled my hair free. The feathers I kept woven in my hair came loose, and I pulled them out. I rustled my hands through my hair, and my short locks weren’t as short as I remembered. I had cut my hair not two weeks ago, and it felt a little shaggy. I wanted to let my wings loose to steal a few feathers and weave them in, but the thought of all the feathers that would spill out when I did scared me. I also wanted Gaffriel to do it for me. I felt bad about it, but I wanted his touch, needed it. I collapsed onto the bed, towel still over my head as I felt the flush of the fever in my cheeks once more.

I had a daunting moment as I looked over my body. My bruises and marks had almost all healed. I ran my hands down my legs and caught my hand lingering over the spot on my left hip where one day a binding mark would be. I imagined Gaff’s sigil there and withdrew my hand as I realized what sort of fantasy I had. Gaffriel was right; we were kids. I felt so tired, though, and the bed felt so inviting. We didn’t have soft beds like this at the barracks. Even though it smelled musty and of numerous people that had been here before us, I kicked the blankets off the side and burrowed under the sheet. I didn’t want to be warmer than I already was, but I felt better covered.

I closed my eyes and let sleep take me.