Kinked

You know everything’s always all about me, he told her, the steady, concerned look in his eyes belying their attempt at banter. Please. Tell me again.

There were so many words to that promise, and people were making noise and doing things to her, and she almost screamed at him to fuck off, all of it swirling in her head like a tornado looking to break out of her body.

Then something clicked inside, and she could focus on him.

She said, I made a promise to you before you came into my life.

I know you did, he said. There was so much love in his eyes. So much. And I’m so grateful for it.

I will never betray you, she said to him. I will never endanger your life with my carelessness or impetuosity. I will fight for and with you. I will—I will—

Out of her sight, someone started a tiny saw, and her expression twisted.

Quentin rose up on his knees. The intensity in his blue gaze burned into hers, pushing everything else away. He said to her strongly, I will always have your back whenever you might need me.

Realization hit. He had memorized every word of what she had said.

That was when she found her center.

She whispered, I will not leave you, and I will not lie to you, and if you will be patient and forgiving, I will learn how to forgive too. Because you’ve become the most important thing in the world to me. I’ll give everything I have to you, along with everything I can be, if only you will do the same.

And remember, there’s more, Quentin said. Because somehow it’s going to be okay.

She rested in the adamancy in his gaze. Then she said, Because I could never endanger my mate by throwing my own life away.

He smiled at her. She didn’t understand why he looked so proud, because she still felt whacked-out and slashy.

And paragliding is not stupid, he said. He tilted his head and kissed the harpy’s lips. As long as we do it together.

That’s a bargain, she whispered.

The best bargain of all. He was a magician, all right. By using only smoke and mirrors, he had somehow managed to banish the last of her panic.

That was when something really odd happened. Speaking with brisk authority, Kathryn ordered the rest of the surgical team out of the room. Murmuring in puzzlement, they filed out. As the last of them left, the scent of someone else’s blood—Pia’s blood—filled the air.

Aryal said out loud, “What the fuck are you guys doing back there?”

“Hold on a few moments longer, Aryal,” said Kathryn somewhat breathlessly. “You’re doing an awesome job. We’re almost finished.”

A new Power began to fill Aryal’s body, and it was simply ravishing, cool like moonlight and exquisitely clear, like the finest crystal. It filled her entirely and took all the pain away, all of it, and bathed her spirit tenderly with the finest hope.

“My God,” Kathryn said. “Will you look at that.”

While Aryal heard the words, they didn’t hold any meaning for her. She was lost in rightness and a floating sensation like freedom. Through it all she watched Quentin as he swallowed hard.

Vaguely she grew aware that Dragos was speaking again. This time, quite unlike his beguilement, his tone was harsh and commanding. “Nobody speaks about what just happened in this room. Not to anyone, do you understand?”

Quentin’s gaze shifted from Aryal’s face to the people who stood behind her. She watched as his expression turned careful. He nodded.

“I’m bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, and I’ve already given you my promise,” Kathryn told him. “I won’t say a word.”

“See that you keep it,” Dragos said. He never had to say “or else.”

Aryal turned her head as Dragos and Pia walked out.

Then Kathryn laid a hand at the back of Aryal’s neck and squatted to look her in the eyes. The surgeon pulled down her mask. Her honey brown gaze was teary, and she was beaming. “We’re done,” Kathryn said. “Everything looks so much better than I could have hoped.”

She shivered spasmodically. “It looks good?”

“It looks more than good. It looks amazing.” Kathryn kept a steady, firm pressure on the back of her neck. “But I’m going to tell you something before I let you up, and you need to listen. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“What happened just now is a miracle, and I do not use that word lightly. From the hopeless mess that I first saw to what I sense right now—there’s no comparison.” The surgeon’s expression sobered. “So pay attention when I say this to you. Do not take any chances with this opportunity. Your wings were so bad I was convinced you would never fly again. Now you have a real shot, but you must stay out of the air for two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” she whispered. Her mind went blank. She had never been out of the air for two weeks in her very long life.

Kathryn’s eyes were sharp and stern. “You’re a big girl. You can make your own choices, and I don’t order my patients around. It’s up to you whether or not you decide to take my advice. But you have injured and then reinjured your wings. If you don’t give your body a real chance to recover, you might rip away everything of the very great gift that has just been given to you. You are not cleared for work. No crises, no excuses, no exceptions.” The doctor paused to let her words sink in. “Do you understand what I have just said?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Good.” Kathryn patted her. “Now I’m going to release the numbing spell and let you sit up. I want you to shapeshift back into your human form and stay that way for fourteen days.”

Aryal and Quentin looked at each other. Quentin said, “She will.”

It would be fourteen days before she knew for sure whether or not the miracle had taken hold.

Before she knew if she could fly again.

Fourteen days.

The wait was going to kill her.

TWENTY-TWO

When Aryal shapeshifted back into her human form and sat at the edge of the operating table, Quentin was ready with a clean set of folded scrubs. He helped her into them. Then he stroked her hair as she leaned against his chest.

Dragos and Pia had already disappeared, and so had the surgeon. The door opened, and a nurse approached with a wheelchair. “I’m here to take you to your room now.”

Aryal’s head snapped up. She stared at the wheelchair with wide-eyed repugnance.

Quentin told the nurse, “Hospitals are for sick people, and we’re going home.”

The nurse’s face froze. “Okay,” she said uncertainly. “Just wait a few minutes while I get some release forms for you to sign. I’ll be right back.”

They didn’t wait. Instead they walked slowly down the hall, arms around each other’s waists. He asked, “Your place or mine?”

“There’s awesome delivery in the Tower,” she said, enunciating each word with the carefulness of the extremely tired. “No need to cook.”

“There’s pretty awesome delivery over the bar too,” he told her.

“Then I don’t care.”

“We’ll go to my place.”

While he had waited for Aryal as she had gotten x-rayed, Quentin called Dragos’s assistant Kris, who had