Page 27 of Starlight

“Well, I can’t keep going the way I have been. This isn’t…” He needed to stop talking.

“It’s not what you wanted.”

Cole closed his eyes, torn between the truth and the palatable lie. “It’s not. And I’ve tried, am trying, and I don’t know what else I can do, but at the moment I don’t even have the time to think about other options.”

She nodded. “I’ll talk to him. Remind him that you’d like the weekends off.”

Cole snorted. “He thinks I’m being lazy, going out there and doing nothing.”

“That’s what you built it for, though. So you could go up there and unwind.”

“Yeah.” Along with a thousand other reasons, some of which he’d only just discovered.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Without Cole in the cabin, it seemed empty, even though the building was only small. After spending the night alone, he was half-tempted to leave the next day and spend the rest of the week in the abandoned mine. At least then he wouldn’t feel so alone. But he couldn’t face climbing down the mine, especially since he wouldn’t be able to fly out.

That was his biggest problem—being unable to fly. He couldn’t walk all the way to Yellowstone, and he needed to get there in time for the solstice celebration. That was where he made most of his money for the year.

But he couldn’t pass for human, which meant hitchhiking was out. As was any other means of human transport; he couldn’t steal a car because he didn’t know how to drive.

Which didn’t leave him a whole lot of options.

The most obvious one was asking Cole to drive him. He’d already checked the distance, and it wasn’t that far to drive, a week, maybe ten days if they dithered. Of course, asking Cole to drive him meant telling him about the solstice celebration. And while Cole had already guessed that there were other monsters, knowing about them and seeing them gathered en masse were two very different things. He could already imagine Boone’s disapproving glare.

He’d disapprove of this entire adventure—as if getting shot was something Akai had planned. Besides, it was too late to do anything now, as Cole already knew about monsters, and he had taken it quite well.

That didn’t mean he’d be chill about the solstice celebration.

Nor did it mean he’d be granted a token to enter. They weren’t mates. They weren’t anything. And he couldn’t imagine that the others would be thrilled if he brought a human who’d shot him. It would kind of put a dampener on things. Cole wouldn’t want to drive all that way and then turn around and go home either.

His doubts were why he hadn’t messaged anyone yet. He didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t get him into trouble or make them all hate Cole. The fact that Cole’s cousins had killed his sister didn’t tip the scales in his favor any.

By day three, he was tired of his own company. He’d played solitaire both with the pebble game and the deck of cards he’d found in the cabin too many times, completed the one thousand-piece puzzle, eaten all the oats and honey, and he was bored. Bored enough that he had jumped off the deck, hoping to glide over the shrubs and land neatly.

He did not.

He had barely stepped foot off the deck before his damaged wing refused to cooperate, and he had tumbled messily into the shrubs and grasses and had spent an inordinate amount of time lying on his back, staring up at the sky as the sun moved overhead, regretting his life choices while feeling grateful that a branch hadn’t skewered something essential.

It was only when a couple of ravens peered down at him, checking to see if it was safe to peck out his eyes, that he got up. The stitches in his wing ached; it took a fair amount of twisting and turning in the bathroom, because the mirror was so tiny and he was so big, before he got a decent picture to see if he’d made the injury worse.

What had been healing had ripped open, and there was fresh blood.

He grumbled several curses about stupid Cole’s stitches, bad luck, and fate before cursing his own impatience. It would never heal if he kept testing it. Maybe he didn’t have to mention Cole; he could just ask about wing healing times on the message board.

No, if he did that, his parents or uncle might see, and that would be a disaster. They might rush up here, and the last thing he wanted was his family in the cabin when Cole returned on the weekend.

If he returned on the weekend.

Now he’d found what position he needed to get into to photograph his wing in the mirror—one foot on the toilet seat, his good wing stretched into the shower for balance, and his good arm overhead holding the phone—he’d check daily. That way, he could make sure it wasn’t infected and that it was continuing to heal. Cole had left the first aid kit and explained the antiseptic spray and cream to him before he pointed out that he could read human letters.

He grabbed the spray, knowing that it was going to sting like being shot, and maneuvered into the weird position so he could direct the spray into the right spot. He also changed the bandage on his arm—which was not, in fact, a scratch the way Cole claimed.

He leaned against the wall, so he didn’t faint. There was an entire chunk of skin missing!

Tending his wounds wasted a little bit of time, but there was still too long until nightfall. He went through the contents of the kitchen again, wing and arm smarting from the antiseptic, and washed down a couple of painkillers with a mouthful of whiskey.

There was nothing in the kitchen that he wanted to eat, even though there was plenty to eat if he opened the cans. He shouldn’t open the cans, as these were Cole’s supplies and he was perfectly capable of foraging. Foraging would at least give him something to do.