Page 43 of Angels Don’t Date

And the whole binding thing was just the cherry on top. Why would Richard do that? He needed to know that I wasn’t worth protecting, but he saw the best in me, and would die because of it.

I covered all the windows in my darkest blankets and threw myself across the bed, wanting to disappear. Did I cry? Of course not. I sobbed and bawled, but nothing so pretty as tears. I cried filled with self-loathing and hatred that my therapist would make me talk through so I could see that the thoughts weren’t really mine, and I didn’t actually think that everyone would be better off without me and want me to disappear forever, but my therapist wasn’t there, so I got to drown in my misery until I fell asleep. Maybe I passed out from the goblin poison. Either way, I didn’t wake up until the light coming through the edges of my dark pink blanket was golden afternoon. Sunday afternoon? Saturday?

I felt hollow in the middle, apathetic, which seemed better than the misery, but if I went too long with that, it would take forever to get back to normal. I needed to wash my face, put on a happy face and a pretty dress, and do some actual pastel princess shots. Even though I didn’t care, I would eventually. Maybe.

I pushed myself up from my bed and felt heavy, slow, lethargic. I slithered to the edge of the bed and then stood up. The funny thing is that when I stood up, the weight on my upper back pulled me over so I sprawled back on my mattress.

I froze there, feeling like a bug on its back. Weight on my back? Why would I have weight on my back?

I slowly reached back and felt bat skin and mouse velvet. I froze while my mind raced and my stomach tangled. Seriously? I’d grown something out of my back? Was this a side-effect of the goblin poison, the heavenly fire, or being bound to Richard? Did his wings fall out and then I grew some mutated things? I would die! Except I couldn’t die because that would kill him.

I rolled and kicked until I managed to grab the bedpost and haul myself upright. It was dark in the room so I headed to the bathroom, but when I got to the doorway, the growth caught on the frame and I was once more knocked onto my back. I didn’t fit through doors? What was going on? Had I really finally turned into the ultimate monster? I kicked and thrashed, and the things on my back shoved me upright.

I grabbed the door and then carefully, sideways, edged into the bathroom with its cute Victorian vibe, all ceramic floral light covers, and claw tub, with pink claws. I focused on those cute claws until I slowly turned to look in the vanity’s oval mirror.

Wow.

I had blood tracks down my face. Nothing was hotter than dried blood tracks where tears would be on a normal person. And there, framing my horrible hair, like the worst hair ever, were a pair of wings. They could have been worse. They weren’t like skeletal or dripping blood just for the vibe. But the chocolatey brown bat wings weren’t me. I mean, they were, because they were coming out of my back, but they weren’t my pastel princess. They weren’t who I chose to be. Didn’t what I chose count for anything?

I collapsed on the edge of the tub and hung on, trying to not have hysterics. I’d already done the ugly cry with blood tears, so we weren’t doing that again. We were dealing with the problem responsibly, because I was fifty years old and not a child. And that’s why I lurched to my feet, edged sideways out the door, and found my phone on the table in the adorable kitchen instead of having another meltdown.

I picked my phone up with shaking fingers and hit the dragon icon.

It took the scholar six rings to pick up, but he did pick up. He sounded distracted, like I’d broken him out of a trance with some piece of ancient parchment.

“Katriana? Is everything well?”

I didn’t sob. Instead, I smiled as bright as I could until my teeth creaked. “Not exactly. I have bat wings. And they keep pulling me over backwards because they’re so heavy.”

“Not bat wings. No bat wings are that large.”

I rolled my eyes. Sometimes scholars could be so precise and correct but absolutely not helpful. “I was referring to the general shape, not the actual size.”

“Interesting. Would you like me to give you flying lessons? I don’t have that kind of wings, but I’m sure I could⁠—”

“I need them gone. Can I cut them off or will they grow back? They don’t match my platform. They scream goth vampire, not pastel princess.”

He cleared his throat. “I can bring a text that specifies in reducing one’s wings into a rune that can be expanded at will. Wings can be inconvenient.”

“I should say. I couldn’t get through the doorway.”

“They’re that large? Interesting. I believe your father has wings.”

“Yay. Just what I want to hear, that I’m stepping into my awesome heritage. Anyway, if you could bring that text, or someone with it, that would be great.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He hung up without saying goodbye, leaving me slumping over the table in relief.

He’d come and know what to do. My guardian always knew what to do, no matter what. Sometimes it wasn’t fun or easy, like therapy had involved doing a lot of uncomfortable things, but I’d become mostly good at managing my mental health crises. I could manage bat wings too.

I didn’t try to move until he threw open the front door and entered, spilling his scent and presence over me. Comfort. Safety. Terror to everyone else.

He walked with confidence and then I felt his hands delicately probing the growths where they joined my spine. And shoulder blades. “You could lift as much as your vampire could hold with these,” he said, sounding impressed. Just what I needed, him to be impressed by my bat growths.

“Did you bring the book?” I asked, lifting my head from the table.

He placed the tome on the cleanest part of the surface and opened it to a full page spread of various designs. “Some of these are rather lovely. They could match your, er, pastel princess vibe, could they not?”

I beamed at him. “Not really, but I’ll put it on my elbow so it’s not too noticeable. Let’s do this one.” I pointed at a basic wing design that sort of matched what mine might have looked like.