The Forest Witch's Home for Magical Creatures

Chapter 34: Nightmare

His wing was trapped. He tugged uselessly but the bindings holding him didn't budge.

    How did he get here?

    Everything was hazy and dark.

    He had to get back.

    Back to where though?

    He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe.

    He heard his name. Someone was calling him. It was far away. Too far. The sound was almost  lost in the darkness.

    He felt a hand on his chest.

    It was going to go for his throat.

    He thrashed against his bindings again.

He fell.

    He frantically looked around. He wasn't in a cell. He was in a room. His eyes bounced from the walls to the dresser to the slightly open window.

    The fog of sleep cleared. He was in his room. He was breathing wildly, his chest heaving.

    He wasn't there, wings pinned.

    He was here. Images flashed in his mind. The witch, the boys. He was safe.

    He dragged his hand across his face. His fingers left a smear of wet on his skin. The smell hit him suddenly. The metallic scent was all too familiar.

    He quickly got to his feet.

    The witch stood on the other side of the bed with a bewildered look to her. Her curls were in disarray, her eyes were wide like a spooked doe.

    And blood was dripping down her chest.

    Suddenly all the air in the room left, and he couldn't breathe.

    He must have looked like a feral thing. The witch held out her hand like she was placating a wild animal.

    The blood from her chest had rolled down her arms.

    "Wren."

His eyes stopped following the trail of blood across her skin and snapped up to her eyes.

    "Are you okay?"

    He almost laughed at the absurdity of her question. Asking him if he was okay after he had made her bleed.

    For the first time since he was a child, he felt like he might cry.

    Her wide eyes stared at him, waiting for an answer. His eyes kept trailing back to her wound. It looked like one of his talons cut a diagonal tear across her chest.

    It was sluggishly bleeding, staining her tank top and dripping down her arms. The stupid witch wasn't applying pressure or healing it. She was too focused on him like he mattered in the realm of her pain. As if she wasn't everything and he was nothing.

    Worse than nothing. He was somebody who kept hurting the people he cared about. How much more would the witch suffer just by being around him?

    He grabbed a piece of cloth from his nest and threw it at her.

    "Take care of yourself." His voice was gravel. He sounded like a monster.

    He still had the witch's blood on his hand.

    He was a monster.

    She didn't grab the fabric but took a step to the side. Closer to the edge of the bed. Closer to him.