Rosomil drifted slowly back into wakefulness. To his delight his dreams had spared him from memories and any uncouth desires. The only thing dampening his enjoyment was the cold air current washing over him.

Shivering he opened his eyes and took immediate note of the empty bed. The sheets crumbled and a few ruffled feathers resting on top. A heartbeat later he noticed the woollen blanket his demon must’ve placed on him. With an annoyed huff, he pulled the blanket off, stood up and folded it to toss it onto the bed. Suddenly, another gust of cold air washed over him and made him shiver.

Turning around, he found his demon sitting on the second chair in front of the open window. It was difficult to tell what she was doing as she had spread her wings partial out and was hidden behind them. Rosomil couldn’t help but notice the mesmerising way her feathers shimmered in the sunlight. The iridescence seemed to shift between deep blues and purples to gold. He felt almost bewitched by this display. He wanted to touch her, to stroke along those feathers. With a start, he forced his mind to refocus. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. Not this way.

“What are you doing?”, he asked and walked over to her.

“No, good morning?”, she responded after lowering one of her wings to look at him. “No how-are-you-feeling?”

“You seem to feel quite good already, judging by your tone”, he replied, and reached for her wing to pull it out of the way to fully look at her.

A hiss of pain stayed his hand.

“I do feel better, but I’m not fully healed”, she replied and shifted on the chair to turn around.

Her right wing was burned at the tip as much as her arm. But some feathers had already regrown and the still raw looking parts weren’t weeping or exposing the tissue underneath.

“Why haven’t you told me you were wounded this badly?”, Rosomil asked his demon, angry.

“Because it’ll heal on its own”, she replied, with the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Although… The ointment you used on my arm accelerated the healing process not just there but on my wing as well. I ought to thank you for this.”

“You don’t have to.”

She made an amused huff and looked back out of the window. Still, Rosomil felt bad for his comment. Slightly embarrassed, he looked over the room until his eyes focused on the ointment on his nightstand. If it helped her this well, it was foolish to keep it from her. But instead of handing the small dish to her, he picked it up and pulled his chair from the bed to her. The demon watched him with clear interest, especially as he sat down beside her. But she didn’t comment on his behaviour, nor did her face betray any of her thoughts.

Rosomil took this as a sign to continue. After all, she certainly would let him know if he did something she thought foolish or felt apprehensive about.

Slow, he put some of the ointment on his hand and ran it along her wing.

“What are you doing?”, she asked cautiously.

“Helping you”, he replied, slightly annoyed.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“I could apply your medicine on my own.”

“I know”, he replied stern but didn’t stop.

“That’s not necessary”, she replied, for the first time with an uncertain glint in her eyes. “I’m well enough to deal with this myself.”

“But you’re my subordinate”, he argued back, while she shifted her wings so he could reach the wounded part much easier. “As your commander, it’s my duty to take care of you until you’re fully healed.”

“Did you treat your former comrades also like this?”

“Yes.”

At this, the Ravendemon remained silent. Simultaneously, she watched him like a hawk as he gently pushed some of her sturdy yet surprisingly soft feathers away. Trying not to let his own bafflement about his actions get the better of him, Rosomil started to apply the salve to the best of his ability. Once he was done, he considered for a moment how he could bandage the wing as he had no experience with its anatomy.

“You don’t need to warp it”, his demon said and pulled it closer to her body.

“Is there something else I can help you with?”, Rosomil asked, reluctant.

What on earth am I doing?, he asked himself. While the answer was awfully clear inside his mind, he didn’t dare face it. Suddenly, the Ravendemon moved her injured wing once more towards him. It was a soft movement mixed with a sublime hint of expectation.

“You see those sheathed feathers at the edges of the wound?”, she asked almost tentatively.

“Yes, what about them?”, he asked.

“I would do it myself but right now, I neither have the reach nor dexterity to preen. So… would you mind pulling those feathers free that already poke out of their sheaths?”

“Are you certain you want me to help you with this?”, Rosomil asked concerned. “It seems rather… rather intimate, and you don’t sound like you really want me to.”

“The itching drives me crazy”, she replied sullen, and turned away to hide her face.

Her flustered reaction took Rosomil off-guard and made him flustered in return. After all, this was the first time that she had allowed herself to show vulnerability in his presence. It made him feel honoured and worried at the same time. Worried about what she thought about this. Worried about his own feelings.

Biting the insides of his cheeks, he gently lifted her wing so he could hide his face, although she didn’t bother to look at him, and started to pull the feathers free from the parchment like sheaths around them. Once he had freed some, he brushed them gently down in the direction the other feathers grew.

After some time, she started to relax. Rosomil could feel and see how her feathers shifted and some of the tension left her. After a while, she slowly lowered her wing, which allowed him to look at her face once more.

Something he wished she hadn’t done.

She rested her head on her uninjured arm and enjoyed the warm sunlight illuminating her face. The expression of soft content mixed with her unnatural pale skin and the iridescent black feathers and hair made her look like some ethereal being.

Rosomil felt his heart skip. Neither human nor nonhuman woman had ever made him feel this way. Not even those nonhumans, who lured their victims in with sexual allure and frivolous promises, had managed to entice him. He hadn’t even needed to use the training the Order had made mandatory to deny those traps.

“Something wrong?”, she asked as if half dreaming and opened one of her crimson cat-eyes to look at him. “You stopped so sudden.”

“You could help me”, he replied to hid his feelings.

“I’ve already preened the inside of my wing”, she replied slightly annoyed. “I wouldn’t have asked you in the first place otherwise. I know how fickle you can be, and I’m not in the mood to argue.”

“You’re certainly doing much better now”, he replied, and almost wanted to slap himself for sounding so dismissive.

“Yes, I certainly do”, she said, deadly calm, the tension returning to her body. “You know what? This was a mistake. I’m going and take a sunbath to relax for a bit. Just call me if you need anything important. Or rather don’t.”

The Ravendemon was gone before Rosomil could protest. The only things remaining of her were a few feathers and the rests of the feather sheaths in his hand.

For a moment he sat there, staring at the empty chair. Unable to move. Unable to think.

A gust of wind blew the parchment like sheaths from his hand. Rosomil stared down at his palm. Slow, he closed his fingers. Tighter and tighter. So tight that he felt his nails draw blood and his bones and sinews scrape inside his hand.

With a start, he stood up, closed the window and left for his study.