A loud howl echoes in the night, and my thoughts go to Cyro, whom I saw trying to dash after us, only to stop on the window sill, reverting to his human form, naked, with desperate eyes, reaching for us, as if he could snatch me from the evil man's arms.
Silence has settled between us, and my tense body seems to find some comfort in the coldness that wraps around us and in the closeness of our bodies. Given the chance to just look, I can't help but take in the strangest and most obvious thing about him.
The wings of my captor resemble nothing close to feathery, luscious wings. They are leathery, with pointy tips and ruffled edges. I can spot a few old scars that had healed long time ago in a not so elegant and delicate way. Close to the edges of the leathery material of the wings, there
