Page 33

“Tea,” he says, before retreating to the window seat, flinging himself down into a nest of blankets and propping up his feet.

He opens a book. It’s the one left for him by Meg.

There is a small white teapot dotted with painted pink roses on the platter, along with a matching cup. I pour out the tea which smells like tea and nothing weird. I add milk from a tiny jug which is painted with ivy.

Lifting the cup to my lips, I risk another glance at Fenrother. He’s deeply engrossed in the book, clawed hands clutching it like it’s the most precious thing he owns. Very occasionally, he blinks. Hard.

If that book contains the information I think it does, I’m surprised he’s not turned red rather than his usual blue-green. But then nothing is embarrassing for Fenrother. He has no filter, no shame, and no concept of discomfort.

Everything is new to my great Wyrm. And I’m the newest thing in his life.

The tea is good, strongly flavoured, and I’ve drained the cup in no time, pouring out a second and rather wishing the teapot was larger.

“Is it good?” I ask to break the silence. Fenrother lifts his head, eyes unfocussed, as if he’s forgotten where he is. “The book? Is it good?” I say as he comes out of his reverie. “Any diagrams yet?”

He snorts. Could that be a hint of a smile?

“No diagrams,” he says. “Do you have a clitoris?”

I nearly choke on my tea, having taken a mouthful a moment earlier, as he hisses the word.

“What does your text say?”

“It says human females have a clitoris and a Wyrm should endeavour to find it, to bring her pleasure.”

“Does it not say where the clitoris is?”

Fenrother goes back to his book, and I watch him read on, his eyes widening slowly until he glances back at me, down to the book and again at me. “It does.”

“Do you think you could find it?” I’m trying to contain my mirth.

“I could,” Fenrother says confidently. “I think I already have,” he adds smugly. “And I know your bleed goes on for five days.”

“Oh, do you?” I sit a little straighter.

“And the moon month for your breeding takes place after it is done.”

Okay…so I should be horrified by his sentence, but I’m not. If anything, it makes me shift a little in the bed. The concept ofbreeding—it’s at once wrong and right.

Or at least a part of me thinks it’s right. A part which I should not be using to think.

“So, we get longer than the queen gave us?”

Fenrother nods enthusiastically. “I also know your bleed can make you grumpy, require sweet treats, and cause you pain,” he says, clapping the book shut in triumph. “What is grumpy?”

I honestly want to tell him to look in the mirror, but at this moment in time, Fenrother is anything but grumpy. He’s filled with passion for this new thing.

Me.

Is this any better than when he thought my bra was going to kill him?

“It’s where you don’t tolerate much without it annoying you. And then making everyone else know how you feel,” I respond. Grumpily.

Fenrother furrows his brow, looks briefly at the book and then at me.

“Not everything can be found in a book. Some things you have to find out for yourself,” I say.

His lip hitches up on one side, revealing an impressive fang. “Like a clitoris?”