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FENROTHER

I can hear Alice get up from her chair.

My body tenses as she does.

There are knives on the table, forks, spoons.

Any of these could be used against me.

For all I’ve enjoyed taking her blood and giving her pleasure, what exactly do I know about this human?

Humans kill Wyrms. It’s a well-known fact.

It’s why my great-great-grandfather commissioned the tapestry she didn’t like.

Humans and Wyrms have a relationship which is as complicated as it could possibly be.

I know I’m holding my breath as she approaches.

I have good reason to be on edge with a human in the room.

Only this human is Alice.

She is my mate. She has touched other sensitive parts of me.

And yet, having her touch my wings…

A soft hand slides down the outer strut, and instantly a calmness descends on me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as she gently places the tips of her fingers on the membrane between.

If I thought my pizzle being touched by her was something incredible, it is nothing compared to her touch of my wing.

My mind goes blank. A completely unwritten text.

A sheet of parchment yet un-inked.

I can’t think of anything.

I don’t want to think of anything.

All I want to do is breathe in the scent of her.

The faint tang of blood and her particular perfume, somewhere between blooming heather and dripping honey.

Against my will, my knees sag, and I release a long lungful of air, my claws gripping at the stone over the fire.

I concentrate on the flames, the ones I should be able to produce, only I never have.

The fire is everything.

Alice’s touch is everything.

I stretch out my wing so she can see it all.

It belongs to her.

I belong to her.

Without a word, she continues to slide her hands over the membrane until she reaches the areas where it is thicker with scars.

No part of my body is without scars.

Her fingers feel incredible as she slowly explores the knotted area, making it feel less tight than it has done in the decades since it healed.

This female has no magic, yet she has bewitched me entirely.

She could plunge a knife into my heart at this very moment and I’d thank her.

“So sensitive,” she breathes.

“So beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” I hear myself say.

“How would you know?” Alice asks.

“I’ve seen a sunset,” I respond, as she moves to my other wing, the one more ragged, more scarred.

“I know what beauty is.”