“You too.” And it was. I don’t talk to many people in this town. The food places I order from. My friend, Levi. That’s about it.
Everyone else I connect with is either through my remote work as a digital marketing designer or in virtual chat rooms for gamers. Delta somehow seemed more real to me. Maybe because of her connection to the all-too-real man just outside my house.
“All right. Well, I guess I’ll just wait out here then,” Mahon calls to me.
When I press my eye to the peephole, I see him settling his butt on the top step of my front porch.
“You know, just sit here. All alone.”
Was that a sniffle?
“No company.” He hangs his head. “By myself.”
If I had pupils, I’d roll them.
“Do you need a thesaurus?” I ask.
His head pops up. “Huh?”
“To come up with a few more ways to sayalone?” Even as I snark at him from inside my house, I can’t stop the upward tug of the corners of my mouth.
In the rounded image of him in the peephole, I pick out a broad grin.
“No, no. I think you get the message.”
Then, the shifter starts whistling “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen.”
The put-upon act should annoy me, but I find myself fighting a laugh. And contemplating a bad idea. With a flick, I extend my wings, and then I jump into the air and flap my way back to the second floor. The maneuver comes naturally to me. Living on my own in this open–floor plan, high-ceilinged house, I fly as much as I walk.
I also don’t bother with clothes most of the time. As I pad into my bedroom, I glance down at my bare body. Indigo skinmelds seamlessly with scales of the same color, covering my body in beautiful patterns I’ve learned to love over the years. The harder surface still leaves some soft parts of me exposed. Like my nipples and my vulva. Both a lighter blue than the rest of me. Same with my lips.
I press the pads of my fingers to the plush skin surrounding my mouth, and despite the thinness of them, I’m glad the gods let me have a set. I’d rather have lips than ears. Who needs those fleshy satellites sticking out from the sides of their head anyway?
My walk-in closet is sorely underused. I don’t bother with clothes most days of the week. Today is a rare occurrence. Snatching a loose set of black sweatpants and an extra-large hoodie, I slip the fabric pieces over my body. With my wings tucked tight against my back, they hide under the material, and everything fits fine. In fact, the outfit engulfs me, but that’s what I’m going for.
Less on display for him to judge.
This time, I use my feet to get down the stairs, walking barefoot until I reach the front door, where I slide on a set of slippers. The getup is cozy, and I might be more amenable to clothes on a daily basis if the seams didn’t snag on my scales.
I can still hear the delivery guy’s mournful whistling through the door. The tune lures me to him, as if the man were part siren.
But he’s not. If Mahon had any blood in him other than shifter, he would lose access to that term. Just like I can’t call myself a dragon even though that’s what my father is. And I can’t call myself an undine even though that’s what my mother was. The mixture of the two makes me other.
Makes me a monster.
With my fingers wrapped around the doorknob, I pause and reconsider.
Will Mahon cringe away from me like so many others have? Can I handle it if he does?
I glare at the dark wood ofmyfront door, onmyproperty.
Of course I can handle it. I am a work of art, and if he doesn’t see that, then fuck him and the scooter he rode in on.
Besides, I think as I unlock the dead bolt,I’m hungry.
2
The instant I step outside,the whistling stops. I focus on picking up my bag of food and still-warm café au lait. July in northern Georgia is normally stifling, but today, a breeze intertwines with the ever-present humidity. Something in my physical makeup has always allowed me to regulate my body temperature to fit the environment, so wearing sweats on the hot day doesn’t bother me.
