When my wings fluttered again, my stomach dropped, though I made myself straighten. Monqilcolnen had to have noticed them. He glanced at my wings, not ignoring their existence like some who were uncomfortable did, but he didn’t remark on them, nor did he stare. I was unsure of how he felt, because his expression gave nothing away.
“I would like permissions," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper as my wings hugged my shoulders and my tail coiled around my ankle. “If you are interested.”
I hated the shame coursing through me. I had no reason to feel it, and I thought I’d worked through my old feelings. This feeling didn’t belong to me; it couldn’t. With other fuck partners, or potential partners, I should say, I couldn’t have cared less if they had been put off by my wings. I’d merely cut their presence out of my life if they’d been rude or disrespectful or treated me as an infant.
But something about Monqilcolnen was different. He wasn’t just a fuck partner. He had the potential to be more, which terrified me and excited me at the exact same moment. Still, I couldn’t be ashamed just because of my wings—just becauseIwas different than a majority of the Drakcon population.
He slid closer to me until only a hair separated our folded legs. “I am very interested, Wyn. So desperately interested.”
If that was true, then we needed to get a certain conversation out of the way before I wasted my time on permissions.
“It happened in utero,” I said.
“I’m afraid you’ve changed the conversation too rapidly for me to follow.”
“My wings.”
“I understand.”
“Genetic.” I clutched my elbows while my tail strangled my ankle. “I can’t fly.” I held up a hand before he could speak. “I have flown with past partners before. My size makes it easy for others to fly with me. And yes, I enjoyed it. And no, you do not have to offer to fly with me. Though if you want to, I would enjoy that.”
“You have had this conversation before,” Monqilcolnen commented.
“Many times.”
“Then you should tell me what else you wish me to know.”
“I don’t need pity. I don’t need help. I don’t need miracle cures. I don’t need anyone telling me how best to care for myself. And I don’t need anyone hovering over me, protecting me. I am an adult who can take care of myself.”
“I agree,” he replied.
“You do?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t I?”
“Because many don’t,” I said.
“I will admit, I had no knowledge of your wing, and it did take me by surprise,” Monqilcolnen said. “But Wyn, you are you, and I like you.” He gestured to my wing. “Your wing is a part of you and it does not deter me in the slightest nor change how I see you.”
My soul vibrated in my ears, threatening to rip free of the confines of my chest. “How do you see me?”
His voice dropped to a husky murmur. “As an intelligent seeker who can defeat me in hand-to-hand combat, as well as the most attractive person I have ever seen, who is kind and gentle and also fiercely protective of those who are his.”
“And do you consider yourself among those people?” I asked, barely audible. I’d claimed him, and I’d meant it. I wanted to court Monqilcolnen, and I didn’t wish to share him.
“I do.”
Something inside of me expanded almost painfully, making me smile so broadly I feared my scales would break.
Monqilcolnen slowly lifted his hand, and when I didn’t move, he rested it on my cheek. “You, Wyn, most definitely own me.”
I liked the thought of that a great deal.
“Can we now discuss permissions?”
The seductive curl of want burning a hole in my gut wanted me to say no and tackle him. I needed Monqilcolnen desperately, but I was more than instincts and needs. Drakcol of the past had taken what they wanted without thought or question, destroying lives, and I refused to be like them. We were not the warring culture of our past; we had bettered ourselves, and I hoped we would continue to grow and evolve into kinder people.
“I would like that.”
