Page 11 of The Hornet’s Hucow Pet

My gut says there’s more to it than that. Strangely, the potential for an ulterior motive puts me at ease. I’d rather not be wanted only for my problems.

“How about you?” he asks. “Why do you want to be a hucow?”

I had a whole plan of what to say. But when I open my mouth, the quiet truth slips out.

“I just want the pain to stop.” I look down into my coffee mug, blushing, ashamed of my weakness. Surely I’ll be turned away now, like an addict caught lying for opiates.

Instead, a warm hand cups my cheek and lifts my gaze.

My breath catches, and I shudder as Zyren’s dark eyes find mine.

“I promise you, Nova, I will not rest until your pain is gone.”

I pull skepticism around my heart like a cloak against the wind. “What if it never goes away?”

His thumb caresses my cheek, and he answers like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Then I will never rest.”

As Zyren carries me through the air again, heading to one of Sylvus’s properties, I try to talk myself out of this.

But the thing I keep circling back to is that getting in with the hucow doctor is less insane than my original plan. I’ve caught the attention of one of the few people in the universe that can help me, so why cast that aside?

Then again, hope is a frightening thing. The only thing worse than the pain is when hope leaves me empty-handed.

At this point, any distraction is welcome. I’m out of options, out of energy. Maybe I’ll always hurt, but at least I’ll be safe. At least I won’t have to work—not really.

The idea of lactating professionally is still strange—I’ve always had zero interest in pregnancy or anything that goes along with it—but everyone says the hucow transformation makes it feel good.

Hell, even with the sanctioned clinics run by the ICSS, the bounce rate is practically zero. Everyone who’s ever taken the role has kept it. It’s a statistical anomaly.

The most likely explanation is that the transformation effectively lobotomizes the individual, making them incapable of wanting anything else.

I could go for a lobotomy right now.

Zyren flies deftly through a circular opening in a large silken structure, then lands on a floor of springy silk.

My insistence that he can set me down dies when I realize there isn’t a flat surface in the entire place. Tunnels arranged at every conceivable angle connect spheroid chambers with no real division between floor, ceiling, and wall. Yet at the same time, the space somehow manages to evoke the mood of a Victorian mansion. I think it’s the dim, flickering lights set into cubbies on the walls and the wide variety of objects on display—tapestries, chandeliers, fine pottery, even a vintage globe that clearly represents Earth.

We soon reach a moody sitting room that contains what can only be the curator of this place—an Arachnoid with grey skin and dark hair streaked with white. Ruffs of fur surround his knees and where his torso meets his spider half. His intimidating aura confirms his identity; this must be Sylvus.

At the bottom of the room, sitting on a velvet couch nestled there, is a woman who can only be his hucow.

She’s markedly plump with breasts so large I have to wonder how they don’t hurt her spine just from holding them up, but she’s glowing with health. She wears a wrap dress made of Arachnoid silk, translucent enough to show the darker pink of her nipples. Curly auburn hair frames her face, and her emerald eyes regard me warmly.

“Nova! It’s nice to meet you. Sorry I couldn’t greet you myself; I was… um, unexpectedly indisposed.”

Sylvus leans down and affectionately pinches the woman’s nipple. She yelps and glares at him, her blush brightening.

As Sylvus chuckles, she clears her throat.

“As I was saying, I’m Andromeda. Since you’re here, I’m assuming Zyren signed off on you?”

Zyren speaks behind me. “About that…”

Sylvus nods down at the couch.

Zyren sets me next to Andromeda, then he and Sylvus climb higher in the room to speak quietly.