Page 11 of Collected By the Crow

Another yawn elongated her radiant features, this time sending streaks of liquid down her cheeks.

“It’s late. You must rest. Come.”

He made the trek through the castle slower this time. The only room not littered with stuff or dust was his own chamber, so he led them there.

“In the morning, follow the hallway this way and the lab will be down the stairs, to your right.” He made to leave but heard a soft noise from her lips. He turned to see her rifling through papers on his desk.

“You were going to write to Jeff?”

“No one has denied me. I had to make other arrangements.”

“Yeah, and Jeff definitely would’ve agreed.” She shot him an amused look. “Who all have you had claim your work while you hid in here?”

“I enjoy my solitude. Haven’t you wondered about the seemingly miraculous discoveries by famous people in your textbooks?” His shoulders rolled back. He’d forgotten how good it felt to brag. “Was penicillin really an accident? Or smoke detectors? Dynamite? The hollow steel needle? Once, I wanted to see the bottom of the ocean, so I created a machine to submerge in.” Qadaire watched Cassandra’s shock grow as he spoke. He’d lost track of all his accomplishments, but he searched his mind to bring forth more. “Beyond that, I—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” She waved her hands back and forth dismissively. He watched the movement with confusion. The ease with which she displayed her emotions was astounding. “You’re telling me you were behind modern medicine, and you let pigheaded white men take the credit? Have you ever given the credit to a woman before me?”

“Of course I have,” Qadaire scoffed. “I give it to whoever has the public’s attention. Not many existed in those days.”

“What didn’t exist? Women?”

“Not in the science spaces, not where they would have been believed—”

“You could have changed that!”

Qadaire stumbled backward at the sharpness in her tone, deadly as an unsheathed blade. The muscles in his face twitched. The warmth of Cassandra’s heated blood crashed over him. Her citrus flavor begged him closer, beckoning him to drink, to satiate his desperate urge to claim her. He had to get away from that scent. Now.

He stepped behind the threshold of the room and abruptly turned down the hall. He raced through the house until he reached the entryway, where he spread his wings and soared through a broken window to where his friends roosted.

What was wrong with that woman? Had he truly done something so terrible by solving these problems of her world, and not sending it to some unknown woman? He’d always been focused on the solutions, the innovations, the knowledge. He had no time to waste digging through female applicants.

And nine fucking rings, that scent! The more her blood had boiled, the warmer her cheeks had flushed, and his senses were absolutely flooded. How could he possibly focus on her accusations while his neglected cock was standing at attention, his fangs filling with venom?

This was a bad idea.

A crow cawed from the trees. Qadaire flew to the branch and trapped it under his talon. The crow couple had one little egg in their nest, the mother off hunting.

“I can’t believe you stuck me with this wretched human. How do you know I won’t lose control and drain her before we finish this little project?”

The crow rumbled in its lower throat sac. Qadaire knew he was being chastised, though he couldn’t sort the anger from his mind to listen. All these transient birds had names in their own language, although they couldn’t be said or written. No matter who each crow was, there would be another in their places by a dozen winters from now. Even so, Qadaire made a point to remember everyone’s names. He growled this one’s through gritted teeth.

“I ought to kick you all out and stop fraternizing with such ornery creatures.”

But, master, then you would be all alone.

“That’s for the better.”

He brooded there in the tree until the mother returned, fed the baby, and gave Qadaire a curt stare. He was encroaching on their family time.

As he flew back through the window, he collided with another of the flock’s kin. The agitated bird fluttered around him aggressively, tussling his feathers along the way.

“What? For fuck’s sake, what?”

The bird shot down the eastern hallway. There was no reason to go down that hallway. Qadaire had never cleaned up the horrible, awful things that the mad king had kept there. He’d meant to.

In the shameful corner at the end of the easternmost hallway lay the very first lab Qadaire had ever worked in. There was no real reason why he hadn’t cleared out the disturbing beds, cages, and various tools that were more torture than medical. It wasn’t as though he needed a reminder to never lose himself to madness, nor could he ever forget the horrible sounds of shrill cries, the deep pit in his stomach while conducting ruthless experiments on innocent subjects.

No, it certainly was not a reminder. He didn’t need a reminder so much as he needed to atone for his heinous sins against humankind. A punishment was more fitting. One that was likely to rain down its reckoning when the soft, beautiful, human scientist learned of it. Judging by the bird’s urgency, she had.

---