Page 6 of Collected By the Crow

It was Cassandra’s turn to mumble. She incoherently wondered aloud all the basic questions that precursor every solution. How? What? When? Why? Who?

What kind of fucked-up science had done that to them?

Cass fumbled backward, any words she might’ve uttered mixing with the bile gathering in her throat. She wanted to apologize for whatever had happened to them. There was no way it’d been consensual.

Simultaneously, she wanted to study them. They must have an insane amount of strength, both mental and physical. Because whatever had done that, they’d endured.

Chapter Four

Qadaire

Her scrutiny was like acupuncture. Not painful, but still hundreds of needles pricking his skin. Why had he let the magic cloaking the mansion fall away?

Moments passed while Dr. Billing blubbered and ogled. He’d been wrong. She wasn’t an anomaly. Just a human. He sneered, yanked up his hood, and turned toward the hall.

“Take your pup and leave.”

“Wait! Just—just hang on.” Her voice was closer. She was at the bottom of the stairs. He stopped but didn’t turn around. “May I come closer?”

Qadaire froze. He tilted his head enough to see her. Her slippers kissed the edge of the first red step, her palms up.

“How will we work together if I can’t stand beside you?”

She had a point, but he couldn’t move. Anxiety wound its silky strands around him, like a fly caught in a spider’s web.

With each step, the appeal of her racing heart became more consuming. He could smell the blood pumping through her veins. Bergamot orange, or maybe mandarin. A tangy citrus with a hint of honey.

And nine rings, that melody! Where had he heard it before? Her heart pattered in a rhythm that reminded him of dawn’s twilight. Mornings spent reading among dew-covered lilies in the garden.

Previously dormant senses bloomed to life. His darkest instinct, an impulse that hadn’t overpowered him in centuries, thrummed under his skin. His body tried to respond, but the signals were confusing, mixed up, out of practice.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to suck her dry or fuck her senseless.

As the enticing scents and sounds ascended the stairs, he heard a low growling noise. He tuned into his power to locate the wild beast, only to discover it was coming from him. His hands were fisted, his talons digging into the red carpet. No matter how hard he tried to relax, the wicked snarl wouldn’t subside.

She stood in front of him. Her tastefully tattooed wrists wafted that tangerine scent as she coaxed his hood back down. Her fingertips brushed his feathers as softy as a bumblebee’s wings, making his eyelids flutter. He forced them open and searched for answers in her speckled brown eyes. Fear twisted his guts, but something else was there too. Something that reminded him of the quiet moments before a breakthrough. Something that felt a lot like . . . hope.

The beautiful scientist smiled at him. Smiled. She extended a hand. The delicious scent of her pulse, increased with fear and adrenaline, drifted straight to his nostrils.

“If you agree to my terms, then I agree to yours.”

He regarded her extended hand, struggling to decide which instinct to obey. With his lower right hand, he grasped hers in a firm handshake. He removed the cloak with his upper hands, exposing his wings, his feathered body, and all of his arms.

Fear, shock, and intrigue dusted her face and her scent. For those few moments, he was the strand of DNA under her microscope. The missing value in her equation. The dot on her non-linear model.

To her credit, she reined in the visible proof of her surprise quickly enough. Under the surface, the rhythm of her dewdrop heartbeats roared into a thunderstorm, her citrus blood tart with fear. He knew what she saw. An abomination. And now she would have to work beside him for days, possibly weeks if the mutation happened along his predicted timeline.

“I need to go get some things. I might not be able to get some of the stuff from my lab until the morning.” She regarded the ugly red couch her pup was snoozing on. Her voice was small, unsure. “Could he stay here until I get back?”

“Yes.”

Selfishly, Qadaire was grateful for the assurance that she would return. Her slight fingers gently grazed the disgustingly ornate railing as she descended. She kneeled in front of the pup and whispered goodbye, then pulled her shawl over her shoulders and slipped out the door.

She leaned back inside. “Real quick. What’s your name and pronouns? I’m Cassandra, but everyone calls me Cass. My pronouns are she/her. That’s Zero, but he also answers to goofball.”

“You may call me Qadaire for short. He/his.”

She nodded hastily. When the heavy door latched behind her, Qadaire let out the air that’d been trapped through their whole exchange. His shoulders dropped, his wings rustling outward. He leaned against the balcony rail with his lower hands and rubbed his temples with his uppers. The beat of wings and a soft caw alerted him to a crow soaring toward his shoulder, but he swatted them away.

---