Page 63 of Antiletum
Too eager.
His head turns over his shoulder upon my approach, graceful and lovely. Onyx eyes practically glow in the darkness. He gives a joyful screech when he sees me, ruffling his feathers proudly and doing a happy bob.
I grin so wide my cheeks hurt, having not exercised these muscles in too long. “I thought you had forgotten about me,” I say, fighting back tears in my relief to see him.
He dips his head shamefully then looks back up with apology in his stare.
Stroking the top of his soft head, I say, “Don’t worry, my dear. I could never be angry with you. Not really. I love you far too much.”All the heat ofinfernumclimbs into my cheeks, having not meant to say the last part aloud. To recover my slip, I add with a smirk, “I’m sure you have yourself a lovely mate elsewhere who needs you. Maybe even a nest of fledglings this time of year.”
His large eyes widen while he bounces back, affronted by the suggestion.
I laugh, reaching out to drag a finger against the edge of his wing; he extends it to allow me better access. Humor dying, I sigh. “A handsome fellow like you shouldn’t be alone. Not like me.” He nudges his flat head into my hand, nestling his beak against my wedding ring, nipping at it and indicating that he is not at all alone. And neither am I. In far more ways than I want to accept.
A sense of satisfaction spreads like a dried wash bed being flooded with rain at my owl’s reassurance, transforming into a raging river. It feels at once inappropriate and completely right. Like me and this owldohave some form of claim over each other, becoming more and more tangible with every interaction. I can’t make sense of it. I want to scoop up the bird, hold him in my arms and carry him upstairs. Ask him to never leave me again. To stay close forever. Tell him that he belongs to me.
Quietly, I spill some of my ruefulness aloud. “If only our shifter gifts hadn’t evolved away from us,” I say wistfully, all thoughts of talking with Rainah forgotten in favor of a live confidant. “Maybe I’d be able to shift. I’d be a barn owl, just like you. Though most likely not with your beautiful colors. You’re a rare, special thing.”
To emphasize my compliment, I stroke his plumage again, smoothing feathers flat as he closes his eyes and chitters with contentment.
“Oh, how we would complement each other. We could fly away from all of this nastiness. Live alone, quiet, and happy. Maybe in theStrigiForest.” The owl nudges at my wedding ring again, unknowinglyreminding me that’s where I got married to my wretched husband. “Then again, maybe not.”
I’m painfully aware of how odd my statements are. My feelings towards this owl. They do border on tender, which makes me question (along with most other things in my life these days) my own sanity.
Am I really so starved for true love and attention that I’m wishing Icouldshift? If only to be able to stay close to this owl who brings me such peace and an overwhelming sense of security?
Not dissimilar to how I’m inexplicably drawn to Val. I can’t quite wrap my head around either connection. One I’ve only ever experienced a single time before, however fleeting. However painful to recall.
The owl fidgets on the headstone, and I only now notice that a sparkling object is curled within his talons, held there this whole time without my noticing.
“What do you have?”
Slowly, almost bashful, he dips his head, releasing the trinket in his grasp. It clatters softly against the stone of Rainah’s grave marker. I barely snatch it before it rolls off into the grass.
In my palm falls a brooch in the shape of a barn owl—encrusted with black and brown diamonds. A perfect match for the bird who is giving it to me.
My mouth drops open wide. “Where did you get this?”
Slowly, he inches his way towards me with a sense of shyness. As if he’s worried I don’t like his gift. His beak comes to the back of my hand, nudging it gently. Instructing me to pin the jeweled owl to my dress. Hand shaking, I take the suggestion, ignoring questions of who my owl possibly stole the clearly expensive brooch from.
He gives me a happy noise in encouragement as the tiny needle slides through the silk of my black dress, right above my breast. As soonas I’m out of his company, I’ll have to take it off and inquire around for who may have lost it.
Shoulders straight, I raise my chin to further accentuate the piece with pride. “What do you think? Does it suit?”
My owl responds with a joyful screech and flaps his wings to transfer himself from the grave marker to my shoulder. I laugh, no longer wary of his nearness at all. I know that he will not cut into my skin with those talons. Never try to crush any part of me in that iron grip. I’m safe in his presence. He nips lightly at my ear—gentle and affectionate, his beak clicking against the trio of diamonds.
When I laugh again, his grinning, heart shaped face nuzzles into mine. I try to shy away from the tickle of his soft, downy feathers. But as I turn my head side to side in avoidance I only succeed in rubbing my nose against his beak.
Pausing, I try to take control of myself. Essentially, we just shared the owl equivalent of a kiss.
I want to do it again.
But that’s such a strange instinct. To be so affectionate with a bird. Still, I can’t stop myself from turning my face just a fraction, repeating the motion. He leans into it with gusto, closing his eyes as if he’s savoring.
It’s incredibly intimate.
Toointimate.
Maybe it would have made sense if shifter abilities still existed. Maybe this instinct is some long buried facet of my heritage, my family’s bloodlines tracing back to known barn owl shifters when theNocturnestill roamed the earth. But I cannot pull myself into that ancient form, as much as I wish I could, and the affections I share with this owl aren’t rationalized.
