Page 37 of The Longing

He wrinkles his nose, and it may well be the absolutely cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Even if it’s on a Wyrm the size of Fenrother, with his fangs, claws, and ability to turn into a dragon.

“Why not try some, see what you think?” I cut a chunk out of the pie, spear it on the end of my fork, and hold it out. Given I already know he is partial to a bite of tart.

In a move I didn’t see coming, Fenrother leans forward and captures the chunk in his mouth directly from my fork. A strange double beat rocks my heart.

He chews, considering what I’ve just fed him. Then he swallows with a slight wince.

“You didn’t like it?”

Fenrother shakes his head, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Never liked sweet, until you,” he says. “But you like it. You eat.” He hitches a lip over a fang, which is a Fenrother smile, as far as they go.

“I can’t eat the whole thing.” I dig in with my fork. “Although I’ll give it a good try.”

Given this tart is as good as the last, I will very much attempt the eating challenge. Fenrother consumes another couple of small roast fowl and then pours himself out a goblet of wine, swallows it in a single gulp, and pours out another for himself and one for me.

He sits back in his big throne and throws one leg over the armrest, leaning back as he cradles the goblet in one large clawed hand.

“I finished the text,” he says.

I pause, a fork full of tart on its way to my mouth. “You did?”

“I did.”

“And your verdict?”

“It’s better than my other texts.”

“Even without diagrams.”

“I don’t need diagrams if I have the real thing,” Fenrother counters with a smile bordering on the sinful. “But I need more of the real thing.”

“And what do I get?” I query. “Out of this arrangement?”

He looks at me, an innocent look. A look which tells me he has no doubt I belong to him and that is enough. “My protection.”

“And what is the dragon going to protect the damsel from?” I ask with a laugh.

“All the other monsters,” Fenrother growls. “The ones who also need mates.”

“Believe me, Fenrother, you are all the monster I would ever want.” I chuckle as I put more tart in my mouth.

He growls low in his chest, his wings flexing behind him, the fire still visible through the delicate membrane which stretches between the individual struts, like fingers. They have an ethereal shine which draws me.

“Can I touch them?” I ask.

“Touch them?” he echoes.

“Your wings.”

“I…” Fenrother hesitates, his stunning eyes searching my face. “My wings are sensitive.”

“I won’t hurt you,” I say quietly. “I think you know that now.”

Fenrother unfolds himself from his chair and turns to the fire, leaning one hand against the great stone mantle. I realise he’s turned his back so I can touch his wings.

But also because he wants to prove he trusts me.

FENROTHER

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