Page 102 of Nine-Tenths

And just like that, we're being near-to blinded by the sparkle of an obscene amount of candle light reflecting off of mirrored crystal. Clearly, the mysterious and unseen Cook (whom I am starting to believe may be some sort of fairytale gnome) is aromantic. I'd be pleased with how into Dav-and-I-as-a-thing everyone is, if I wasn't having such a hard time with it myself.

"This is… nice." I try not to laugh as Dav grimaces at the flower petals strewn on the table cloth, the massive silver candelabras, and the excessive amount of silverware.

Dav walks stiffly into the room, clearly uncomfortable with the ostentation. Personally, I like that his staff feel comfortable enough to be silly. Nobody runs roughshod over him, I’ve noticed. His opinions are considered, and his authority respected. But Diego will tell him when he's doing something wrong, and Sarah manages him the same way she manages his schedule, and this Cook isn’t afraid to make my first proper dinner here look like St. Valentine puked all over the room.

"At least they have us seated beside one another," Dav says, holding out the chair to the left of the head of the table. I let him tuck me into place only because he seems to be too preoccupied by the over-the-top display to realize he's being old fashioned.

And it's kind of cute, too.

"It'd be a bummer if I were too far away to be able to do this," I agree, as soon as he's seated, and reach out to tip his chin toward me for a kiss. "I meant it when I said it was nice."

"It's garish."

"It's funny," I correct. "They're teasing us."

"It's not necessary."

"It means they like me," I say, and wow, when did I become the emotionally intelligent one? "I'm glad they like me."

Dav softens. "Me too."

He starts pulling lids off of plates and the amazing aroma of roasted meat, savory potatoes, and buttered veggies fill my senses.

"This is all from the farm." Dav mutters. "Show off."

"Thoughtful," I correct. "Let's see how good you are at your job."

Dav says he rarely changes skins in his bedroom, but he thought I would feel more comfortable where we could be alone. It's not a strip-tease, but it’s not a rush, either. It’s sensual, back-lit by the fire, and it highlights each lean muscle and soft curve. I want to interrupt him, to kneel, press my mouth on the swell of his hip, cup his ankle in my hands, to kiss the spot where his belly button should be. Instead, filled with a wonderful dinner and half a bottle of Dav’s delicious wine, I grab onto the side of the mattress to keep myself still.

"Are you watching?" Dav asks, hushed and shaky.

"Yes," I whisper back.

"Don't look away."

I'm worried it's a warning. That what's about to happen is going to be gruesome, like those werewolf movies, where you can hear joints breaking, the actor's face pulled back in a rictus of pain.

And then I realize it's only because if I looked away, I'd miss it. It's fast. And it's smooth, like a time-lapse of an ice sphere rolling around in warm water, smooth as glass and trickling into nothingness in an instant.

Silently, but with all the kinetic force of a weathervane suddenly pausing, swinging around, and whirring in the other direction, red scales appear on Dav's shoulders. They don't look like they're breaking through his skin so much as they're flipping over to reveal the ruby shine. The red starts on his back, washes around the edges of his hips, up over his ribs and shoulders, to end over his heart. Dav lowers his head, and suddenly he's on four legs, his chest powerful and proud, with a bright copper underbelly. His tail lengthens out from his spine, capped in thatfleshy arrow, and topped with the sharks-tooth triangles of dark bone. His knees and elbows point in the opposite direction, and as he rises from a crouch, they grow spurs I can imagine would be excellent at keeping off challengers in battle. His hands and feet are now thick paws, and an articulated, backward-facing thumb. Each is capped with the curving black talons my arm had become so intimately acquainted with.

He shivers once all over, and two massive red wings rise up out of his shoulder blades. The sail of the membrane glows crimson with the firelight behind them, eight fingers—spines?—to each wing, and the apex topped with another bone spike.

His mouth elongates, becoming a short muzzle. His nose comes to an almost beak-like point, with another hard, dark spur rising up to protect the fine, vulnerable scales along the bridge of his nose and forehead. Unlike Onatah, there are no horns arching back from his forehead, but a pair of surprisingly mobile ears. Not quite like a rabbit's, but not quite like a dog’s, they flex and swivel toward me, covered in an incongruous bit of fuzz which must be to protect them in cold wet weather. The edges of his jaw stretch into more of the hardened scale armor, tipped with tiny prickles. His tongue, when he flicks it out, is thin, split, and dark purple.

And his eyes.

They're still sunflower yellow, but now the iris has grown to take over the whole orb, the rim of his slit pupil dancing with a dark umber that flickers, as if the fire inside him is shining out. They remain more-or-less human-shaped, pointed forward, with a thick overhang of muscle and scales standing in for eyebrows.

I'm giving you the impression that this is a process made up of individual parts, that it was slow and I could catalog the changes one by one. But it's not. Everything happens all at once, and it is over in seconds.

Dav was standing before me, human and nude. Then he tips forward, and he's before me in all his draconic glory. Fast as a sneeze.

In humanshape, Dav is classically handsome, if lean.

In dragonshape, he's powerfully magnificent, the top of his flank easily level with my ribs, and his neck long enough that I would still have to look up to meet his gaze.

And speaking of those eyes, I was afraid that they would be beast-like, empty. But no, that's still my Dav in there. Still intelligent, still aware, and looking at me with trepidation and no small amount of shame. He ducks his head, and the wing closest to me droops, as if to cover himself.

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