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My head whirls his direction, and my mouth drops open. “What?”
“I’m saying Zy knows what his mate is thinking and feeling, and they’re like them, you know?”
I do. I do know. Exactly what he’s saying. Right down to the reason he’s brought it up.
He clarifies anyway, “There’s really nothing you can say or do or think that could make me see you as less than everything you are.”
My chest flutters. Chewing my lip, I ease out of the parking space. “Sometimes, not all that often, truly, or…I’m pretty sure Alana has it way worse than I do, but sometimes…I have weird, almost compulsive sorts of thoughts. Like…smash the cake. Or crash your car. Or put a fork in the microwave. Or the toaster. Or an outlet. Or your hand.” My grip on the wheel tightens. “Sometimes they’re a persistent pound that keeps me up at night. I try to drown them out with your music a lot. I just…is it because I’m part werecanine? Faeries are mischievous, right? Not that I think you’re bad or that something less-than-great must be part of my faerie blood, but… Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I do, though. It’s a horrible question.”
“It’s a valid question. You’re partly human, so the fae in you is suppressed, which can build up a feeling of wrongness, which can present itself in different ways. Yes, intrusive thoughts are fairly common for a lot of people, human and fae alike, but imagine how much harder it is to deal with the stress as someone who can’t access an entire aspect of what they are.”
“Is this…” I clear my throat, and work my way back a step for clarity. “I’ve been doing some more werewolf research recently…to freshen up my knowledge.”
Ollie swears. “Please do not.”
I head out of the lot. “Well, I reread a couple chapters of a story I started a long, long time ago while I was in the bathroom this morning.”
Ollie splays his fingers over his eyes, swipes his hand down, and looks pleadingly toward the ceiling.
“Is this like my inner wolf trying to break free?”
He sighs so deeply it turns into a groan. “We do not have an inner wolf. We have instincts, just like everyone else. There’s no animal in my brain telling me to do animal things. I don’t get antsy if I don’t let it break free and run wild. I am just me. You are just you.”
Considering the “evil ex-girlfriend” character peed on the porch of the main character’s house because “her wolf” told her to in what I was reading, that is wonderful news… “So no animalistic traits?”
“Not quite, depending on what you consider animalistic. I can hear your heartbeat and smell your emotions. Where it concerns you, there’s a high potential I am inclined to act more territorial than I entirely prefer. Instinct runs like background static in my brain. It can be overwhelming. It can be distracting. But, often, it’s right, and leaning into it—understanding it—makes life easier.”
“What compels you to eat chicken feet?” I blurt.
His mouth opens, closes. Lips pursed, he says, “I…do not understand the question.”
“They were the only dog treat you liked. Why?”
“They’re…tasty?” He blinks. “Good for you, too.”
“What?”
“They contain lots of minerals, boost your immune system—”
“Faeries get sick?” I gasp.
“Yes?” Lifting the cake as I go over a pothole, Ollie says, “Okay. I think maybe I should clear something up. Are faeries different then humans? Yes. Physically and mentally, we are different. Some of us have tails, hooves, claws, or wings. But—and it’s an important but—we are really less different than you might assume.”
“I’m sorry. I’m still trying to compute that you don’t have a tiny, angry chihuahua in your brain telling you to gnaw on a chicken foot.”
“Humans eat chicken feet.”
“Shut up. They do not.”
“I guess we’re getting chicken feet.” Ollie sets the cake down on his lap and reaches for my phone.
“What are yo—”
“Hush,” he says, and I’m nothing if not obedient as I turn out onto the main road.
