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We didn’t talk once we were in it. There was no point. And I didn’t even ask where we were going. I just kept petting my feathers in my lap—it felt so good to see them again, and to have been a swan, no matter how briefly.
We reached the parking garage of Namir’s nice building, and he took me up to his condo. Once we were inside, he gestured for me to give him a moment, so I did, standing in his entry way, until he returned, sans tie, with two shots of some amber liquid, a pad of paper, and a pencil between his teeth. He handed the shot over, and showed me what he’d written down.
If you become your swan, will you be able to hear again?
I shrugged. It fixed most everything else.
Then he gave me a strange look, downed his shot, set the glass down on his entryway table and wrote:If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.
I made a face at him, and watched him laugh.
“Fine,” I said, also drinking whatever he’d brought me—it was whiskey, and it made me cough. If this whatever-it-was was going to work out, we were going to need to discuss my alcoholic beverage preferences. But after that I steeled myself, shucked off his suit coat, and pressed my feathers to my skin, wishing to be a swan again.
The change was immediate, and there I was, being stared down by a tiger-shifter. His presence made my feathers prickle, and I both wanted to fly away and also stay very, very, still.
He reached the back of a hand out, asking for permission to touch me, and I granted it, bowing my head so that he could touch the soft feathers along my neck. His hand was big enoughthat he could’ve wrapped his hand around it and strangled me in an instant, but somehow I still felt safe.
Then he stepped back, and gestured at himself, kicking off his shoes, unbuttoning his shirt, reaching for his fly.
I changed back into a girl, holding my feathers to my chest like a bath towel, putting a cautious hand out.
“Lily?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
I looked between myself, naked, and him halfway there, with his shirt open, making the visible slice of his warm brown skin and abs point down to the top of is boxer briefs like an arrow. “Not sure yet.”
He laughed. “We don’t have to do anything else. I just figured I’d show you my tiger—but I also didn’t want to ruin another suit. More, I mean, considering.” He shook his head and let go of an exhale, refastening his suit slacks, which were also stained with blood. “What the fuck were you doing there?”
“Getting these,” I said, holding my feathers up to show him, as they hid me from him.
“You didn’t trust me?” he asked, looking pained.
I shook my head. “You don’t understand what it’s like. It’s not just you. I don’t trust anyone. You get why now, don’t you?”
He looked me up and down, and nodded solemnly. “Yeah. And I guess that I can’t blame you. But—Rax says he’ll keep them safe for you in his vault. And you can visit them any time you want. Once I found out that he could’ve been keeping them safe for you all this time, Lily...” he said, a growl catching in his throat.
“It’s okay. I never told him what they were, or what they meant to me. I couldn’t risk it, so he didn’t understand. Because nobody does, really, except for other swans. And now you, maybe.” I carefully petted my feathers with one hand, and realized I’d watched him do the same beneath the auction house.
He hadn’t been tempted to put them on. Not even for a moment. I kept staring at their soft, delicate, fragile, white curves and thinking hard.
Was I ever going to let another man get this close to me, and really know my secret? Not very damn likely.
Did it feel right?
Yes.
But that didn’t mean it wasn’tfrightening.
So I crossed the distance between us and offered them out before I could lose my nerve. “You can touch them if you want. And maybe put them on.” I started talking as fast as my heart was racing. “As long as you promise to return them. I don’t want somebody else being the boss of me, for forever.”
Namir demurred, waving his hands. “I don’t want to take your feathers, Lily.”
“But,” I protested, confused, and hurt. “I want you to have them.”
The expression on his face softened then, and he took them from me—not to put them on though, but to turn and take them further into his place, to lay them on the ground in front of his fireplace. “Come here,” he said, waving me to follow.
Without them, I was naked, metaphorically and literally. I did as he asked, though, until he could take my hand, and he pulled me to stand in the middle of them.
After that, he stepped back. “I still want to show you my tiger,” he said, finishing taking his shirt off. He was beautiful and muscular, and I couldn’t stop myself from staring. “May I?” he asked, undoing the top of his suit slacks again.
