Wren would never admit it, but the humans were confusing.
He had been to his fair share of markets over the years. They've changed and evolved with the humans and their culture.
He could understand grocery stores, gas stations, and those huge stores that sell everything, but this market was odd.
Selling food, clothes, and trinkets was normal. He was just starting to realize that humans make interesting things. There were booths for clothing for pets, makeup, and hard squares which he thought were candy but were wax.
The markets of necessity were over. It wasn't need that drove the commoners but creativity and want.
He left the witch at the table. He was practicing trust.
It left a bad taste in his mouth but every part of him cried out for more of her. It was hard to ignore his instincts. He wanted to rub his wrist on her neck so she smelled of him. He wanted to touch her hair, make her smile, and feel her body move against his.
But for now, he would just practice trust. The amount of trust she placed in him was staggering. She trusted him from the moment she met him, which was a disaster of a mistake.
He cringes back when he thinks about that first day in the glade. How angry he was, an animal trapped in a snare. He could have easily killed her and he would have missed something he never had.
He recalls her openness, on her knees in front of him, begging him to believe she'd never hurt him.
Those green eyes that fucked him up. Those eyes broke the seals around his heart. They made him feel things he promised never to experience again. Complacency, hope, safety. Now he feels them like breathing. Never having to wonder if he will make it through the day.
He has a routine. Food. A home. Love. A family. All because of those green eyes.
So he trusted her with selling his figures. She had talked money with him the night before. She explained how much he made the first two days, and how much that might grow to by the end of the market.
He doesn't understand the human economy well and cannot gauge what is good money and what is not. But his pride stopped him from asking questions and he silently nodded and took the money.
He set some aside in his drawer of treasures. It wasn't mounds of gold and rubies but it was something.
He gave a small amount to Jace and Gael. he planned to give some to the witch.
As he watched human culture on TV and explored the internet he started picking up nuances of expectations.
Living with someone and raising children with them were things mates did.
Usually, both mates would contribute to the family. Wren wasn't sure what the witch's bills were like, but he could contribute. Show his worth as a mate.
The word echoed in his mind. Mate.
Humans changed mates out with the season. Even with marriage, it wasn't guaranteed to last. Dragons were more selective. They didn't mate for life, but their decision to take the steps to be mates was sacred. Some pairs never exchange feathers and scales. They never make that commitment to each other, rather they love and fuck without the commitment.
He wondered if he could do that. Give the witch his body and soul without tying their magic together. Could he have her in his bed without calling her mate?
He wasn't sure but he would have to learn how to. After his family was murdered and he watched his nestmates mourn the loss of their mates, the insanity and rage they let themselves succumb to, he swore he would never put himself in that position. Never give another living being that much hold over him.
For now, he would roam the market. He carefully counted out bills when he tried various treats from different stalls.
—---------------------------------------------------------------
He woke up early the Monday after the market opening weekend. He was restless. His dreams were filled with the witch. He could almost smell her in his sleep. The smell of moss and flowers haunted him. His dreams were all green.
He got up and roamed. He ran until his mind stopped and his body twitched with exertion. He caught his breath in a little break in the trees. The waking sun shined through the gaps in the leaves. All among the grass were flowers. Little wildflowers of white, pink, and purple sprouted up everywhere.
He watched his panting breath turn to little clouds in the cold morning air. He could picture the little witch here, among the flowers and trees. He closed his eyes and imagined the way the sunlight would shine on her, the way her fingertips would softly touch the flowers. She would turn back to him and smile, in this meadow of natural beauty and she would be the only thing worth looking at.
He crouched to the ground and carefully picked flowers for the witch.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------
He left the flowers in her favorite cup by the coffee machine. Later, they were proudly placed in the middle of the kitchen island, perched in a small vase. She met his eyes with such warmth, that he could feel it spreading through his body. He thought about her smile the rest of the day.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------
Time passes quickly when you start living instead of surviving. The days were swift. He spent time with Gale and Jace. He took them into the woods and taught them things the witch did not. She handled spelling, reading, math, and history. She taught them how magic moves and how life is all interconnected.
He brought them into the woods to teach them how to stay alive. However tame they may be, they were still predators. They were still nonhuman and needed to learn the way.
He had them crouch low in the bushes and listen to the noises around them until they could pick up the different animals around them. He modeled how to be aware of their surroundings at all times. He taught them how to evade and how to fight.
The most important lesson was how to protect, especially themselves. He needed to be sure they could make it if something happened to him or the witch.
The boys stood tall when Wren told them to flee if he or the witch were to fall. Gale looked at him with storms in his eyes, his hand over his heart.
"I will protect you and Massie."
Wren let himself be proud before correcting him. "We are not your responsibility. If you are in danger, take your brother and flee."
Jace pushed past his brother, skinny chest puffed out. "I ain't a coward! I'm not running."
Wren leaned down to look Jace in the eyes. He gently grabbed his shoulders. "It's not cowardly if it keeps you alive."
The little one was vibrating in anger, buzzing like swarming bees.
"We're family. We stay together." He said as firmly as a seven-year-old could.
Wren looked behind him at Gale who had his arms crossed, ready to continue the argument.
Wren ruffled Jace's hair roughly. "We'll continue this lesson another day."
Jace let out a howl and tried to tackle Wren to the forest floor.
Wren let him.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------
Wren learned to bring wood to carve at the market. It kept statues available and brought more people to the witch's booth. People came to watch his quick fingers mold the woods. Some people paid first and made requests.
He also brought his work along because the witch couldn't take her eyes off him while he carved. She lacked any subtly. She stared at his hands as he flicked the knife against the grain. He could feel her eyes tracing his face, his neck, and back.
He preened under the attention. But he was not the only one with wandering eyes. He noticed more than a few men come and talk to the witch, their greedy little eyes roaming over her. The witch laughed with him, but it wasn't his laugh. She smiled at them, ever polite, but it wasn't his smile. The one that squished her cheeks and eyes. The men postured around her, cocky birds showing off their bright colors but the witch never responded in kind.
He smirked at the men when they left. The little witch was his to have eyes for.
—------------------------------------------------------------
He had gotten used to traveling around the market. He had become familiar to the people there. They said hello and talked to him as they passed. He had acquired a small stockpile of trinkets from the money he allowed himself to spend. Shiny, interesting little bits and bobs that he added to his collections, but also things that caught his eye for the witch.
A few days ago he left her candies in her favorite mug. He'd learned she had a sweet tooth. She ate the chocolate for breakfast.
This time it wasn't candy that caught his eye. It was a bracelet. It was thin and silver, with small green stones inlaid in it. He brushed it with his fingers. It was dainty. Pretty. Just like the witch. The jewelry maker packaged it in a silver box. It felt like a weight in his pocket for the rest of the day.
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It was the week of the full moon. Luckily, it fell in the middle of the week and not the weekend. It would be a hardship to explain the change in behavior to the people who adored the boys at the market.
It was their first full moon free of silver chains that stopped their change. Their last full moon was spent fighting the last of the silver poisoning.
Wren could already see the differences. Last month, the boys were cornered animals. In pain and prone to snap and snarl at the littlest inconvenience.
They were endless balls of energy, complete and absolute puppies. They bounced around the house, their laughter and yips bouncing off the walls. They ran through the forest, coming back home covered in mud, exhausted smiles on their face.
They ate an alarming amount. A couple of days before the full moon, the witch made them a hearty breakfast.
"It's important they stock up before the transformation. It takes a lot of energy to shift."
She explained, gesturing the the insane amount of food she made. There were pancakes, bacon, eggs, and biscuits with a savory white sauce. She fried ham and potatoes and cut up fruit.
"How many werewolves are we expecting for this moon?" He questioned her, full of snark and crunching on bacon.
She was entirely too happy when the boys came down and demolished the breakfast. They shoved food in their mouths like it was going to disappear. Jace snapped at Wren when he tried to grab a biscuit.
Werewolves were pack animals, which made them very touchy the days before the full moon. They flopped across whoever's body they could find. Loose limbed like tired pups. They rubbed their faces on Wren and the witch's shoulders. He swore he caught Jace sniffing him.
Wolves were odd.
It was difficult to keep his instincts in check. While dragons weren't cuddly and cozy by any nature, they were pack creatures. Or nest creatures. It wasn't unusual for dragons to groom each other. He controlled himself around the witch, but it was harder with the warmlings. They would lay against him, their bodies sleepy and warm.
He would rub their backs or hold them tight. Give them the physical comfort they were seeking. It was second nature to run his finger through their hair, always careful with his talons. He would gently untangle knots and smooth out wild spots.
They were his and he was theirs. When they ran by with their never-ending energy, he would move his wings so they just brushed by. When they sat next to him he would stretch his wings just so they touched either boy.
He never touched the witch in the way he wanted. He has grabbed her or moved her out of the way. He's carried her or jabbed her with an elbow but he never touched her hair. He never let his wings brush against her.
She was not his.
—---------------------------------
He was a little embarrassed to admit that he was nervous about the full moon. They had less than an hour now. The boys were wrapped in blankets, pacing on the porch. The witch was sitting on the porch railing, watching the sky.
"It's best if you stay here during the full moon."
She turned to look at him, her eyebrows scrunched. He refused to find it cute.
"Why would it be best if I stayed here?"
He kept his wings close so they didn't fidget.
"We don't know if it's safe."
The confusion eased off her face. "It's safe. The boys will keep their minds. They will be a bit wild but not mindless."
Wren knew this, in theory. Werewolves weren't inherently dangerous. There were dangerous ones just as there were dangerous humans. The witch had spent the last few days teaching the boys grounding techniques and having them promise not to kill every little critter they found tonight. He knew this but he still worried. The witch was all soft spots and breakable bones.
She reached out and grabbed his hand. Hers were small and cold. She squeezed his hand. He didn't squeeze back. He knew from experience how much force it took to shatter the bones in a hand. He couldn't stop thinking of how easily her bones would crumble.
She squeezed again. He met her eyes in the fading light. He counted the freckles across her nose like counting stars in the sky.
"Trust me." She said, a little twist to her lip.
She said the same thing to him in the forest while they faced a monster.
He would trust her.
He let her hand fall from his. It was harder to trust himself with her.
—----------------------------------------------------------------
The night was wild. Wren had never seen a werewolf shift. He expected blood and pain but it was seamless, like rolling one's shoulders. They were boys and then they were wolves.
Jace was a gangly little pup. He was various shades of brown and white. His snout had white markings that made it look like he was smiling.
Gale was taller and thin. His coat was longer than Jace's, more red than brown, his eyes were bright orange.
Jace immediately yipped and pranced around. He jumped up on the witch, getting mud on her sweater. She laughed and petted him behind the ears. Gale rubbed himself against them both. Wren let his fingers run through his coat.
Then they were off. Both wolves took off into the forest in a symphony of howls. The witch laughed and howled before taking off after them.
There were echoing howls in the wood from the regular wolves that called it home.
The witch ran after the boys but she had no chance of keeping up. It didn't bother the boys. They ran ahead, sniffing everything, following scent trails only they could smell. Then they would remember they weren't alone and run back to the witch and Wren.
The witch happily trudged along after them. Wren kept his ears trained for the boys but his eyes were on the witch. It was dark in the trees and she was the only one of them who couldn't see in the dark.
Several hours into the full moon, Wren and the witch sat on the bank of the river. The boys were trying and failing to catch fish from the water.
The sparse cloud cover rolled out and the moon lit up the river.
All of a sudden, the witch gasped beside him and hurriedly got to her feet. Wren was on his feet in a second, wings arched and scanning the area for danger. The boys carried on in the water.
There was nothing. The witch made an awed sound in her throat and pointed to the trees.
He scanned the tree line just as floating orbs past the branches and floated in the air. They were varying sizes. He whipped around to check the tree line behind him as more orbs poured out.
The boys had stopped splashing and were watching them move through the air.
The color was hard to describe. He'd almost had it before the thought was lost, slippery as soap. They hovered there and everyone was still. Until the witch stepped forward and reached her hand towards the nearest one. Wren could feel her gathering her magic before she touched her fingertips to it. Instantly they all rippled, like bubbles in the wind. They started an intricate dance of ducking and weaving. They looked like kites on a windy day, swaying and moving through the sky. They swirled and twirled as they rose higher until they disappeared. More came. Rising from the ground, out of the trees, and moving through the water. The boys watched in awe before they jumped after them, trying to imitate their movement.
He looked over at the witch. Her eyes were wide with wonder.
"What are they?"
She didn't take her eyes off the moving orbs. She replied with hushed reverence. "They're spirits."
He felt the gravity of what she said to settle in his bones. Spirits, hundreds of them moving around them. Spirits were hallowed. These weren't the ghosts humans made up stories about. Seeing spirits was almost unheard of, reserved for medicine men of old. There is power in spirits, some were centuries old, helping carry magic through the Earth. They were there before, they hide in the now and will be in the after. These spirits chose to stay instead of pass one, to continue to guide magic through its channels, to influence and guard the secrets of life.
"Why are they here?"
She laughed, a little small thing. "I think they are always here. Energy is never destroyed. It just lingers."
He watched the spirits move for a minute before he spoke again.
"It's a great honor to see them."
He reached his hand out and intertwined it with hers. She twirled to look at him, hope on her face.
"The spirits chose you."
He squeezed her hand, ever so softly.
"The boys chose you."
Her eyes were wet.
"The monsters and ancient ones chose you."
Tears spilled over her cheeks.
He couldn't say it but she heard it all the same.
I choose you.