"You're not alone anymore, Ayla. We're going to make you a Dragon. You don't have to be proper around me, Rymar, or Kanik. You just have to be you."
"But what if none of you like me?" I whispered, pulling my hand away.
He caught my hand and pressed it back. "Be a Dragon. Stop worrying."
"At home, they'd think this was scandalous."
"Touching a Dragon?" he asked.
A smile cracked my lips. "A man."
He ducked his head, looking down at me. "A friend?"
"I was taught men are never friends," I admitted. "I also wasn't supposed to be friends with women either. I'm trying, Zasen."
"I know you are," he promised. "This is just me making you face it head-on. Ayla, in Lorsa, it's fine. It's normal to have friends who are men, women, or anything else. I mean, I have many women who are friends. And by that, I mean the kind who keep their clothes on."
"There's another kind?" I asked.
He nodded slowly. "Girlfriends. Boyfriends. Lovers."
I ran my fingers the wrong way up the side of his neck, impressed the scales were even smaller and smoother. Zasen lifted his chin, giving me access. "You mean like Drozel and Omden?" I asked. "That kind of friend."
He gently lifted my hand away. "No," he said softly. "I mean like you and the girls you grew up with. I mean someone who you're safe with." Then his fingers traced the back of my hand, toying with my ring before following the tendons down to my wrist. "But that doesn't mean it can't change. Friends can become more, but here's the important thing."
"What?" I asked, fixated on his scales.
"You, Ayla, are always the one who gets to decide. No one can force you to get married here. No one gets to punish you here. If you want something, you're allowed to - even if that's making a friend into something more - or not."
"Oh."
"So be brave, my little golden warrior," he breathed. "Stop panicking and start telling me what goes on inside your head?"
I lifted my chin, calling his bluff. "I like touching you. You're soft, like satin."
He just chuckled. "Ayla, I like you touching me too. You're soft, like a woman." And he was smiling at me, but on him, the look didn't make me afraid.
Sixty-SevenAyla
The next day started with loud noises upstairs. When Rymar came down that morning to make my dose of venom, he was covered in dust. Naturally, I followed him back upstairs once my body adapted to the drink. It was getting easier, too. They had not only been increasing my dose but changing whose venom I ingested, just to make sure my tolerance would be complete.
But what I found on the second floor was a complete mess! Zasen's workroom had been moved around. The bags were stacked up at the side. The pieces of wood were now in a barrel. The tables he worked at had been pushed against the wall - and Rymar's desk was on another.
Kanik, holding a dustpan in his tail, informed me his desk was going to move as well, and somehow, they had to make it all fit. It wouldn't. There simply wasn't enough space, but the men didn't seem to care. They were sure that if they simply moved things a little more, it would all work out.
So I offered to help. I expected Kanik to pass me the broom and dustpan he was using. Instead, I was asked to move the books from the stacks in the other room to the shelves in here. And when I made my third trip, I realized why I hadn't been given the broom.
Kanik had the dexterous end of his tail wrapped around the handle of the dustpan. As he swept, he dropped his tail, collected the dust without needing to bend over, and dumped it into a box at the side without a pause. I was actually a little jealous.
While I was in the process of arranging the books on the shelves, Zasen's voice roared out from the first floor. "Ayla!"
"Go," Kanik said, flashing me a little smile like he knew what was going on.
Rymar just rubbed my shoulder, but his eyes were locked on a corner of the room as if lost in thought. Most likely trying to think of a better way to arrange too much furniture in too small of a space. I didn't have the heart to tell him something would have to go. So instead, I made my way downstairs.
Halfway down the stairs, I heard voices. One was a woman. Curious, I kept going. Stepping into the living room, I found the woman's voice belonged to Lessa, the seamstress.
The sandy-colored woman was flipping through a set of clothing on the table inside the door, and from her words, it sounded like she might be describing them. I caught two different colors and a few fabric types. But as she talked, the woman also had her tail pressed against Zasen's leg, the thick muscles moving steadily higher. He chuckled and turned to face her, stepping out of its reach.
Lessa wasn't about to be put off so easily. Tapping her fingers along his chest, she counted, adding another word between the numbers. Bucks? I didn't know what that meant in this context.
The whole time, Zasen looked down at her with his body tilted intimately, and he was smiling. Lessa leaned into him. Just when I was sure he would kiss her, Zasen shook his head and his lips canted into a crooked smile.
"Not happening, Les," he said.
She pouted. "Zasen..."
"It's not happening," he said again, but their bodies were almost completely touching.
I cleared my throat, letting them know I was in the room. While Zasen didn't look away, he lifted his brow and his smile grew.
"See?"
Lessa simply smacked his chest playfully, but she did step away, reaching up to drag her claw along his jaw as she moved toward the door. "So you know, this is the biggest mistake you've ever made, Zee. Trust me, because I'm not about to come crawling back another time. I can take a hint."
"So you say," Zasen laughed and stepped back. "Hasn't seemed to work so far for either of us, hm?"
"Asshole," Lessa laughed.
