Like a Sparrow Through the Heart

Like a Sparrow Through the Heart By: Aggy Bird

(with sort of - prequel Cloudy, With a Chance of Romance)

1

Prequel: Cloudy, With a Chance of Romance

The bell tinkled merrily over the diner door but Tawney didn‘t bother to turn around. He ordered a chicken milkshake and motioned for the girl behind the counter to keep them coming. He was in a fowl mood. ―Heya, cloudcase,‖ said a familiar voice behind Tawney. Tawney felt his shoulders tense, his wings automatically hunching in response, as his claws tightened around his chickenshake. ―Zip,‖ Tawney said tightly, staring down at his glass. ―What ill wind brings you here?‖ Zip flopped down in the seat next to him, pushing his flight goggles up on his forehead. Spikes of dark hair tangled in the goggles. He looked at Tawney‘s glass and whistled low. ―Isn‘t it a little early in the day to drown your sorrows?‖ Tawney glanced sideways with a scowl. ―What do you care?‖ Zip grinned lopsidedly and touched a hand to his chest, pretending to look concerned. ―I‘m hurt, cloudcase. Really hurt. You know nestmates care deeply about each other.‖ Tawney ignored him, taking a vengeful sip of chickenshake through his straw and wincing a little at the accompanying brain freeze. Nestmates, what a joke. Growing up with Zip the Wonder Griffin and his band of cronies had been a barrel of laughs. Zip ordered a duck milkshake – of course, he had to order a more expensive drink than Tawney because he was a big, fancy griffin – and had the waitress charmed within seconds. Unlike most griffins, Zip had dark coloring: his hair and wings were deep ebony. It made his good looks even more exotic, and he used it shamelessly to his advantage. ―I thought I‘d stop by and see how the gang was doing,‖ Zip said eventually. The 2

waitress brought his drink back with a coy smile and a slip of paper with her number on it, and Zip gave her a rakish wink that sent her scurrying back to the other end of the counter red-faced and giggling. Tawney made a face. ―I wouldn‘t know how the old gang was. I wasn‘t part of the old gang, if you‘ll recall. I was a victimof the old gang.‖ Zip laughed. ―Guess so. What‘s new with you, cloudcase? Still afraid of heights?‖ Tawney very carefully pushed his drink away because if he gripped it any tighter it would crack. He suddenly had no appetite. ―That‘s none of your business.‖ ―I‘ll take that as a yes,‖ Zip said. ―How‘s your mom, anyway? She still making the best mouse-cookies in the sky? Man, I remember I used to eat those by the dozen.‖ ―I remember,‖ Tawney said icily. ―Especially because you always stole my share and ate them.‖ Zip looked momentarily guilty. ―Yeah, uh, I remember that, too. Sorry about that. I was a real crow‘s ass when I was a kid.‖ ―Oh, don‘t sell yourself short,‖ Tawney said. ―You‘re still doing a marvelous job at it.‖ Zip laughed. ―Nice to see some things don‘t change. You‘re still as prickly as ever.‖ Tawney‘s lips pinched in a tight frown. He was still as everything as ever – still as prickly, still as scared, still as tiny. His mother sometimes joked that his father had been an amorous sparrow, but Tawney knew he was just a runt – he‘d always been the tiniest egg in the nest. It meant the other chicks would always pick on him. ―If you really wanted to see your old friends you should go to Talon‘s house. 3

They tend to cavort there most days.‖ ―Yeah?‖ Zip said. He didn‘t sound that interested. Tawney narrowed his eyes. ―Yes. Which makes me wonder why you‘re still sitting here talking to me.‖ The only time Zip ever noticed him was to play a prank on him or tease him or otherwise humiliate him. Tawney didn‘t think anyone could blame him for being suspicious. Zip took a sip of his shake and studied Tawney‘s face. ―I‘m not planning anything, cloudcase, so settle down. I just wanted a drink. It‘s a long flight from the south and it always dries my throat out.‖ Tawney snorted. ―Then it was just my bad luck that of all the diners in all the clouds, you strolled into this one?‖ ―Yep,‖ Zip said, taking another sip of his drink. ―Ugh, I can‘t stand duck. Here, swap with me – I know you like duck better than chicken.‖ Without waiting for Tawney‘s reply, he switched their drinks around and took a long sip of chickenshake. ―Ah, that hits the spot much better.‖ ―I hate you so much,‖ Tawney said, but he took a sip of duckshake anyway, because he didn‘t know how Zip knew it, but duck was his favorite. It was just more expensive than a sub-cloud messenger griffin could afford on a daily basis. Zip looked surprised and a little – hurt? ―What – really?‖ ―Yes, really,‖ Tawney snapped. ―No, no, I‘ve been acting all these years, merely pretending to loathe you down to your tiniest pinfeather.‖ ―I wish,‖ Zip murmured so low Tawney could barely hear him. Then he abruptly changed the subject. ―So, dating anyone? Building a nest?‖ ―None of your business,‖ Tawney replied stiffly. Zip cocked his head to the side. Something glinted in his dark eyes. ―Aw, c‘mon, 4

don‘t tell me you haven‘t had your egg cracked yet. Cute little thing like you should have ‗em lining up.‖ ―Yes, well, not everyone possesses your enormous level of charm.‖ ―You‘re still single?‖ Tawney clicked his teeth together angrily. Still, still, still. Of course he was still single. Who would be interested in dating a scrawny griffin afraid of flying too high? His mother despaired of his love life and, frankly, he despaired of it as well. He went home to the same lonely nest in his house every night, and he didn‘t need handsome, perfect Zip reminding him of it. Besides, he hated Zip. ―Yes,‖ Tawney said, his voice a low hiss. ―So unless you want to volunteer to help, go away.‖ He got up and stormed out of the diner, cursing himself and Zip and anything else he could think of. The bell jingled warningly behind him right before a strong hand grabbed his arm. ―Hey, hold up a second –― Zip began. Tawney made an incoherent sound of rage and snatched his arm away, taking off without a second thought. He heard the beat of wings and looked over his shoulder to see Zip take off, heading for him. Zip‘s wingspan was twice the size of Tawney‘s and his wing muscles were thick and powerful from his long flights, but Tawney had humiliation and fear on his side, so he took a deep breath and flapped as hard as he could, his whole being focused on getting away from Zip. Before he knew it, he‘d gone through the first cloudbank and the second was fast approaching. Terror tried to claw up his throat, but Tawney pushed it down. He could hear the beat of Zip's wings, wind rushing over them as Zip got closer, so he gathered his courage and dove up through the second cloudbank. 5

The wind was violent between the second and third cloudbanks. Memories crowded in on Tawney and he shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He could see the dark underbelly of the third cloudbank looming closer, but Zip was still chasing him and he couldn‘t stop, oh God. He never went above the second cloudbank, he never – he looked down and saw Zip gaining, his goggles in place and a determined look on his face. Tawney closed his eyes and pumped his wings harder, bursting through the top of the third cloudbank and into a white landscape of sunshine and blue sky and diamond glitter. He hovered in midair, too shocked to flap his wings; his eyes watered, and he told himself it was the wind‘s sting in his face. Zip tackled him from behind a second later, wrapping his arms around Tawney‘s wings and forcing them closed; he wasn‘t prepared to hold their combined weight and they plummeted, landing with a bounce on the cloud‘s pillowed surface and rolling nearly to the edge. ―Why – are you – such a pain – in my tailfeathers?‖ Zip ground out, tumbling with Tawney across the cloud. ―Me?!‖ Tawney squawked, shoving Zip off and sitting up. ―You make me miserable all the time! It‘s your fault I‘m scared of flying too high!‖ Zip sat back and watched Tawney; his wings fluttered in agitation. ―My fault? You‘re nuts! Just because you‘re too scared –― ―Because of what you did to me!‖ Tawney said. His throat felt choked and raw and he willed himself not to cry. ―What I did – what – what do you mean?‖ Zip asked, his voice going soft. ―I‘m not going to relive my trauma for your amusement, thank you,‖ Tawney said, wiping at his watering eyes. ―Tawney,‖ Zip said, and Tawney was so shocked at hearing Zip say his name 6

that he almost forgot how upset he was. ―Please tell me,‖ Zip said. ―Please tell me what I did. Why you hate me so much.‖ Tawney squeezed his eyes shut. ―It's not like you don't already know. But fine. Your friends, they – It was when we were little and everybody else had started getting their flight feathers.‖ ―Yours came in later than everybody else‘s,‖ Zip murmured. Tawney nodded reluctantly, surprised Zip remembered. ―And I wanted to fly so much, just like everyone else – I used to watch the way you zipped through the air, diving and twirling and faster than all the other chicks. I wanted to fly like you.‖ ―I was showing off for someone,‖ Zip said with a quiet half-smile. Tawney looked away. He had loved watching Zip fly – Zip was poetry on wings; he had always been beautiful. ―Remember when that big storm swirled through the upper banks, when we were about ten?‖ ―Yeah,‖ Zip answered slowly. ―All the adults went out looking for you because you got lost.‖ ―I didn‘t get lost,‖ Tawney said bitterly. ―Your buddies dragged me up to the third cloudbank and left me in the middle of the storm. I couldn‘t even fly! I was trapped there for hours, listening to the thunder and lightning and holding onto the cloud rolling and heaving underneath me. I thought I was going to die. I finally got so scared that I tried to fly.‖ Zip was staring at him, horror etched into his handsome features. ―But your feathers didn‘t come in for another three months!‖ ―I know,‖ Tawney whispered. ―So I fell. I fell all the way through the second bank, and the first, and down toward the ground. My mom caught me halfway. If she hadn‘t come just in time, I would have been a greasy spot of feather on the ground below.‖ 7

Zip swallowed hard, clearly unsettled. ―But why are you so mad at me –?― he started. ―Because Talon told me it was your idea,‖ Tawney said quietly. ―And how I was stupid if I thought you would ever be my friend.‖ Zip‘s face darkened as though a thundercloud had moved across it. ―Talon told you that?‖ Tawney looked up at the sharp tone. ―Yes.‖ ―Well, Talon‘s full of birdshit,‖ Zip said. ―Fuck. No wonder you‘ve hated me all these years, cloudcase. I tried everything to get you to – I could never figure out what I‘d done wrong.‖ ―It – wasn‘t your idea?‖ ―No!‖ Zip said. He ripped his goggles off and ran a hand through his hair. ―I‘m going to rip Talon‘s face off when I see him. He was always so damn jealous whenever I –― Zip looked up, startled. ―I‘m sorry. I didn‘t know. You‘ve got to believe me. I wouldn‘t hurt somebody like that.‖ Tawney bit his lip. ―You really didn‘t know?‖ ―No,‖ Zip repeated earnestly. ―I promise, scrawny Tawney. Please forgive me.‖ Tawney scowled at Zip. ―I hate that nickname.‖ Zip reached out and ruffled Tawney‘s hair, and his face shifted into a teas ing expression. ―I love it. Besides, I get to call you whatever I want. You owe me.‖ ―And how do you figure that?‖ Tawney asked, brow furrowing, as he reached up to smooth his hair back down. ―Because, you are currently sitting on a cloud above the third cloudbank. You 8

never fly this high. And it‘s all thanks to me.‖ Tawney gaped, finally noticing his surroundings. Zip was right – he was sitting on the cloud, looking at the third bank landscape, and he wasn‘t afraid. ―You were chasing me!‖ he argued. ―I was just trying to get away from you, you birdbrain.‖ Zip shrugged, looking smug. ―Still because of me.‖ ―You are as insufferable as ever,‖ Tawney said, trying not to smile. ―Yeah,‖ Zip agreed. He lunged across the space and knocked Tawney back onto the soft, downy cloud, pinning him with his hands. They were stretched out chest to chest. ―But I‘m in a really good mood right now.‖ Tawney glared up at him. ―Why? Just because I don‘t actively hate you anymore, does not mean I won‘t start again. Let me up – you win.‖ ―Almost,‖ Zip said. ―I almost win.‖ Then he leaned down and pressed a feather light kiss to Tawney‘s lips. When he pulled back with a pleased little smile, Tawney stared up at him with round owl eyes. ―What was that?‖ ―C‘mon, Tawney, even you‘re not that sheltered. And I know I‘m not out of practice.‖ Zip grinned, his dark eyes sparkling. ―I know what it was, what I mean is – why? I‘m nothing special. You could have anybody you wanted. Including that waitress at the diner.‖ ―You‘re killing me,‖ Zip groaned, kissing Tawney again and giving his lips a light nip. ―I‘ve tried so hard to get you to like me. I stole your cookies to make you pay attention to me. I pulled your tailfeathers so you‘d talk to me – yell at me,‖ Zip amended. ―The only way I could ever get a rise out of you was to make you mad at me.‖ 9

―You excelled at that,‖ Tawney said wryly. Zip kissed him again to shut him up. ―My scrawny little griffin,‖ he said fondly, brushing his fingers down Tawney‘s cheek. ―You – like me?‖ Tawney asked, his heart beating faster. ―Sort of,‖ Zip replied. ―Except the part where I love you. Ever had sex on a cloud before?‖ ―No,‖ Tawney said, his face heating up. A pleasant warmth spread through his body. ―I‘m going to ask you that question again in thirty minutes,‖ Zip said. ―And your answer‘s going to be, ‗Yes, oh God, Yes.‘‖ Tawney laughed and kissed him.

10

Like A Sparrow Through the Heart

1.Talon Talon slammed his fist against the wall and felt plaster crumble under his fingers. Fucking Zip – why did the bastard have to be so angry over something that happened years ago? He patted the skin around his eye gingerly; the skin was swollen and purple, courtesy of Zip‘s fist. And hadn‘t that little bastard Tawney looked so superior as he watched Zip wail on him. He grimaced and winced when the motion made the scab on his split lip crack open. He swiped his tongue over the wound, tasting the metallic, salty tang of his blood. Glowering, he stalked from his house and launched himself off the edge of the cloud, shifting into full griffin form. His huge golden wings pumped through the air, carrying his four-legged body far and fast away. He snarled to himself as he felt the wind whip over his beak, and his tail lashed back and forth as he flew higher and higher through the clouds. Second cloudbank, third cloudbank, fourth, fifth – he kept climbing. The rhythmic beating of his wings, the wind whistling across his ears, and the furious thump of his heartbeat were the only sounds he could hear. The air was freezing. He panted with exertion as white clouds of ice billowed from his mouth. His wing-beats slowed as he grew sluggish with the cold but he forced himself higher. The air was pure and sharp here. He was the only griffin who ever flew this high; it cleared his head, put everything into perspective. Taking a deep breath, he folded his wings tight against his body, in the process shattering the icicles that had formed on his feathers, and let himself drop. He plummeted down through each cloud with a soft puff of air and wisps of 11

cloud trailed behind him. Puff – fourth cloudbank – puff – third cloudbank – puff, puff. He let himself continue to drop toward the ground below. He was free-falling, feeling alive, not thinking about the way Zip touched Tawney, not remembering the emotion in their eyes when they shared a look, just feeling weightless, feeling – Something very small hurtled into him, knocking him sideways and tumbling through the air. His wings automatically snapped out, steadying him; he winced as his muscles burned with the strain of stopping his momentum. ―Hey! Hey, wakeup! You weren‘t flying!‖ chirped a tiny voice. A small bundle of brown and white feathers flitted around his head, tugging at his mane and his ears. Using his wings to hover in place, he swatted at the offending thing with his paw and was rewarded with a yelp as the little creature went flying beak over tail. Talon got a good look at it. His gray-green eyes narrowed. It was a sparrow. ―Hey!‖ the sparrow cried indignantly, righting himself in the air. ―What did you do that for? I was trying to help!‖ Talon opened his beak and let out a low shriek. Sparrow would taste delicious right now. He dove for the bird and was very surprised when the sparrow launched himself at Talon‘s face in return. The sparrow avoided Talon‘s snapping beak and delivered a sharp, painful peck between Talon‘s eyebrows. Talon roared and lurched back. That could have been his eye! Oh, he was going to eat this little pile of feathers slowly and use the bones to pick his teeth. He snarled and attacked. 12

Except his plan wasn‘t working quite as well as he had hoped. Talon was a bulky, heavily muscled griffin. He was a good fighter – the scars on his back proved he could survive any fight – but the sparrow was tiny and quick; Talon was finding it difficult to keep up in close combat. The sparrow darted around his head, pecking him and using his small claws to deliver tiny, annoying stings. Talon roared again, trying to swat at the sparrow. ―Ha!‖ the sparrow chirped as he pulled a beakful of fur from Talon‘s tail. ―Take that, you mangy griffin!‖ Talon whipped around so fast the air currents buffeted the sparrow; his small body wobbled in midair, caught in the crosscurrent, and Talon used the momentary distraction. He snapped his beak down and caught the edge of the sparrow‘s wing. He heard the bone break; the sparrow let out a pained cry and tried to stay aloft with one wing before falling in an agonized spiral, his thin, high chirps of pain fading as he disappeared quickly toward the forest below. Talon folded his wings and dove, his keen eyes tracking the small brownish dot of the sparrow. If he was lucky, there‘d be enough left to scrape off the ground for a quick snack. But the sight that greeted him when he reached the forest floor made him squawk and flap backwards twice, his gray-green eyes widening. In place of the mangled corpse of an annoying sparrow, a young man sat on the ground, cradling his left arm; the arm was obviously broken and the bone had snapped clear through the skin. The man was trying to stem the flow of blood awkwardly with his good hand. It didn‘t look like it was working. When the sparrow heard Talon thud to the ground, his head snapped up, and his brown eyes flashed dark. Talon shifted to his humanoid form, chuckling deeply. ―That must hurt,‖ he said. 13

―Go away,‖ the sparrow hissed, his jaw clenched in pain. Talon bared his teeth in a grin. ―I don‘t think so.‖ He circled the sparrow. In his human form, the sparrow was very small and pale; his brown hair was flecked with black and white, an interesting combination that Talon had never seen before. But the sparrow‘s collarbone was easily visible as his thin shoulders hunched in pain. ―You wouldn‘t have tasted very good,‖ Talon commented. ―You look too stringy.‖ The sparrow glowered. ―I would have tasted wonderful.‖ Talon shook his head. ―You attacked a griffin. I'm ten times bigger than you. You‘ve got to be the stupidest little birdbrain I‘ve ever met.‖ ―Maybe your fat head is ten times bigger than me! You attacked me first!‖ the sparrow shouted. His face had gone red. ―You – you thickheaded beast!‖ Talon quirked a golden eyebrow. ―There you go again. I can‘t believe a preda tor hasn‘t eaten you before now.‖ ―Most creatures in the forest like me,‖ the sparrow said through gritted teeth. The red flush left his face and his skin gained a chalky pallor. Probably from blood loss. ―You‘re a shifter,‖ Talon said, watching him. It wasn‘t really a question. ―Well, yes,‖ the sparrow answered peevishly between his grimaces of pain. ―I was even talking up there. That should have been a clue. Regular birds don‘t talk.‖ Talon shrugged. ―When griffins shift we‘re more animal than human. I really didn‘t understand all your chirping. You were annoying and I just wanted to eat you.‖ 14

The sparrow glared up at him. ―I think you look like a mindless beast in this form, too.‖ ―Watch your beak,‖ Talon said casually, reaching down and shoving the sparrow hard. The sparrow fell back and his elbow slammed into the dirt, making him gasp and cry out. Any color left drained from his face and his dark lashes fluttered closed, his mouth tight and pinched. ―You caught me on the worst day,‖ Talon said, leaning over the sparrow with narrowed eyes. He flexed his claws. The sparrow lashed out with his foot and caught Talon hard across the face. He staggered back a few steps and spat blood, working his jaw. Damn little sparrow kicked like a Pegasus. The sparrow struggled to his feet, keeping a wary gaze on Talon. He was still clutching his broken arm; blood smeared it from wrist to elbow. ―I‘m not having the best day either,‖ the sparrow said. Talon couldn‘t help his chuckle. ―You‘re scrappy – I‘ll give you that.‖ ―If you try to eat me again,‖ the sparrow warned, ―I‘ll peck your throat all the way down.‖ Darting forward, Talon jabbed his fist into the sparrow‘s stomach and watched the little man double over in pain. ―Don‘t threaten me again,‖ he said idly. ―Would you quit that?‖ the sparrow gasped out, his brown eyes flashing. His broken arm hung limply at his side as he cradled his injured belly. ―What is wrong with you? Why are you being so - so mean?‖ Talon blinked and cocked his head, considering the sparrow‘s words. He supposed he was being mean. But he was always mean – most of his friends were used to it by now. He didn‘t have that many friends, though. 15

And, he thought as he touched his bruised eye, as of this morning he probably had one less. The sparrow was still talking. ―This is the last time I try to help a griffin,‖ he was saying. ―I saw you burst out of the bottom of that cloud with your eyes closed and your wings folded and thought you were going crash and die in some sort of tragic accident that would be on the front page of the newspaper tomorrow!‖ ―No one asked you to be a good spar-maritan,‖ Talon said. He‘d never needed anyone‘s help, and he wasn‘t about to start now. ―Well, excuse me for being hatched!‖ ―I thought I told you to watch your beak,‖ Talon growled, taking a menacing step forward. He flexed his claws so hard his knuckles cracked. ―Oh, sure, threaten me again. It makes you seem really big and tough.‖ The sparrow glared and wobbled on his legs; his face looked pale and damp. Talon noticed that the sparrow‘s thin, fine-boned hands were trembling. ―That‘s it,‖ Talon started to snarl. ―I‘m gonna pound you –‖ The sparrow opened his mouth to interrupt but instead sank slowly to the ground with a soft moan, his eyes rolling back into his head. He lay crumpled on the bed of fallen leaves and twigs that decorated the forest floor, his eyes closed. Talon edged forward and nudged the sparrow‘s leg with his boot. The man didn‘t move. He frowned. What was he supposed to do? Help the damn creature? He didn‘t help people. People had to help themselves. But he had broken the annoying sparrow‘s arm. And punched him a couple times. And been trying to eat him. And there was an awful lot of blood on the ground near the sparrow‘s prone form; the bright white bone poked through the sparrow‘s pale forearm. He sighed. If his mother were here she'd take a feather 16

broom to his backside. Grimacing, Talon bent and gathered the sparrow‘s limp body in his arms. He stared down at the sparrow‘s heart-shaped face and saw that the lines of pain between his brows had smoothed out with unconsciousness. With another sigh, Talon took off.

2.Flit Flit woke up slowly and blinked bleary eyes. His head hurt and hello, his arm really hurt. Really, really hurt. Now that the fogginess was fading the throbbing in his arm intensified as if to say, Hi! I‘m so glad you‘re awake! Pay attention to me now! He winced and used his good hand to rub the crusty sleep from his eyes. He didn‘t know where he was and he turned his head slowly to take in his surroundings. He wasn‘t inside the belly of an irate griffin: that was probably good, since it had been a distinct possibility from what he last remembered. But he was naked and in pain in a strange bed. That was probably bad. The room was furnished simply, almost spartanly: a single oak dresser stood under a plain, unadorned window; beside the bed, a small utilitarian nightstand painted drab olive held a pitcher and a glass of water; the bed he was laying in – he turned to see the headboard – was the same boring oak as the dresser. The walls were beige. The interior designer in Flit‘s soul shuddered: he was in the ugliest hospital room ever. He looked at the glass of water and decided that whoever had put it there was either cruel or stupid. The glass and dresser were on his left side; his left arm was wrapped and holstered in a rather snug sling. He tried to curl over and use his right arm to reach for the water but a burst of bright pain through his injured arm stopped him. 17

He gritted his teeth and stared at the glass of water. The glass of water stared back, mocking him. Finally, he gave up trying to levitate the glass with his mind and sunk back into the pillow, sighing heavily as he gazed blankly at the ceiling. He tried to puzzle out how to get up from the bed without jostling his arm or moving at all, actually, and wondered what had happened to the horrible griffin from yesterday. As though summoned, the door opened and the griffin walked in. He looked startled to see Flit awake. ―So you didn‘t die,‖ the griffin said flatly, sounding disappointed. He‘d changed out of the dusty flying clothes he‘d worn yesterday into what looked like slightl y less dusty flying clothes: a leather wind jacket with griffin sigils etched on the sleeves, a heavy cotton shirt, and worn leather trousers. He had a large, dark bruise around his eye. Flit bristled. ―I would‘ve made sure to shit on the sheets before I did.‖ The griffin‘s lip curled. Flit didn‘t like to admit it, but it was a very attractive lip; something about its slightly cruel shape went well with the griffin‘s heavy, winged eyebrows. ―Want another broken arm?‖ ―Not particularly,‖ Flit said, settling down. For the moment, the pain in his arm made him rethink which battles were worthwhile. Taking on two hundred pounds of enraged griffin while injured and half-immobilized was likely not one. The griffin scowled. ―Fine. Since you didn‘t die from shock or blood loss, get out of my house.‖ Flit‘s eyes widened. He was in the griffin‘s house? Bright Feathery Mother, this sort of room didn‘t look like it belonged in a home; it was suited to a priso n cell or a hospital ward. No wonder the griffin was such a crow‘s ass: if this was his idea of home décor, he obviously had no poetry or beauty in his soul. Once more, Flit took in the state of the room and its stony-faced occupant and 18

decided it was probably his job to save the stupid griffin from himself. The Feathery Mother worked in mysterious ways. ―I‘ll need a glass of water first,‖ he announced. ―I still feel very faint.‖ ―There‘s water right next to you,‖ the griffin snarled, hunching his should ers. ―Yes,‖ Flit said. ―There is. And it looks very nice sitting there in that glass just out of reach of my broken arm. Why didn‘t I think of that?‖ He didn‘t think the griffin would slaughter him and risk soiling his horrid, boring sheets, so it was probably safe to mock him from the bed. Something briefly like shame crossed the griffin‘s face and he went red, stalking over to the bed and shoving the glass of water into Flit‘s uninjured right hand. Flit was surprised. So the griffin hadn‘t been cruel – just thoughtless. He took a sip of water, grateful for the cool slide down his parched throat, and thought about yesterday as he watched the griffin move across the room and glare out the window, his back to Flit. The griffin had been angry at something more than him and already sporting a black eye when they met. Flit was dying to know what the story was. He was a sparrow, after all, and sparrows were notorious gossips. They were even worse than nightingales. He came to a decision. It was probably a bad decision. ―Thank you,‖ he said, calmly sipping at his water. ―Now I‘d also like one of your flight feathers.‖ The griffin whirled around; his reaction didn‘t disappoint. ―What?‖ he growled, low and deadly, as he flexed his fingers. Flit eyed the clawed tips nervously. ―Well,‖ he said reasonably. ―I get to request some sort of recompense. You attacked a shifter and caused them grievous bodily harm. Lasting grievous bodily harm, I might add – I shall probably scar, I have very delicate skin. Anyway, 19

that‘s a violation of article two of the Flight Covenant and you can be stripped of your wings.‖ Flit almost winced as he mentioned it – it was quite a literal punishment. The griffin blanched. The thickheaded hulk had obviously never considered this. Flit would have felt sorry for him if his arm weren‘t broken. Instead, he felt quietly gleeful. ―I didn‘t – I didn‘t know you were a shifter,‖ the griffin defended, his eyes darting around the room like he was pleading with an invisible jury. Flit shrugged. ―I‘m sure the Council would take that into consideration when deciding your punishment. If they find out about this,‖ he added, examining the fingernails on his right hand. The griffin paled further, making his gray-green eyes look wide and luminous. Then his expression quickly darkened: his face flushed dull red as his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows crashed together. It was fascinating to watch, like a sudden thunderstorm, beautiful but dangerous and time to step away from the windows and seek shelter. ―You‘re blackmailing me?‖ the griffin asked. ―What‘s a little blackmail between friends?‖ Flit grinned cheerfully. ―For how long?‖ The griffin‘s voice was flat, like the calm before a storm. ―How long will it take my arm to heal?‖ ―Weeks. Or months,‖ the griffin replied hollowly. ―Well, then,‖ Flit said. ―Until I‘m well, I know I‘ll need ever so much help functioning with a broken arm. I‘m Flit, by the way. A flight feather, if you please.‖ The griffin‘s expression twisted into something terrible; frustration and rage and 20

perhaps even a touch of fear all warred across his handsome face. He snarled and shifted into his full form, his tail lashing back and forth. His huge shape nearly filled the room. Flit had only seen griffins from a distance before; he wished he could have lived on in ignorance. The griffin was enormous. Muscles rippled under his pale gold fur – the color might almost be called white-blond – but his mane, the long ruff of fur and feathers down his back, his wings, and his tail were all a darker, honeyed hue. Flit could see scars all over the griffin‘s body: most of the scars looked fairly shallow but a handful were ugly, painful things, some like deep gouges and others mottled and raised above the fur in knots. The griffin prowled closer and snapped out his wing. The rush of air hit Flit in the face, and the griffin‘s expression dared him to yank out a flight feather. Flit could never resist a dare. The griffin roared and shifted back to human form, nearly crashing against the bed. He cradled his hand; the nail on the pinky finger was gone and the raw, oozing wound bled sluggishly. Flit gaped. He didn‘t know it hurt to lose a flight feather. His stomach felt a little queasy as he looked at the blood on the griffin's fingers. ―Happy?‖ the griffin hissed. ―You have the damn feather so you have my servitude until your arm is healed.‖ ―Why do I suddenly feel like you‘re going to break it again as soon as it‘s better?‖ Flit mused. The griffin bared his teeth; they were white and even and slightly pointed. ―So,‖ Flit said brightly, grasping at anything he could think of. ―What‘s your name?‖ The griffin glared at him, still cradling his hand, and turned and stalked from the room. 21

---Two weeks. Flit blew out a breath that ruffled the hair falling into his eyes and stepped back to survey his work. It‘d been hard going with only one hand, but he‘d worked all through the night and finished before the griffin arrived. The griffin wasn‘t talking to him anymore. He still didn‘t know the stupid man‘s name; he just brought food three times a day and let Flit roam the small house (it was as utterly boring and uninviting as the bedroom) and refused to engage Flit in conversation of any sort. Well. Flit was a resourceful sparrow. He‘d thought of a plan. It wasn‘t elaborate, as far as plans went, but it was attention-getting. He squinted one eye and studied the walls. It‘d do. The door opened, right on cue for breakfast, and Flit didn‘t have to turn around to see the expression on the griffin‘s face. The way the footsteps abruptly stopped and a tray crashed to the ground behind him told him all he needed to know. ―What did you do?‖ the griffin said, his voice balanced somewhere between an anguished howl and numb disbelief. ―I painted,‖ Flit said, turning to bestow a perky smile on the griffin. ―It looked dreadful in here.‖ ―It‘s – it‘s – it‘s –‖ The griffin stuttered like a broken record, unable to finish his words. He turned in a slow, horrified circle and took in the changes around the room. ―Cozy? Charming?‖ Flit offered. The griffin fixed furious eyes on him. ―Pink.‖ 22

―It‘s not pink,‖ Flit said. ―It‘s rose with accents of biscotti crème, misty forest meadow, and midnight umber for a touch of masculinity. I had to have the paint specially delivered.‖ ―It‘s pink. It‘s awful. Paint it back.‖ ―No,‖ Flit said. He took the flight feather out of his pocket and twirled it around his fingers, watching the griffin‘s eyes as they followed the feather‘s movements. ―I rather like it. I might even redo the whole house.‖ ―You‘re not touching my house,‖ the griffin said with a terrible growl. Flit wondered if they were more territorial about their nest spaces than other birds. Oh well. He was calling the shots right now. ―Really?‖ he asked. He ran his fingers pointedly down the flight feather and brought it up to brush lightly over his lips, giving the griffin a small, haughty smile. The griffin flushed from his thick neck to his honey-colored hair. He knew Flit had won and he looked pissed as hell. It was wonderful to see. Flit decided to test how far he could go. ―I wonder if your nest could use a few new twigs,‖ he said thoughtfully. ―No.‖ The griffin‘s expression was thunderous. ―Do you really have a choice?‖ That was clearly the feather that broke the griffin‘s back. The griffin launched himself across the room with a roar and tackled Flit to the ground. Flit let out a pained oof as his back hit the floor and the movement jostled his injured arm, sending waves of pain radiating up to his jaw. The griffin perched on his chest, grabbed a handful of Flit‘s hair, and slammed his head to the floor. ―Don‘t. Touch. My. Nest.‖ He punctuated each word with a head slam. 23

Flit saw stars and tiny birds swim across his vision in dizzying circles and he felt like he was going to be sick. If the griffin gave him a concussion he was going to redecorate his stupid room next and paint it neon orange. ―All right, all right, I'll leave it alone!‖ he exclaimed. ―Now get off of me, you crazed, barbaric beast!‖ The griffin rolled off and sat next to Flit, breathing heavily. Flit stayed flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. He didn‘t care what the griffin thought – the new colors were very soothing. ―You said you‘d give my feather back when your arm was healed,‖ the griffin said after several silent minutes. ―Yes,‖ Flit replied slowly. He tried to keep his tone low and non-threatening so the crazy wild animal would not attack him. ―You could have other injuries that heal before your arm does. Bruises fade pretty fast. And a broken nose would heal about the same time as your arm.‖ Flint sat up. ―Is that your ham-handed way of threatening me?‖ he asked. ―I have to tell you, it lacks elegance. Physical violence is the tool of the witless and the unimaginative.‖ ―I hate to break it to you,‖ the griffin said, ―but physical violence has won a lot of fights. And wars.‖ ―Is this a war?‖ Flit asked, amused. The griffin looked away, his lips tightening into a thin line that said yes. ―No,‖ he bit out. ―That would be stupid. I just want to get my feather back so I can fly. That‘s kind of important to me. It‘s what I do.‖ Flint rubbed the back of his head, frowning. ―I can assure you, smacking my head against the floor will not get your feather back any sooner.‖ 24

―No, but it‘s fun.‖ ―I‘m sure it is,‖ Flit snorted. Now it was obvious why every other bird he knew stayed away from griffins. It was because they were violent and insane and had no fashion sense. ―Don‘t you have any other hobbies besides brutalizing innocent birds?‖ The griffin smiled fiercely, his gray-green eyes icy and hot at the same time. ―No. It‘s my job.‖ Something about his tone sparked Flit‘s curiosity. This was the first time the griffin had exchanged more than a few words with him in weeks and Flit wanted to keep him talking. ―Oh?‖ he said. ―What is your job, exactly? I haven‘t seen you head out to the office since I‘ve been here.‖ ―I‘m a Beakbreaker,‖ the griffin said. ―So I can‘t go to work until I can fly.‖ Flit rolled his eyes heavenward. A beakbreaker. No wonder the griffin was such an awful featherfuck – he was a legal bully. Beakbreakers: the nasty, vicious, and very effective Sky Patrol special forces. ―Won‘t they wonder where you are?‖ he asked. The griffin shrugged. ―No. I told them I was taking a holiday.‖ ―You had enough vacation time to take a two month holiday?‖ The griffin scowled. ―I don‘t usually take holidays, so yeah.‖ ―No, you probably like your job too much to go home,‖ Flit muttered. The griffin shoved his shoulder, hard, and Flit went sideways with a squawk. ―Would you stop that?!‖ He righted himself and rubbed at the elbow on his 25

uninjured right arm. His formerly uninjured right arm. ―Is that why you won‘t tell me your name? Air security purposes?‖ ―You ask a lot of questions,‖ the griffin said. ―Well, in a way, that‘s part of my job,‖ Flit replied. The griffin raised an eyebrow. ―Didn‘t know it was a big deal. It‘s Talon. My name,‖ he clarified. ―Why, what do you do?‖ ―Talon?‖ Flit said. ―Your name is Talon? As in, an object used to clutch prey and rend open their soft underbellies? Of course your name is Talon – what am I thinking? But why not Ripper or Shredder or I-eat-small-hatchlings-forbreakfast?‖ ―That last one takes too long to sign,‖ Talon replied evenly. There might have been a hint of dark amusement lingering around his mouth, hiding just at the corners. Flit coughed to cover his laugh. ―Careful, I might think you had a personality hidden somewhere in there.‖ He waved his hand in a wide gesture that sketched the edges of Talon‘s broad shoulders. Talon cuffed him casually on the back of the head. ―Shut up, sparrow.‖ Flit rubbed the crown of his head. Stupid, violent griffin. ―What do you do?‖ Talon asked again. ―Aren‘t you worried about missing work, too?‖ ―Oh, no,‖ Flit said. ―I work for the newspaper. I do most of my work from home. I just sent a messenger pigeon to the office and had my things brought here.‖ He indicated the large pile of papers scattered across the new cherry wood desk he‘d installed in the room. 26

―You‘re a reporter?‖ Talon asked. He didn‘t sound impressed. ―Not exactly,‖ Flit replied. ―I write the advice column.‖ Talon looked abruptly, and worryingly, furious. ―What?‖ His voice was a thick, distorted growl.

3.Talon Talon was going to kill that sparrow. And eat the body. No one would ever know. ―What?‖ he said again, getting his voice under control. ―You‘re Penelope Pinfeather? The advice columnist for the Daily Flyer? You‘re Ask Penny Pinfeather?‖ Flit looked pleased, if nervous. ―You‘ve heard of me?‖ ―Oh, I‘ve heard of you,‖ Talon said. ―Dear Penny,‖ he mimicked, pitching his voice into a depressed whine. ―My best friend is an insensitive bastard who did something awful when we were young that I just found out about. I’m so mad I want to punch him. What should I do?‖ ―Er,‖ Flit said. ―Punch him,‖ Talon snarled. ―That‘s what you said. You told my best friend to punch me.‖ ―You’re the guy Furiously Feathered was talking about? Oh dear.‖ Talon started to stand up. If he sat next to Flit much longer he was going to hit him again. Wait. That wasn‘t a bad idea. ―Ouch!‖ Flit gasped, grabbing his nose. A trickle of blood ran down from one 27

nostril. ―I‘m glad he punched you, you stupid, vulgar griffin! I remember his story – you tried to kill another nestmate when you were a child!‖ ―I wasn‘t trying to kill him! I just wanted to scare him. How was I supposed to know the idiot would get so scared he‘d try to fly? I was a kid too, for Feather‘s sake.‖ Talon got up and stalked to the window, kicking the overturned tray as he went and sending it sliding across the room to crash into the wall. He stared out the window across the cloudscape and tried to calm the pounding rage singing through his veins. It wasn‘t his fault. It was supposed to have been a stupid prank to show Zip how lousy that scrawny griffin was. Tawney couldn‘t fly, couldn‘t fight, couldn‘t do any of the things a griffin was supposed to do and he was going to show Zip how useless that made Tawney, how unworthy, how - why did Zip like him so much? He‘d never understood it. It had worked, for a while. After a few well placed words, Tawney had thought it was Zip‘s idea and hated him, and Talon was fine with that because Zip had been his best friend and he‘d thought maybe some day, when Zip got tired of couriering, he‘d turn around and see Talon and say Oh. And things had been perfect. At least, he‘d thought so. But it turned out Zip was a mushy featherbrained fool who‘d pined away for years and despite Tawney‘s distrust of Zip they‘d managed to work things out and now they were happy and in love and Zip hated him. It made him so mad. He punched the wall. It left a dent. He heard a startled laugh behind him. ―Oh, Feathery Mother. Now I know where all those bizarre dents I had to spackle over came from. Tell me, are you just a ball of rage covered in feathers and fur? There must have been hundreds of dents! Have you seen anyone about your anger issues? It‘s not healthy.‖ 28

Talon whirled around and was somewhat mollified to see the sparrow back away, looking alarmed: his brown eyes were wide in his petite, pointy face. Good – the little twit should be scared. Talon had a permanent, soul deep ache in his pinky finger and matching one in his chest because of that squawking bastard. ―Don‘t talk,‖ Talon said. ―It‘s the best way to keep me from hurting you.‖ ―But –‖ ―I lost my best friend because of you,‖ he said, low and vicious. His voice made it clear he wasn‘t in the mood to give a second warning. Flit tilted his head in a peculiar bird-like way, watching Talon. ―Want my advice on how to make up with him?‖ ―No!‖ Talon bellowed. He shifted to his griffin form and bounded from the room and out of the house. He ran for miles, until his flanks were heaving with effort and his legs trembled and sweat matted his fur and plastered his feathers to his body. He needed to fly up into the cold clouds and think – clear his head, forget about this whole stupid situation – and he couldn‘t. He let out a low, frustrated shriek and flopped to the ground, bouncing on the spongy cloud‘s surface. The sparrow had one of his flight feathers and he couldn‘t fly properly without all of them intact. He‘d tried; landing hard on his face for the fourth time had convinced him he wasn‘t going anywhere. The other griffins at work would laugh at him. Grounded by a fucking sparrow! He let out a sigh and rested his beak on his paws, staring blankly into the distance. He didn‘t notice the crimson sunset spill over the clouds in shades of blood and gold and copper or the blanket of stars that winked into existence one by one, glittering above his head. What had Zip called him? Oh, right: a bastard, bullying buzzard‘s cunt. How 29

sweet. Not that Zip hadn‘t called him worse before, but it was different this time. He‘d really meant it. Zip had accused him of being jealous of Tawney because he was afraid Tawney threatened their friendship. He chuckled sadly to himself. Zip was such a moron. He sat there a while longer and then heaved up on all fours and padded slowly home. Flit was already asleep when he got there, but there was a note taped to his door. It read: I had to make my own dinner. One-handed. I left the mess for you to clean up. Talon crumpled up the paper and stalked into the kitchen, surveying the damage with his fists planted on his hips. He was really going to kill that stupid sparrow. No one could make this kind of mess by accident. It took him an hour to clean everything up. The dishwashing soap stung the open wound on his finger. He wrote his own note and left it on Flit‘s door. It said: Do that again and I’ll choke you to death. He went to sleep feeling a little better. ---Zip showed up a week later. ―Hey, asshole,‖ he said when Talon opened the door. Talon scowled, still furious and hurt, and started to close the door in his face . 30

―Well, hello, there!‖ said a cheerful voice from behind him as a thin hand reached out to prevent Talon from slamming the door. He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached and didn‘t turn around. ―Go away,‖ he said to both of them. ―Who‘s that?‖ Zip asked, craning to peer over Talon‘s shoulder. He didn‘t look nearly as surprised as he should; after watching Zip closely for years, he knew almost every nuance of his friend‘s expressions. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. ―That is none of your business. You made it pretty clear nothing I did ever again was any of your fucking business because you punched me in the face and told me you hated me.‖ Zip shrugged. ―Cooler heads prevailed.‖ He grinned, a lopsided curling grin that Talon had loved for a long time. ―I was just giving you a couple of weeks to wallow friendless and alone.‖ ―You aren‘t my only friend,‖ Talon said, annoyed when Zip raised his eyebrows in disbelief. ―And I‘m not alone, as you can see.‖ ―He has eyes,‖ Flit said. ―Of course he can see.‖ He bestowed an equally charming grin on Zip as he pushed Talon out of the way. ―I‘m Flit. Lovely to meet you.‖ Zip smirked. ―I‘m Zip. I‘d like to say I‘ve heard all about you, but Talon‘s been close-beaked.‖ ―We‘re very . . . recent acquaintances,‖ Flit said, looking over his shoulder to give Talon a mocking smile. Talon‘s hands curled into fists. Something wasn‘t right about this – he couldn‘t put his finger on it, but Zip‘s body language was wrong. He was acting too normal; he should have been confused and bewildered to find someone like Flit in his friend‘s house, but he'd accepted it easily. 31

―Nice to meet you, then,‖ Zip said to Flit. He turned back to Talon, adjusted the goggles he always wore on his head, and said, ―Gonna invite me inside, fuckface?‖ ―No,‖ Talon said flatly. He grunted as Zip ignored him and shoved past into the house. ―Where‘s your perfect Tawney?‖ he snarled, rubbing his stomach where Zip elbowed him. He told himself he shouldn‘t care, not anymore, but it wasn‘t much use. ―Making a run. He should be back in a day or two.‖ ―And meanwhile you‘re bored?‖ Talon sneered. ―Because if you‘ve come back for another fight, you won‘t catch me by surprise this time, you bastard. I‘ll tear you apart.‖ Zip stared at Talon for a second and then started laughing. ―Sometimes I forget how much of a giant cock you are,‖ he said. ―It‘s probably because I‘ve built up a tolerance for your ridiculous levels of bullshit over the years.‖ ―That‘s a good way of putting it,‖ Flit put in, sounding amused. Zip chuckled like he and Flit were sharing a joke and looked around the room. ―Hey, I like what you‘ve done with the place.‖ Talon glanced around too, hating every inch of what he saw. Flit had made good on his promise to redo the house – excepting Talon‘s bedroom because the little featherfuck apparently had some sense in his tiny birdbrain – and he‘d been working like crazy for the last week, painting and moving furniture in and out. He had no idea why Flit was doing it, other than the pleasure it gave him to annoy Talon. When Talon had questioned him about it Flit replied that the expense was worth it because he obviously couldn‘t be expected to live in a place that offended his delicate sensibilities for two months and then flounced away to compare paint chips with the new tile he was installing in the kitchen. 32

―I didn‘t do anything,‖ Talon said. ―It‘s Flit‘s fault. Excuse me, I have to go do something I hate less than talking to you. Show yourself out.‖ He left without another word and stomped to his bedroom, making sure to close the door with a slam. Half an hour later there was a tentative knock on his door. He ignored it. The knock came again, louder. ―I‘m sleeping,‖ Talon said. It was almost true: he was on his bed with his hands folded across his chest, staring at the ceiling. The door creaked open a fraction and light from the hall spilled into the darkened room, cutting through the gloom and slicing across his face so that he had to blink rapidly as his eyes adjusted. ―That‘s a lie,‖ Flit said a moment later, gliding into the room with his usual disregard for anything Talon said. ―You couldn‘t have answered me if you were.‖ ―I want to be sleeping,‖ Talon amended. He rubbed at his temple, trying to soothe the headache he felt forming. ―Of course you don‘t,‖ Flit said, waving his hand impatiently. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping with his weight. ―You‘re probably spoiling for a fight right now, just waiting for me to say something you don‘t like so you have an excuse to hit me.‖ ―No, I‘m not,‖ Talon sighed, turning onto his side away from Flit. He felt exhausted and wrung out after seeing Zip. He‘d thought three weeks might be enough time to get over it, but he was wrong, wrong, wrong. They sat in the dark and in silence. Eventually, Flit‘s voice floated out of the blackness next to him: ―Zip‘s a good looking griffin.‖ ―Shut up.‖ ―And he was your best friend. If I had a best friend who looked like that I might be half in love with him.‖ 33

―Shut up,‖ Talon hissed. ―I might,‖ Flit continued, ignoring Talon as usual. He hated the sparrow so much. ―I might be secretly in love with him for a long time and then go so insane with rage when he fell in love with someone else that I stupidly attack another shifter and act like a total ass every day.‖ ―Shut up, sparrow,‖ Talon said, bolting upright. He lashed out in the direction of Flit‘s voice and was rewarded with a pained cry when his fist connected with soft flesh. ―Now get out,‖ he growled through clenched teeth. ―I didn‘t invite you in and I don‘t want you here.‖ ―Fine,‖ Flit said. His voice was muffled. ―We can dalk aboud dis domorrow.‖ It sounded like he had a stuffy nose. Talon grinned in the dark. That must have been what he hit. He silently congratulated himself on his good aim. ―Like hell,‖ he shot back. ―We‘ll see,‖ Flit said darkly. ---Talon woke up the next morning tied to his bed. ―Okay, griffin,‖ Flit said. ―This is an intervention.‖ ―Dead. You are more than dead. You are food. Tasty food,‖ Talon said, fury boiling through his blood and making him go from half-awake to fully alert in an instant. ―Then it‘s a good thing you‘re tied up for now,‖ Flit said wryly. He hovered near the edge of Talon‘s bed out of biting distance and looked self-righteous and superior, even with his arm bandaged up in that ridiculous sling. Talon was 34

certain, in that moment, that Flit was the punishment for every bad thing he'd ever done. He tugged hard at the ropes holding him down, testing their strength; they held fast and his movements only succeeded in sawing the rope into his skin. But they were coarse hemp ropes. He could chew through them if he had enough time. ―Now,‖ Flit said grandly, as though he were speaking to a large audience, ―the healing can begin.‖ ―There will not be enough healing for you when this is over,‖ Talon promised, death and pain in his voice. ―Not enough ever.‖ Flit rolled his eyes dramatically heavenward. ―Bright Feathery Mother, my kind, generous, forgiving heart certainly does get me into trouble with these loud, ungrateful types.‖ ―You have no idea what kind of trouble you‘re in,‖ Talon said. Flit raised an eyebrow. ―You‘re the one tied to a bed. Do you?‖ Talon scowled. He hated. This sparrow. So much.

4.Flit Talon‘s grim scowl hadn‘t even reached full strength and it looked like he was preparing himself to silently scowl Flit to death; when he didn‘t say anything for nearly half a minute – the low, constant growl didn‘t count – Flit sighed and shook his head. ―This will go a lot faster if you talk.‖ ―Why should I?‖ Talon snapped, pulling at his restraints again. He was shirtless and the muscles under his furry chest quivered with the effort of trying to tug 35

free. Flit licked his lips. He hadn‘t considered it at the time but now he found th e visual undeniably appealing. ―Because,‖ he said patiently, ―how can I help you if you don‘t talk to me?‖ Talon stopped struggling and looked at him in disbelief. ―What?‖ ―Let‘s put it this way,‖ Flit said. ―I like fixing things. And you, my disagreea ble friend, are one of the worst train wrecks I‘ve ever seen. You don‘t just need fixing – you need to be scrapped and started over. I could probably write a book about you and your issues.‖ He could probably write an entire series. If he put Talon shirtless on the cover, he‘d be a millionaire in a week. ―What?! If you even think about writing a book –‖ Talon increased his struggles. Flit noticed that the rope around Talon‘s wrists had gone red. ―Stop that!‖ he said in alarm. The idiot griffin would hurt himself. ―I won‘t, obviously. It would have to be a survival guide more than anything else, anyway. But,‖ he paused, ―if I do, you‘d get 10 percent of the licensing and royalties. Something to think about.‖ ―No, I don‘t think so,‖ Talon said. ―The only thing I can think about right now is how I‘m going to kill you. There are so many ways that it‘s occupying a lot of my mind.‖ ―Perhaps if you didn‘t have such a tiny birdbrain you could handle more than one thought at a time,‖ Flit said, feeling nettled. Talon‘s eyes narrowed; they promised oceans of pain later. Or continental landmasses of pain. Worlds of pain, even. Universes of pain. Maybe an alternate dimension where nothing existed but pain. Flit swallowed and continued hurriedly, ―What better person to talk to than me? I‘m Penny Pinfeather! I‘ve built my career on giving advice to people.‖ 36

―Oh yeah?‖ Talon sneered. ―And what makes you think you‘re qualified to give advice?‖ ―I went to school for it. I‘m a licensed ornipsychiatrist.‖ And he was goo d at it. There was a reason his alter ego received a hundred letters every week. ―Next you‘re gonna tell me you graduated top of your class,‖ Talon said mockingly. ―No actually,‖ Flit said, his smile thin. He‘d never had to defend his credentials before. He didn‘t like it. ―I had far too much fun at university to graduate top of my class. But I did graduate somewhere in the top forty, which isn‘t anything to sneeze at in a class of five hundred.‖ ―Ah-choo,‖ Talon said flatly. ―Very funny,‖ Flit snapped. He was trying to do the stupid griffin a favor, but Talon was the most vexing creature he‘d ever met. He could see why Zip had punched him; and why, even after talking to Zip yesterday, Zip still wasn‘t quite ready to forgive Talon. ―Where‘d you learn to tie knots one-handed, anyway?‖ Talon broke into Flit‘s thoughts, frowning as he tugged at his restraints. ―I was an Eagle Scout,‖ Flit said. ―I didn‘t think that particular trick would ever pay off but I suppose one never knows. It helps that you sleep like a rock. And you snore terribly; I‘ve never actually heard anyone conduct an orchestra of snores before.‖ He paused thoughtfully. ―A snorchestra? Yes, I rather like that.‖ ―Is there a point to this?‖ Talon snarled. The rope was stained even redder. Stupid griffin. ―Stop that,‖ Flit said, batting at Talon‘s hands. ―Can‘t you tell when 37

you‘re bleeding?‖ Talon tilted his head to look up at his arms tied to the bedposts. ―Huh,‖ he said. Flit rolled his eyes. ―You know, you remind me of a letter I got a few years ago,‖ he said. He perched on the ugly oak nightstand next to Talon‘s bed. It was exactly the same furniture that had been in the guest bedroom three weeks ago. It was hard to believe someone actually lived in this room. ―Oh yeah?‖ Talon said. He‘d stopped struggling but his expression remained stuck between murder and death, his eyes fixed on Flit. ―Yes,‖ Flit said, pretending that Talon wanted to know. He settled down to tell the story, crossing his legs and letting them dangle over the nightstand‘s edge. ―I still remember how the man signed his letter: Clueless in the Clouds.‖ Talon went still on the bed. ―He was in love with his best friend, just like you. He said he‘d loved his friend since they were chicks.‖ Even Talon‘s breathing had slowed. ―Apparently, he‘d been picked on as a child and his best friend had been the first person to stick up for him. Rescue him, if you will,‖ Flit said, gazing into space as he tried to remember the letter. It had touched him, how plainly Clueless ha d written about his feelings: he hadn‘t been the most eloquent letter writer, he just wrote simply and truthfully. He was also unapologetic when he wrote that he wasn‘t a nice person and he didn‘t have a lot of friends, but it was clear to Flit from the devoted way he‘d written about the man he was in love with that he was a good person, despite his protests. 38

Talon made an odd, choking noise, his eyes riveted on Flit. ―Anyway,‖ Flit continued. ―He said he was afraid of making a move on his friend because he didn‘t want to lose the only person who cared about him besides his mother. It was rather sad. I told him that if his feelings were so strong he should just tell his friend because it would be even worse if his friend found someone else and fell in love with them and oh God,‖ he said, watching how Talon‘s face had gone pale. ―You‘re him.‖ ―Shut up, sparrow,‖ Talon said hoarsely. ―You‘re Clueless in the Clouds!‖ ―No.‖ Talon looked away, his jaw tight. ―You are!‖ Flit crowed. ―Feathery Mother, and you didn’t listen to my advice, did you? You never told Zip.‖ Talon closed his eyes. ―Untie me. Now.‖ ―Are you going to hit me if I do?‖ Flit asked. ―Yes.‖ ―Then I‘d rather not, if it‘s all the same,‖ he replied. ―You have to untie me eventually,‖ Talon threatened. ―As soon as you‘ve decided not to hit me.‖ Talon let out an angry huff and sank back into the bed. ―Fuck. Why do you care about this, anyway?‖ Flit pursed his lips. ―Well, I could certainly say I care because helping people is the right thing to do and gives me a warm sense of satisfaction – both true. But I also care because I like the feeling of power it gives me to solve someone else‘s 39

problem by getting them to do what I say.‖ Talon gaped. After a beat, he barked out a short laugh. ―You think I‘m bad? You‘re a piece of work, sparrow.‖ Flit nodded, giving Talon a small smile. ―Of course I am. It takes one to know one, after all. So, you were a bully to Tawney but Zip had to stick up for you when he met you. What changed?‖ ―Me,‖ Talon growled. ―Obviously,‖ Flit said. ―But why were the kids picking on you in the first place?‖ Talon‘s face closed up. ―None of your business.‖ ―Why?‖ Flit asked, fiendishly curious now. ―Was it something awful? Did yo u have a speech impediment? An embarrassing skin condition? Were you developmentally challenged? Tragically orphaned? Ugly? Were you –‖ ―I was fat!‖ Talon shouted. ―I was fat and shy, okay? And I was new to the nestery school because I moved with my mom after she and dad divorced. Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!‖ Flit‘s mouth hung open. ―You were – fat?‖ ―Yes,‖ Talon ground out slowly. ―And shy. Nobody wanted to play with the new, fat, shy kid hanging around the nest. Nobody except Zip.‖ Flit couldn‘t help it. ―Th-that‘s it?‖ he said, barely able to keep the laughter at bay. ―I'm sure it was terrible but - that‘s the tragic secret of your past?‖ Talon looked like he was going to explode, and he strained anew against the ropes. Flit prayed he‘d tied them tight enough. ―I‘m going to kill you! I don‘t care about the Council or anything, fuck, I am going to kill you!‖ Flit drew back quickly. ―Now, now,‖ he said. ―Let‘s not be hasty. I just meant, 40

looking at you now, you‘re very, er, tall and muscled and enormous in a not-fat way. I can‘t imagine you were fat. Or shy,‖ he added, his lips twisting in a worried grin. ―You‘re not delicate enough to be shy.‖ Talon shrieked, a low, bird of prey sound that was very disturbing to hear from a human shaped throat. ―That‘s because I grew up,‖ he said; his voice was a hissing whistle, like the call a hawk gave before it dove for the kill. ―It took me a few years, but I had a growth spurt and worked my baby bird fat off. And I promised myself I wouldn‘t let anyone else pick on me ever again.‖ ―Oh, well, this is fascinating,‖ Flit said. ―I really could write a book about you. You were a victim of bullying, so your defense was to become a bully so that you were the aggressor instead. That‘s actually quite a classic response. And it‘s also no surprise that you attached such strong feelings to Zip, the first person you bonded with in the nest." ―Stop it. I‘m not a head case,‖ Talon said quietly. It was the quiet way he said it that made Flit shut his mouth – he‘d never heard Talon quiet. Low and angry or soft and menacing but never quiet. ―Quit analyzing me,‖ Talon continued, just as quietly. He seemed to deflate, all the anger draining from him. ―I don‘t want your help or your sympathy. I just want to be left alone without you constantly reminding me how fucking in love I still am with my best friend.‖ Flit frowned. Talon actually sounded upset. ―Look,‖ Talon said. He‘d closed his eyes again and his eyelashes looked suspiciously wet. ―You have this need to pry into everyone‘s life, I don‘t know why. But I have this need to punch you in the head. If you don‘t give in to your needs, I won‘t give in to mine.‖ ―Promise?‖ Flit said. ―Yeah,‖ Talon said. He sounded tired. 41

Flit moved to sit on the edge of the bed and untied Talon‘s wrist. It was awkward and slow going with one hand, but he managed all right. When Talon‘s hand was free, he helped Flit untie his other hand. They worked quickly and quietly and Flit tried not to notice how their fingers brushed. ―Sorry,‖ he said, feeling strangely guilty as he watched Talon untie his own legs. Guilt was not an emotion he experienced frequently; he was usually confident that any actions he took were for the best. Talon grunted in reply. ―Now, I just have a question for you,‖ he said, rubbing at the rope burns around his wrists. ―What would you like on your headstone?‖ ―What?‖ Flit said. The force of Talon‘s answering punch snapped his head back and threw him off the bed. He landed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling out of breath with the feeling of warm blood running over his top lip and down his cheek. ―Next time I‘ll punch you twice,‖ Talon said, dropping the ropes onto Flit‘s chest. He started to leave the room. ―You said you wouldn‘t hit me!‖ Flit said, making a face when he tasted blood in his mouth. Talon stopped and looked over his shoulder. ―I lied,‖ he said. ―Assholes like me do that sometimes. If you bleed on my floor, you clean it up.‖ He left. Flit scowled, still not ready to move. He touched his upper lip gingerly and his fingers came away red with blood. He didn‘t think his nose was broken but it hurt like hell. He felt the bleeding slow and stop, and pushed himself to sit upright, swaying a little at the head rush. If Talon could give into his needs, Flit could give into his. That was fine. The griffin wanted to be a challenge. He could handle a challenge. It was time for a campaign of concern. 42

---A week and a half later his nose was no longer raw and tender to the touch. Since Talon obviously had emotional walls ten feet high, three feet thick, topped with barbed wire and patrolling guards, Flit had decided he would simply have to wear Talon down with kindness if he wanted to make any kind of progress. He‘d started bringing Talon a cup of coffee in the morning. He hadn‘t quite managed to avoid the mug thrown at his head that first morning, but he did on mornings two through five. By morning number six, Talon had merely sighed wearily and taken the mug from Flit; then he smacked Flit on the back of the head and told him to quit smiling like an idiot. It was probably time to step up his efforts. He needed to send another message to Zip – he was glad he‘d gone through the trouble of tracking down Talon‘s mysterious best friend in the first place. Getting Zip to show up hadn‘t worked as brilliantly as he‘d hoped it would but talking to Zip after Talon stormed off had given him some valuable insight. He needed to ask Zip what Talon‘s favorite foods were and what kind of music he liked and maybe a few other things like how you put up with the bastard for extended periods of time. He hummed tunelessly to himself as he stood under the shower spray and let the warm water sluice over his body. He liked to begin his day with a shower: it helped to wake him up and let him face the world clean and fresh, like a new start. He was washing soap out of his eyes when the bathroom door burst open. ―Sparrow,‖ Talon said, an edge of desperation in his voice. ―I need my feather back. Now.‖ ―What?!‖ Flit squawked, caught by surprise. He grabbed the shower curtain for 43

cover and cursed when he remembered he‘d redecorated and switched out the plain white curtain for a semi-transparent teal curtain with decorative fish stencils. The shower curtain left very little to the imagination. Talon‘s eyes raked down his body, flashing startled and hot for an instant. The griffin shook his head. ―I don‘t have time to argue,‖ he said, his jaw set and tense. ―I need it right now.‖ ―Why?‖ Flit asked, completely flummoxed. ―Didn’t I say not to argue?‖ Talon bellowed. Flit was so startled he jumped and lost his footing on the wet tile. He grabbed the shower curtain for support but the rings snapped and he tumbled down, taking the curtain with him in a tangle of wet skin and plastic. He would‘ve cracked his head on the bathtub‘s porcelain edge, but a large hand wrapped suddenly around the back of his skull, cushioning the blow. ―Now,‖ Talon said, staring down at him. He ripped his hand away and Flit‘s head thunked down hard onto the tub rim. ―Ouch!‖ He scrambled up and got out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his thin waist as he hurried after Talon. ―What‘s wrong, what‘s happened, what‘s this about?‖ Talon stopped and whirled around. ―Do you ever shut up? Give me my feather, you stupid sparrow! I swear, I am going to kill you if you don‘t –‖ ―All right, all right!‖ Flit said, genuinely alarmed by the griffin‘s tone. Talon looked wild-eyed and frantic; his face was flushed and he was breathing hard, like he‘d been running. Flit ran into his room and got the feather, racing back to Talon who took it with a relieved sigh. He jabbed the quill into the empty nail bed of his pinky finger and 44

shifted to griffin form. He shook his coat and stretched his wings then shifted back. The fingernail gleamed on his pinky finger. ―Perfect,‖ Talon said, giving his shoulders a roll. ―Now you should probably hide.‖ ―What?‖ Flit said dumbly. ―I don‘t have time –‖ He made a frustrated motion with his hands. ―There‘s an emergency and I‘ve been called in. Two Raptors I put away escaped and they were last seen heading this way. The Beakbreakers think they‘re after me.‖ Flit‘s eyes widened. ―You don‘t mean Sky Raptors do you? As in – as in seasoned criminals who kill people and terrorize the sky?‖ ―Afraid so,‖ Talon said darkly, baring his teeth in a very disquieting way. Flit felt like he needed to sit down. ―And they‘re after you. How lovely. I‘m so glad you have such a charming personality – you‘ll probably be able to talk them out of anything rash.‖ Talon cuffed the back of his head. ―Shut up, sparrow. Stay hidden. I‘d hate for anything to happen to you that I didn‘t do myself." ―Maybe they won‘t come here,‖ Flit said desperately. They locked eyes as twin angry shrieks echoed faintly from outside. Talon grinned at him, wide and hungry, and Flit nearly dropped his towel as he fell back. ―Yesssss,‖ Talon hissed, his voice dark and excited. He loped to the front door and threw it open, staring up at the two specks in the distance rapidly growing larger. He shifted to his griffin form in a ripple of powerful muscles and launched himself into the sky with the joyful scream of a hunter. ―Oh dear,‖ Flit said. ―He‘s going to kill something.‖ 45

5.Talon Talon squeezed his eyes shut as he launched into the sky; he let himself feel the joy of the wind lashing his face, the cold air pinking cheeks already aching from the fierce grin he couldn‘t stop. He opened his eyes and flapped his powerful wings hard, twice, shooting through the air faster than looked possible for his bulky frame. The two dots in the distance grew closer with every flap of his wings, and Talon flexed his claws in anticipation. He spared a backward glance to the sparrow; Flit was staring up at him, eyes and face pale, growing smaller by the second. Talon turned his head sharply, eyes intent on his enemies. He recognized them immediately: Hawk, one of the unofficial leaders of the pain in the ass Sky Raptors, and his sidekick, a weasely vulture named Roadkill. Both were in half-form, wings and claws out, faces sharp and beaky. Talon narrowed his eyes and snorted, shifting into his own half-form, for courtesy‘s sake. Did these two idiots really think they could take him? He‘d put them both away single-handedly before; he‘d do it again. Hawk let out a high, enraged shriek when he caught sight of Talon. Talon watched Hawk‘s red wings pump furiously faster, blurring in the air behind him; Roadkill struggled to keep up with his boss, his dark head bobbing at the end of his long neck, gangly body flapping awkwardly. He headed straight for Hawk, not intending to stop. The problem with Hawk, however, was that he didn‘t know how to lose a game of chicken. They crashed into each other in midair, a bundle of arms and claws and legs and wings and teeth, lashing out as they tumbled like a rock through the air. He heard Roadkill squawk and dive after them, and he managed to wedge a leg between their bodies and kick Hawk away. They both somersaulted apart with the force. 46

Talon hovered, wiping a hand across his mouth. Hawk had managed to get a punch in hard enough to make his lip bleed. ―So, Beakbreaker,‖ Hawk snarled. ―Ready to die?‖ ―I see your vacation hasn‘t helped your temper any,‖ he replied lazily. Hawk snarled, starting to lurch forward, but Roadkill put a cautionary hand on his arm. ―Boss,‖ he said urgently. ―C‘mon. Like we planned.‖ Hawk visibly calmed himself. ―Yeah. Just – yeah.‖ Talon raised an eyebrow. ―Not to rain on your parade or anything, fellows, but you can‘t plan for shit. Remember that plan you had to rob that bank? And remember how I beat the shit out of you and threw you in jail? Unless you planned on being giant pussies, that did not go well for you.‖ ―Roadkill‘s plan would have worked – ― Hawk started, and again, Roadkill‘s hand on his arm calmed him. Hawk laughed, nasal and harsh, and narrowed his eyes. ―We get word through the clouds, even in that hellhole. Heard you had a new friend.‖ ―What?‖ Talon tried to keep the confusion from his voice, but he could tell by Hawk‘s quick grin he hadn‘t succeeded. Maybe their time in prison had made them crazy. ―I see – now you want to hear about our plan. Too bad, Beakbreaker. We decided on exactly the best way to hurt you, and – ― ―Oh, fuck me,‖ Talon said. ―Can we get to the fighting, already? I hate bad guys who talk too much.‖ And with that, he launched himself at Hawk, his claws out. Hawk and Roadkill both shrieked: Hawk sounded triumphant, and Roadkill sounded sort of terrified. Talon had to wonder how a guy like that got to be a Sky 47

Raptor. He slammed into Hawk again, and they grappled wordlessly in the air, the only sound their heavy breaths and grunts of pain, while Roadkill hovered in the background. Talon didn‘t pay much attention to the buzzard, because he wasn‘t a threat. Hawk, on the other hand, was nearly as big and mean as him, so he had to concentrate on their fight. But just a little bit. He had the upper hand within minutes. ―You‘re not even trying,‖ he taunted, laughing in Hawk‘s face as he pushed hard and sent him spinning through the air. ―I could kick your ass with one wing tied behind my back,‖ Hawk snapped, eyes flashing, as he righted himself. ―Oh yeah? Maybe if you had a hundred wings.‖ Hawk shrieked again, so high and loud that Talon felt an eardrum burst and cursed at the sharp, blinding stab of pain. Warm liquid trickled from one ear. Claws landed in his chest, ripping at his flesh, and Hawk freed a hand to punch his face. ―I. Could. Kill. You. Easy,‖ Hawk bit out, each word punctuated by his fist. Talon laughed. ―Is there a breeze up here? I thought I felt something.‖ He grabbed a handful of Hawk‘s feathers and yanked, sending Hawk wheeling away, screaming and clutching at his wings; his hands came away red with blood. ―Motherfucker!‖ Hawk screamed, his voice high pitched enough so as to be nearly unintelligible. Talon winced. Hawk did have a throat on him. He was ready for Hawk when he came at him again, claws out; Hawk‘s upper lip had lengthened and hardened into a beak. Talon had to duck out of the way when Hawk‘s beak closed millimeters from his nose, with a snap so loud he saw 48

Hawk‘s jaw rattle. ―Crazy bitch,‖ Talon laughed, bringing both legs up and ramming them into Hawk‘s chest. His feet connected with Hawk‘s sternum, the force knocking Hawk‘s head back. As his body tumbled away, Talon darted forward and grabbed Hawk‘s ankle. Then he flapped his wings, spinning himself faster and faster in a circle, and slung Hawk away with a yell. Hawk flew up through the clouds, his scream dying as he went. He‘d be back in a few minutes, but that gave Talon time to deal with the other half of the duo. ―Fucker,‖ Talon said to the Hawk-shaped hole in the cloud above him. He looked around. Where was Roadkill? The skies were empty, and Talon moved in a slow circle, scanning. Roadkill probably thought he could sneak up on him. That was usually how skinny bastards like him fought. He could see his house in the distance, and he squinted his eyes. The sun was in his line of sight, making it hard to see, but he thought he spied a speck rapidly descending toward his front door. Hawk‘s words rushed back at him. …heard you had a new friend. ―Damn,‖ Talon said, and a weight slammed into his back. ---6.Flit Flit watched anxiously from the ground, saw the initial clash and tumble, and held his breath. It was too far away to make out anything more than tiny, dark blurred shapes. It looked like they hovered around each other for a long moment, and the fighting began again. 49

He bit his lip. Could Talon win against two Sky Raptors? He certainly hoped so. As he watched the two larger shapes fight, a smaller shape detached itself from the fray and sped away. Maybe one of them was running in fear? But no – the shape was heading closer to him. And it definitely wasn‘t Talon. It was a big, black-winged Sky Raptor, coming straight for him, faster than a storm cloud. Shit, shit, shit, Flit thought, slamming and locking the front door and running through the house. What was he going to do? He didn‘t have built in weapons to fight with, like Talon did. No claws or crazy giant muscles. He was a fucking sparrow! What could he do – twitter someone to death? He heard a thud against the front door and cursed, running into the kitchen. Maybe he could find a frying pan, or – or – A second later, the crack and splinter of wood exploded in the hall, and he heard claws scrabble across the floor. The kitchen door burst open, and a tall, thin man stood in the doorframe, his black wings hunched at his shoulders. He had wild, raven‘s wing eyes, unruly black hair, and a large, hooked nose. His Adams apple bobbed when he swallowed and grinned. Under different circumstances, like when he wasn‘t trying to kill Flit, he might have been attractive. ―Here, birdy, birdy,‖ the vulture said, stepping into the room. ―Stay back,‖ Flit warned. He fumbled behind him on the counter, his hands closing around a glass. ―Sorry,‖ said the vulture. ―But we have to kill you.‖ ―Me?‖ Flit said. ―Why could you possibly want to kill me?‖ The vulture cocked his head, and looked Flit up and down. Flit was very conscious of the fact that he was only wearing a towel and a terrified expression. ―My boss is looking for revenge. What better revenge than taking away the bird that thrice-cursed Beakbreaker is in love with?‖ 50

Flit laughed, a trifle hysterically. ―Oh, how woefully you have misread the situation.‖ The vulture‘s eyes narrowed. ―Nice try. Look, little birdy, this can go easy or this can go hard. I really don‘t want to hurt you, but I will.‖ He advanced slowly closer. ―I‘m sorry,‖ Flit said. ―How can you not want to hurt me? You said you wanted to kill me.‖ ―Oh,‖ the vulture said. ―Well, yeah, but we don‘t want to kill you right away. Talon has to suffer first. He has to know we have you in our clutches, and he can‘t save you.‖ ―Talon would not try to save me,‖ Flit said. ―Trust me.‖ The vulture shook his head. ―Oh yeah, he will. And when he does, we‘ll have a surprise all rigged up for him.‖ ―Why?‖ Flit said desperately. His other hand closed on the frying pan‘s handle. Now he was doubly armed. ―Why are you so intent on Talon? Why this life of crime in the first place?‖ The vulture laughed. ―You‘re trying to buy time. It‘s cute. Listen, you couldn‘t possibly understand – ― ―I‘m Penny Pinfeather,‖ Flit said. ―I make my living from understanding.‖ The vulture‘s eyes widened. ―You‘re Penny? Man, I read your column every day! I love it!‖ Flit sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Feathery Mother. Sometimes, he hated his celebrity. Right now, he loved it enough to marry it. ―So tell me,‖ Flit said, gripping the glass and the frying pan behind his back. 51

―Why all this anger?‖ ―I dunno,‖ the vulture said, looking torn. ―I don‘t really have time to talk…‖ ―But you have valuable things to say,‖ Flit coaxed, making sure he sounded soothing and inviting. ―Don‘t you think you deserve to be heard?‖ The vulture shrugged, but some of the tension left his shoulders. People always loved to talk about themselves, if they thought someone would listen. ―Prison was… bad.‖ He glanced sideways, and Flit could read the shame and fear in his expression. ―I never thought about ending up in prison, what would happen.‖ He looked back at Flit, his expression at once furious and pained. ―I got cornered once and… if it hadn‘t been for Hawk, I‘d be dead. As it was, I couldn‘t walk for a week.‖ Flit felt a shudder of revulsion tremble through his body. He wasn‘t so naïve as to misunderstand what the vulture implied. ―I see,‖ he said. ―It‘s lucky Hawk could protect you.‖ The vulture gave a small smile. ―Hawk never paid much attention to me, before that,‖ he said. ―I was just the guy with the plans. But he didn‘t blame me for the robbery plan going south, ‗cause one of the crew narced to the Beakies. It‘s the only reason we got caught.‖ ―So you‘re a tactician,‖ Flit said, encouraging. The vulture stopped coming forward and leaned against a kitchen chair. ―Yeah. I‘m pretty good at it. Anyway, I helped Hawk come up with a plan to break us out, and that totally worked.‖ Flit saw an opening. ―You don‘t think Hawk was using you, do you?‖ ―No,‖ the vulture said quickly. Too quickly. He‘d clearly had his own thoughts on the subject. ―This whole revenge thing is for Hawk and me,‖ he said. ―Hawk, ‗cause he hated that shithole prison and the guy who put him there, and me 52

‗cause… ‗cause of the other stuff.‖ ―But if you‘re clever enough to break out of prison, you‘re obviously very clever. Probably clever enough to do whatever you wanted.‖ ―I guess.‖ ―So why join the Sky Raptors?‖ The vulture glanced away again. ―I‘d see ‗em, in my old neighborhood. They aren‘t all bad, you know. When Hawk took over, he made sure they did good stuff, too. They‘d keep us safe from some of the other groups.‖ Flit blinked. ―But the Sky Raptors kill people.‖ ―Not Hawk‘s Skys,‖ the vulture said fiercely. ―His group is different.‖ ―You were caught robbing a bank,‖ Flit reminded him. ―Yeah.‖ Eyes narrowed, the vulture pushed himself off the chair and stalked forward. ―Your boy beat the shit out of us and put us away for that. We were robbing that bank to get money for fucking orphans.‖ Flit shrank against the counter. ―Orphans? Aren‘t there better, less illegal, ways to raise money?‖ ―Not fast enough,‖ the vulture snarled. ―Not fast enough to help the sick ones. No one cares about the bad neighborhoods, the ones at tree level. We have to take care of our own.‖ ―So do I,‖ Flit said. He brought the frying pan around as hard as he could, bashing it into the vulture‘s stomach. He couldn‘t be certain, but he thought he heard a rib crack. When the vulture doubled over, he smashed the glass down on his head and ran from the room. On his way out, he grabbed two more glasses to reload. 53

The vulture was quick to recover, and almost caught him in the hall, but Flit put the glasses to good use and fled into the living room. He searched frantically for another weapon. Talon‘s desk was pushed up against the window. Flit grabbed the first thing he could find and whirled around. The vulture stepped into the living room, his eyes flashing with rage. Blood trickled from his hairline, and he flexed his black-clawed hands. ―Let‘s try this again,‖ the vulture said. Flit tried to recall his self-defense training. Go for the crotch, he remembered. Funny, he'd never thought about how much his self-defense training reminded him of sex. ---7.Talon ―Ha ha!‖ Hawk crowed, his nails digging deep gouges into Talon‘s back and his legs clamped around Talon‘s waist. His clothes ripped as he struggled to throw Hawk off, hissing when Hawk grabbed a handful of his feathers in one hand, the other hand curling around the spot where Talon‘s wings met his shoulders. The bastard pinched the nerve there, hard, and laughed as Talon‘s wings spasmed in pain. ―Payback, bitch,‖ Hawk snarled into his ear, fingers tightening in his feathers. Talon didn‘t have to see his face to know he was grinning like a crazy psycho. Talon bucked hard and brought his elbow around, managing to catch Hawk in the temple. Hawk gave a hoarse cry and tumbled off his back, but still managed to rip out a few feathers as he went. Talon let out a roar, and twisted. Before Hawk could go far, Talon somersaulted in midair and grabbed him by the throat, squeezing until Hawk‘s eyes rolled back 54

in his head and he went limp. ―I don‘t think so, bitch,‖ he said smugly. He slung Hawk over his shoulder and flew toward his house with more speed than he‘d ever shown in his life. Hawk had been a distraction. He needed to get to Flit before the stupid sparrow got himself killed. ―After this is over,‖ he told Hawk‘s unconscious body, ―I‘m going to break your wings. Slowly. And I promise, your next hellhole won‘t be nearly as nice.‖ He landed on the ground with knee-jarring force, and dropped Hawk‘s body unceremoniously to the ground. The mangled wreckage of the front door swung from its hinges, and he crashed through it, sending bits of word scattering in his wake. Where the hell was Flit? The hall was a mess, covered in broken glass and debris and – was that a frying pan? He heard a scream from the living room and skidded inside, only to stop short. Flit was standing behind the couch, a handful of pens clutched against his bare chest, staring at Roadkill. Roadkill was curled on the floor in the fetal position, groaning and clutching between his legs. He also had three pens sticking out of his back, bloodstains growing around each one. Talon stared at Flit, and Flit stared back. Then the sparrow‘s lip trembled, and the pens cascaded from his hands. Talon barely made it to the sparrow‘s side in time to catch him. ―I stabbed him,‖ Flit said weakly, clutching at the tattered remains of Talon‘s shirt. 55

―With pens,‖ Talon agreed. ―Is he dead?‖ Flit‘s eyes were huge, the pupils blown black, only a sliver of color showing around the edges. He was probably going into shock. ―I don‘t think so,‖ Talon said. ―It‘s pretty hard to die by pen.‖ Flit nodded, closing his eyes. ―You okay?‖ Talon asked gruffly, letting his eyes inspect Flit‘s face for damage. Flit nodded silently again, so Talon shook him. ―Good, then get up.‖ Flit‘s eyes flashed open, and he looked supremely annoyed. ―Can‘t you give me five minutes to absorb the enormity of attacking another living creature? Not all of us treat violence so casually as you.‖ ―Don‘t be stupid,‖ Talon said, hauling them both to their feet. He had to get Roadkill out of the house, and he had to get both the Sky Raptors tied up and hauled in. It did not fucking help that Flit was still leaning against him, clad only in a towel, and still glistening from his shower. He tried not to remember the brief glimpse he‘d had of Flit in the bathroom. He propped Flit against the couch. The sparrow braced his arms against the back, taking deep breaths. He looked steady enough for now. Talon approached Roadkill warily. Roadkill looked up. His eyes were slits of pain, tears trailing from the corners. ―Keep that psycho away from me,‖ he said. Talon grinned. ―Aw, sorry, I have to – ― ―Not you,‖ Roadkill moaned, his arms curling around his stomach. The movement pulled at his back, and he hissed, his face scrunched tight with pain. ―That evil sparrow.‖ 56

Talon looked over his shoulder. Flit was still leaning against the couch, pale and shaky. ―Huh,‖ Talon said. And then rage crashed over him, so sharp he gasped. These fuckers had broken out of prison, made his lip bleed, tried to kill his – Flit – and trashed his house. Fuck! He was going to beat their heads in. He grabbed Roadkill by the hair and pulled him up. Then, smiling, he reached around and yanked out the pens. Roadkill gave a bloodcurdling scream, and slumped over, breathing hard. ―B-bastard,‖ he panted. ―Oh, yeah,‖ Talon said. He twisted both Roadkill‘s arms behind his back and shoved him down the hall and out the door. ―Wait!‖ Flit called behind them. He looked over his shoulder. ―Stay back,‖ he ordered. The sparrow ignored him, of course, and trailed at his heels. ―Talon, what are you going to – ah.‖ He made a tiny noise of pain as he treaded over broken glass, and Talon stopped so fast that Flit ran into his back. Talon ground his teeth together. He grabbed Roadkill‘s wrists with his right hand, and used his left hand to haul Flit over his shoulder. Flit only gave a tiny squeak of protest. When they were outside, Talon took a deep breath and practically threw Flit off his shoulder. Flit landed on his feet and bit his lip, wincing. ―Stupid sparrow,‖ he muttered, and cuffed Flit‘s head for good measure. 57

Flit glared at him, but just then Roadkill caught sight of Hawk, and struggled against Talon‘s hand, freeing himself. ―Hawk!‖ Roadkill said, scrambling to his fallen comrade. He brought his blood spattered hand shakily to Hawk‘s face. ―Hawk, open your eyes. C‘mon, Hawk. Wake up.‖ ―Idiot,‖ Hawk grumbled, blinking awake. ―Next time, you be the fucking decoy.‖ Roadkill laughed, low and shaky. ―Yeah, well, then next time, you get stabbed.‖ Hawk‘s eyes flew open. ―The fuck?!‖ he bellowed, trying to sit upright. He swayed and grabbed his head while Roadkill steadied him. ―Thought I told you not to get hurt, idiot.‖ ―Sorry, boss,‖ Roadkill said. ―I tried not to.‖ ―Pain in my ass,‖ Hawk said. ―Such a fucking pain.‖ He touched Roadkill‘s hand, and quickly pulled it away, like he was embarrassed. Flit‘s eyes were shining, and he clasped his hands in front of his chest, his mouth a little ‗o‘ of surprise. Talon rolled his eyes, making a move toward the two Raptors. ―Whatever you‘re thinking, stop.‖ Flit turned those shining eyes on him, and put a hand on his arm to halt him. ―Don‘t you see? They‘re together. No wonder Hawk is so insane about killing you! He probably blames you for – ‖ Talon frowned. ―Of course they‘re fucking together,‖ he interrupted. ―They‘re Sky Raptors. And they came here to kill you,‖ he finished helpfully. Flit shot him a look, like he couldn‘t believe Talon would ruin the moment. ―Yes, but why?‖ 58

―Why?‖ Talon repeated. ―What do you mean, why? They‘re evil shits, that‘s why!‖ ―I don‘t think so,‖ Flit said firmly. ―They just have issues they need to work out. Look at them!‖ He pointed to where Roadkill knelt, Hawk‘s head across his knees. Hawk struggled to get up so he could inspect Roadkill‘s wounds, and Roadkill kept trying to push him down so he could brush Hawk‘s hair from his face and inspect the bruises forming around his neck. They were both being very careful not to touch each other too much. ―Very sweet,‖ Talon said blandly. ―Hey, guess what? Still not over them trying to kill you. Or me,‖ he added. Why hadn‘t he said that first? Flit folded his arms, and fuck, Talon already recognized that gesture. It meant Flit was about to be really annoying. ―Bring them inside,‖ Flit said. ―We need to get them cleaned up. And I need to have a session with them. I think I was wrong. They aren‘t together yet, though they clearly should be. I suppose I‘ll have to put on my matchmaking hat.‖ ―What are you even –?‖ ―And they need to express some of their feelings of frustration toward society. No, I don‘t think they‘re bad people. They simply need someone to listen.‖ Talon stared. ―Just how crazy are you? I‘m not inviting them into my house! They‘re criminals! I don‘t owe them a fucking thing.‖ ―Oh, yes,‖ Flit said pointedly. ―That reminds me. I‘ll need that flight feather back as soon as possible.‖ ―What?‖ Talon said, his surprise quickly turning to anger. ―Listen, you little idiot, I just saved your life, so I don‘t owe you a thing, either.‖ ―No,‖ Flit said. ―You really do. The way I see it, the pens saved my life, not you. You were the reason my life was in jeopardy in the first place. So you still 59

owe me. Now, do bring them inside, there‘s a good griffin. Meanwhile, I‘ll go put on some clothes.‖ With that, he strode away; his head held high, and a towel riding low on his hips. Talon gaped after him, and did not stare at the curve of his ass beneath the towel. What the hell was the sparrow playing at? Oh, right, like he was going to bring two criminals into his house, so Flit could play ornopsy – orthopsy – orni – whatthe-fuck-ever doctor. He glowered for another minute. ―I‘m going to tie them up,‖ he threatened, but Flit was too far away to hear him, nearly inside, and Talon could hear the concession in his own voice. Besides, Flit might even enjoy seeing them tied up – he‘d already shown a disturbing predilection for ropes. ―Fine. I‘m going to tie you up,‖ Talon addressed the Raptors, and they looked at him like he was crazy. Maybe he was. He really hated that fucking sparrow.

8. Flit. When Flit came out of his bedroom, he found Hawk and Roadkill on the floor in the living room, handcuffed to the coffee table. Talon stood near the door, his arms crossed, glaring like he could burn holes through their heads. When he caught Flit‘s eye, his expression said, I’m going to indulge you, but only because I think this might be entertaining. And if it’s not entertaining, then I’ll entertain myself by punching something. Probably you. Or them. Or you and them. Flit wasn‘t sure how someone‘s expression could say so much, but Talon had very expressive eyebrows. 60

The Raptors, for their part, looked uneasy and confused. ―Hello,‖ Flit said amicably. ―Now that we‘ve all had a chance to calm down, I thought we should talk.‖ ―Who the fuck‘re you?‖ Hawk asked, his mouth twisting. Roadkill leaned over and whispered something in his ear, and Hawk rolled his eyes. ―Oh, shit, no. A pansy advice columnist? Who the hell reads that fucking crap?‖ ―Huh,‖ Talon said, leaning against the doorframe. He‘d changed his clothes, and now he wore a tight black t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders. ―I kinda like this guy.‖ ―Shut up,‖ Flit said. ―If you‘re going to disrupt the experience, you can leave.‖ ―It‘s my damn house,‖ Talon said. ―Do you have that flight feather for me?‖ Flit asked, raising an eyebrow. Flit took an unhealthy satisfaction in the way Talon‘s jaw tightened as he clenched his hands into fists. Flit had to admit, Talon did have a certain ―angry psychopath‖ appeal, especially now with his swollen bottom lip and the rough bruise on his cheek; he looked exactly like that boy every mother warned her daughter about, because every daughter would turn into a terrible slut with him around, and he was scowling right at Flit, his face half-shadowed. He stood there, his body huge and menacing and his thin hips and muscled legs encased in dark jeans, and he only needed a cigarette dangling from his lips to complete the picture. Taking it all in, Flit was very glad Talon worked for the Beakbreakers and was supposed to be the good guy. If this wasgood, he didn't want to see bad. ―Whoa,‖ Roadkill said. ―That crazy sparrow has one of your flight feathers?‖ ―Shut your beak,‖ Talon snapped, jerking his gaze away from Flit. ―Or I‘ll shut it 61

for you, and you can talk to Flit through fucking hand signals.‖ He stopped, then smirked. ―If I don‘t break your fingers, too.‖ Hawk struggled against his bindings. ―You fucking touch him, and I will kill you. I don‘t care what it takes, Beakie, I will tie you down and peck out your liver. ‖ Talon snorted. ―Oh yeah? Those are pretty big words. But that‘s always been your problem, Raptor. You‘ve got a big beak, and nothing else to show. What‘s wrong? Overcompensating?‖ ―You stupid – ― ―Enough!‖ Flit said loudly. They could have a wingspan contest on their own time. Feathery Mother, they were both such idiots, it was a wonder they weren‘t friends. ―You can‘t tell me what to do, you – ― Hawk began. ―Boss,‖ Roadkill said softly, and Hawk immediately subsided, grumbling under his breath. Flit smiled. Ah, to business. ―How long have you two been together?‖ he asked conversationally. ―Huh?‖ Hawk said. Roadkill glanced quickly at Hawk, blushing, and stammered out, ―I, uh, joined Hawk‘s gang when I was fifteen.‖ ―Oh yeah,‖ Hawk said. ―Man, you were skinny.‖ Roadkill laughed, and bumped Hawk‘s shoulder. ―I‘ve been with them ever since. So, like, six years?‖ 62

Flit nodded encouragingly. ―And it‘s been a good relationship?‖ Hawk looked at him like he was crazy. ―Relationship? Uh, Roadkill‘s been real good on the team. He comes up with smart plans. I mean, he‘s pretty much a frickin‘ genius.‖ ―I see,‖ Flit said. ―Have you ever told Roadkill how much you admire his… plans?‖ Hawk shifted uncomfortably. ―Shit, yeah. I mean. He knows how I feel.‖ ―Ah, does he?‖ Flit asked, staring hard at Hawk, and letting his tone be suggestive. Hawk went tomato red. ―No! I mean – yes! Yeah, he fucking does! About his plans! Listen, quit with the mind-whammying. I know how you brain dudes operate.‖ Flit coughed to cover his laugh. It was clear both men had feelings for each other. But why hadn‘t either made a move? There must be a reason for their hesitance. With Roadkill, he was pretty sure that the vulture‘s hero -worship wouldn‘t allow him to say anything, because he didn‘t think Hawk could be interested in him. But Hawk didn‘t seem the sort to sit quietly when he wanted something. What was the problem? ―I promise,‖ Flit said. ―I am not whammying you. We‘re simply talking, aren‘t we? Roadkill, how do you feel hearing how highly Hawk thinks of you?‖ Roadkill looked mortified. He kept darting glances between Hawk and Flit‘s faces, like a butterfly afraid to alight in one place because the ground looks sticky and dangerous. ―I feel… good?‖ Roadkill offered. ―Excellent,‖ Flit said. ―Do you want to tell Hawk how you feel about him?‖ 63

Roadkill‘s face went pale, then flushed, then pale again. It was a cycle of horror and mortification, and it made his face look like a movie screen, lights flashing across it: red, white, red, white. ―No?‖ he squeaked, sounding unsure. Hawk laughed. ―Aw, c‘mon, kiddo. Lemme have it. I know I can be a hardass. You don‘t gotta baby me.‖ Roadkill‘s face settled on flushed. ―Leave it alone, Hawk.‖ ―Perhaps he doesn‘t want to talk about it,‖ Flit agreed. ―After all, he‘s had a rather harrowing experience today. But I‘m sure he‘s extremely grateful for all you‘ve done for him. Especially for how you‘ve protected him in prison.‖ Just like that, Hawk‘s humorous expression melted like hot wax, and his eyes flickered with deadly flame. ―What the fuck do you know about that?‖ ―Only what he told me,‖ Flit answered calmly. He could see Talon studying him from the corner of his eye, looking interested in the exchange. Hawk twisted around to look at Roadkill. ―You talked to him about – about the – about that?‖ ―He‘s Penny Pinfeather,‖ Roadkill mumbled down to his bound hands, like that explained everything. ―Fuck,‖ Hawk said. ―I gotta watch you every second. You‘re such a goddamn kid. He was just tryin‘ to get to you, idiot.‖ ―I‘m not a kid,‖ Roadkill said sharply. Hawk wouldn‘t meet his eyes. Bingo, Flit thought. 64

―Hawk,‖ Flit said. ―Roadkill‘s right. He‘s not a child anymore. He can take care of himself.‖ ―No, he can‘t!‖ Hawk snapped, his hands curling into fists. Tendons stood out in his forearms. ―You weren‘t there, you didn‘t see what they – he was so damn tiny compared to those fuckers. And that wasn‘t the last time they tried for him.‖ ―What?‖ Roadkill said, his voice skittering through shock and fear. Hawk breathed out harshly through his nose. ―I wasn‘t gonna tell you.‖ ―Dammit, boss!‖ Roadkill said. ―You said we were partners! You said you‘d let me handle it!‖ ―Yeah, well, I fucking lied. I‘m an asshole, I do that.‖ Déjà vu, Flit thought, glancing at Talon. Talon‘s mouth was set in a grim line as he listened, but he met Flit‘s eyes, and one corner of his mouth curled up in acknowledgement. ―I couldn‘t let ‗em hurt you again, Roadie, okay?‖ Hawk said pleadingly, his eyes locked with Roadkill. Tension hummed in the air between them. ―Why?‖ Flit asked. Hawk‘s head whipped around like he‘d forgotten there was anyone else in the room but Roadkill. ―Why do you think, shithead? ‗Cause he‘s a Raptor. We take care of our own.‖ ―I‘m sure that was the reason,‖ Flit said, and saw Hawk‘s shoulders relax fractionally. ―At first.‖ Hawk glared. ―I don‘t know what you‘re playing at, fucker, but the only reason I helped Roadkill out was ‗cause he was one of my crew.‖ 65

―Hawk,‖ Flit said patiently. ―You should tell Roadkill you have feelings for him.‖ The vulture straightened, staring at Hawk with a mixture of hope and disbelief. ―Boss?‖ he said hesitantly. ―What? No,‖ Hawk said, giving a loud, grating laugh. ―No way. That‘s nuts. I don‘t have feelings for him. I‘m not some twittery little titmouse.‖ With each word, Roadkill‘s body slumped further against the coffee table: his mouth drooped, his shoulders hunched, and even his hair seemed to fall dejectedly flat. ―All right,‖ Flit said. Feathery Mother, people could be such idiots about their feelings. Thank goodness – it meant he‘d always have a job. ―Then, Roadkill, would you care to tell Hawk you‘re in love with him?‖ Roadkill let out a pained groan, and his head flopped back onto the couch. ―Don‘t listen to the crazy bird, boss,‖ he said, staring at the ceiling. His neck and face were a brilliant crimson. Hawk scowled at Flit. ―Stop messin‘ with the kid. He‘s not in love with me. He‘s got better taste than that.‖ ―I really don‘t,‖ Roadkill said quietly. ―What?‖ Hawk said. ―You don‘t know what you‘re talking about. Quit saying stupid shit.‖ ―Hawk – ― Roadkill began. ―I don‘t wanna hear it,‖ Hawk said dangerously. ―After what happened, I promised myself I‘d look after you.‖ ―I think,‖ Flit said, tapping his chin with a finger, ―that you still see Roadkill as a skinny fifteen-year-old, and not the man he‘s become. You won‘t let yourself 66

express your feelings, because you know how much he looks up to you, and you don‘t want to feel you‘ve exploited that trust. You probably blame yourself for getting him locked up. I‘m sure seeing him abused sexually in prison only cemented your guilt.‖ Hawk grit his teeth and said, ―That‘s not –‖ at the same time Talon made a strangled noise and pushed away from the wall. ―What?‖ the griffin asked. ―Talon,‖ Flit said sternly. ―Not now. You can go yell at the warden later.‖ ―No,‖ Talon said. ―Let me get this straight.‖ He looked at Roadkill. ―You were – Did you report it?‖ Roadkill laughed. ―Yeah right. When three of the guys were guards?‖ Talon stalked out of the room without another word. ―Where‘s he goin‘?‖ Hawk asked idly, obviously trying to shift the conversation. ―Talon has a very particular moral code,‖ Flit said. ―I imagine he would cheerfully beat up criminals before he put them in prison, but if they were beaten up while in prison, he would be alarmingly angry.‖ ―Oh,‖ Hawk said, like that made perfect sense. For him and Talon, it probably did. Flit shared a commiserating look with Roadkill. ―Now, where were we?‖ he said. ―Oh, yes. We were about to have some honest conversation. Roadkill, are you in love with Hawk?‖ Roadkill sighed and asked plaintively, ―Can‘t we just go back to prison?‖ ―No,‖ Flit said, making his voice steely. ―I‘m going to peck at you until you both 67

break.‖ Roadkill was silent for a long time. ―Yeah,‖ he said finally, in a tiny, frightened voice. He kept his head down, eyes searching the carpet like he could find answers in the fibers. ―What?‖ Hawk said. He stared at Roadkill, but Roadkill wouldn‘t look up. ―Hey,‖ Hawk said, more gently. ―Roadie?‖ Roadkill finally looked up, and his eyes were shining and black. ―Sorry, boss,‖ he said, in a wavery voice. ―I can try to stop. Loving you, I mean.‖ ―Aw, shit,‖ Hawk said. ―You can‘t be in love with me, kid.‖ ―He‘s not a kid,‖ Flit said. Hawk was either completely in denial about his feelings, or he was an ass. Actually, he might be both, but Flit was nearly positive Hawk was just as in love with Roadkill as Roadkill was with him. ―He is a kid,‖ Hawk said grimly, his jaw locked. ―Am not,‖ Roadkill said, scowling, sounding very much like a kid. He and Hawk locked eyes, and after a charged moment, Hawk‘s lip twitched, and they both started laughing. It was nervous laughter, but it reminded Flit of an egg hatching: a tiny crack widening and widening until the shell burst open and new life greeted the world. Flit watched them, and felt a warm glow in his stomach. Talon came back into the room then, looking smug, which probably meant he‘d gotten to yell at someone on the phone. He took his place against the wall and folded his arms, nodding in an annoyingly kingly way for Flit to continue. Flit narrowed his eyes, feeling phantom feathers bristle. Talon always acted like he owned the damn place. Well, Flit mused, he supposed Talon did own this place; it was his house. Though, it certainly hadn‘t looked like a home before Flit had started making improvements. He was nearly finished, too. He might have to 68

think of throwing a housewarming party when he was done. ―Look,‖ Roadkill said, ducking his head again. He took a deep breath; and his laughter died away. ―I know how I feel, and it sucks, yeah, but I can deal with it. I‘ve been dealing. I mean, I‘ve pretty much loved Hawk since I joined up with him. Sorry, Hawk,‖ Roadkill said at Hawk‘s sharp, disbelieving noise. ―Anyway, I know you‘re Penny and all, I just think maybe you‘ve got it wrong. I‘m no thing special. The boss here, he‘d never go for somebody like me.‖ ―That‘s not true,‖ Hawk said quickly, and then made a face, like he wanted to kick himself. ―I mean, uh.‖ ―Do go on,‖ Flit encouraged. ―Boss?‖ Roadkill was biting his lip, staring at Hawk, and even though he was a tall man, in that moment he looked very small. Hawk took a deep breath. ―I‘d fucking die for you,‖ he admitted. Flit frowned. That wasn‘t the declaration of love he was searching for, but it seemed to make Roadkill suddenly glow with light. ―Yeah?‖ the vulture asked, his dark eyes dancing. ―Yeah,‖ Hawk said. ―But I‘m old, Roadie. I‘m old, and mean, and set in my damn ways. I‘m not the right guy for you. You‘re smart, kid, you‘ve got a future. And it‘s not with the Raptors, either. I can‘t let you get hurt again.‖ ―I can make my own decisions, Hawk.‖ ―Fuck me,‖ Hawk swore. ―Listen, kid, you don‘t know – ― ―Stop it, Hawk,‖ Roadkill said. Hawk, miraculously, stopped. 69

―I love you,‖ Roadkill said fiercely, daring Hawk to argue. ―And I‘m gonna stay with the Raptors as long as you’re with them, you got that?‖ ―Fine!‖ Hawk exploded. ―Then it looks like early fucking retirement for me, huh?!‖ They both froze, matching angry flushes decorating their cheeks, their chests rising with rapid breaths. ―What?‖ Roadkill said. ―Shit,‖ Hawk said. ―You can‘t leave the Raptors,‖ Roadkill said, his voice uncertain. ―It‘s your life.‖ ―Not anymore, clearly,‖ Hawk said. He glared at Flit like this was his entire fault. Flit compressed his lips to hide his smile. Roadkill blinked, and then a sly smile spread across his lips. ―Are you gonna quit trying to tell me what‘s good for me?‖ He gazed up at Hawk through his dark lashes. Hawk faltered. ―I… could try.‖ ―Are you gonna tell me you love me?‖ ―Don‘t push it, kid,‖ Hawk said. Roadkill laughed, bright and happy, and Flit could see the way Hawk‘s face softened. ―I got a question for you,‖ Hawk said, one corner of his mouth tilting, until it became a leering grin. He shifted closer to Roadkill. ―Gonna come over here and kiss me with that pretty beak?‖ 70

Flit thought Hawk looked very nervous, despite his bravado. Roadkill beamed, his face shining joyfully, and echoed Hawk‘s earlier words with an impish grin. ―I could… try.‖ ―Do more than try,‖ Hawk suggested. Roadkill grinned. And then they were lurching toward each other, their handcuffs clanking awkwardly as their fingers fumbled and their chests pressed together. Roadkill crashed into Hawk like he was oxygen and Roadkill was suffocating. Hawk‘s hands came up and fisted in Roadkill‘s shirt, mashing their mouths even closer. It looked painful, but, oh, it looked sweet. Flit watched the two men wistfully for a minute. He‘d like to find someone like that, someone who loved him and cared about him and protected him. But he was too busy solving everyone else‘s problems to worry about his own love life. Still, he dated, he had sex, he was okay. Besides, it was more important to help other people before he worried about himself. That‘s just how it was. ―Isn‘t it so much better when people talk things out?‖ he asked on a sigh, smiling and clapping his hands together. Talon snorted. Hawk and Roadkill were still kissing messily on the floor when Talon tugged him into the hall. ―Okay, are we done with the love fest?‖ Talon asked. ―Because they‘re fugitives, and they‘re going back to prison, oh,now.‖ ―What?‖ Flit said. Feathery Mother, Talon did not have a romantic bone in his body – just bastard bones. ―No, no, no. I don‘t think they should go to prison at all.‖ 71

Talon rolled his eyes to the ceiling, like he was seeking strength. ―They broke the fucking law, sparrow. That means they pay the price. Love doesn‘t magically turn the bars of their cell into rainbow beams and float them out to freedom on a cloud of unicorns and puppies.‖ ―You think those two are criminals?‖ ―Uh – yeah,‖ Talon said. The fucking duh was implied. ―Well, I don‘t,‖ Flit said firmly. ―I mean, yes, technically, they‘re criminals.‖ ―Technically? Like, technically, I‘m about to punch you? They are criminals, sparrow.‖ ―But they‘re not bad guys.‖ ―Yes, they are,‖ Talon said. ―That is the fucking definition of criminal. A criminal is a bad guy.‖ ―No, they aren‘t bad guys,‖ Flit insisted. ―They only performed criminal actions. They themselves are not bad. Just the things they did.‖ ―Oh, fuck,‖ Talon said. ―You sound like a honking lawyer.‖ Flit smiled to himself. Talon didn‘t need to know that Flit had been captain of his fly school debate team. ―As a licensed ornipsychiatrist, I‘d be prepared to offer testimony to help them earn a reduced sentence. They only robbed that bank to get money for sick orphans. They‘ve already served time. And Talon,‖ he said, putting a hand on the griffin‘s arm. ―Can you tell me that Roadkill hasn‘t suffered enough?‖ Talon‘s jaw was tense, and a muscle ticked under his left eye. He glared at Flit‘s hand until he removed it. 72

―What‘d you have in mind?‖ he growled. ―Community service,‖ Flit said. ―Specifically, in the tree-level communities. Those are the people they were trying to help in the first place. And if we brought attention to some of the conditions there, maybe we could build more support for service efforts down there.‖ ―Whatever,‖ Talon said. ―I‘ll make some calls. Just get them to stop making out on my living room floor.‖ ―Jealous?‖ Flit asked. ―Shut up, sparrow,‖ Talon said, and smacked the back of his head. Hard. ―Ow,‖ Flit grumbled to himself, rubbing his head as he watched Talon stalk back into the living room. Well, Talon was still a grumpy bastard, but Flit hadn‘t died today, and he‘d helped two people get together. He‘d count the day a win. Now he needed to talk to Zip, and step up his attacks. ---9. Talon. Two weeks later, Talon was starting to feel like his life wasn‘t in his control anymore. Hawk and Roadkill were frequent guests at his house. If somebody had asked him a month ago, ―Hey, think you‘ll be harboring any criminals soon?‖ he would have laughed and probably punched them in the face, just for the hell of it. But ever since Flit had helped get them off with only community service, Hawk and Roadkill acted like he was the best thing since birdseed. Tonight they were having another one of their little slumber parties, camped out on the living room floor eating popcorn and giggling like fucking girls. Well, Flit and Roadkill were giggling. Hawk just looked like he was there for the food; he was scarfing down 73

the popcorn and rolling his eyes at Roadkill. Except every once in a while Roadkill would lean over and kiss him, and then Hawk‘s eyes said he was definitely not there for the popcorn. Talon scowled. He usually came back from work tired and cranky. He hated doing desk stuff. He needed to be on patrol; he needed wind over his feathers, and freedom, and bad guys faces smashing at the end of his knuckles. He was going crazy without his flight feather. When he was home now, Flit was always underfoot, asking him about his day, fixing his coffee, doing his laundry, and asking him about wallpaper and paint chips. He couldn‘t think with Flit around. Flit cooked dinner or ordered out most nights, and somehow he always managed to pick Talon‘s favorite meals. Talonwanted to refuse to have dinner with Flit every night, but he wasn‘t about to turn down a plate of buffalo wings. (Flying buffalo was a rare enough delicacy.) And then he couldn‘t turn down the flying fish, or the chicken casserole, or the birdseed-on-the-cob, or Chinese food from that place he loved on the corner, or… And Flit had started wearing stuff. His clothes weren‘t just clothes anymore – they were tailored and expensive looking, and his sling matched whatever he had on that day. Who ever heard of coordinating your sling with your wardrobe? He even smelled nice, for feather‘s sake; when he walked by, Talon would get a whiff of cologne that made his head spin. He‘d asked Flit to stop wearing the damn scent, but Flit had looked at him like he was losing his mind and said he didn‘t wear cologne. The stupid sparrow was trying to mess with his head, he knew it. He just liked annoying Talon. And Talon did not understand – no, strike that, he didn‘t want to understand – why seeing Hawk and Roadkill together gave him a funny ache in the pit of his stomach. Every time he looked at Flit, the ache got worse. He needed to get laid. 74

―I‘m going out,‖ he snarled, grabbing his jacket as he headed for the door. The three of them looked up from their powwow on his living room floor. ―Out? Where?‖ Flit asked archly. ―Don‘t wait up,‖ was Talon‘s reply. His skin was itching, and energy thrummed tight and coiled in his belly, like somebody‘d stuck a livewire in his gut. He half imagined that when he squinted, he could see his skin vibrating. ―He‘s totally a jerk, isn‘t he?‖ he heard Roadkill say on his way out. ―He is,‖ Flit agreed, laughing. Talon scowled. The sparrow could have at least stuck up for him. He made sure to slam the door. ---He came back five hours later, hosed out of his mind, with a pretty little tawny owl he‘d picked up at the bar. The kid probably wasn‘t out of fly school yet, and no way those tailfeathers were real, but Talon didn‘t care. The kid looked sexy and trashy as hell, and all he needed was a willing hole. He‘d had way too much Domesticated Turkey tonight, and he was gonna feel it like a train wreck tomorrow, but right now he was feeling nothing but good, and that low buzzing under his skin was drowned out by the alcohol buzz in his blood. ―Who is that?‖ Flit asked, as the two of them stumbled through the front door, snickering and passing a bottle back and forth. Flit was standing in the hall, wearing his stupid blue silk pajamas that made his eyes look golden brown, holding a mug of something steaming cupped in his hands. He eyed the tawny owl in disgust. 75

Talon stumbled around and squinted at the giggly, half naked young man. ―Thass ennertainment,‖ he slurred. ―No, that is tailbait,‖ Flit said. ―And probably a prostitute.‖ ―Yeah,‖ Talon said, grinning stupidly. ―Prob‘ly. Cheap. An‘ a good one.‖ He hiccupped and watched Flit‘s lip curl in distaste. ―You‘re going to have a terrible hangover tomorrow. I promise, I will not be sympathetic.‖ Talon ignored him. Let Flit see how it felt for a change. ―Where‘s yer new buddies?‖ he asked, narrowing his dry, reddened eyes as he peered around searching for Hawk and Roadkill. ―They‘ve gone home. If you‘d been paying attention, you‘d know that.‖ Talon blinked. ―They wen‘ wha‘?‖ Flit made an angry noise. Maybe not an angry noise – had he ever seen Flit angry? Huh. Yeah, Flit got angry when Talon punched him and stuff. He yelled. His face got splotchy. But his face never got so pinched and tight, or his voice so calm and cool. ―They went home,‖ Flit was saying, his eyes narrowed as he watched the owl mouth hot kisses along Talon‘s shoulder through the cotton of his shirt. Talon wrenched his thoughts back to the present. He could feel little Talon get very interested in what the owl was doing. ―Mmm,‖ he said appreciatively, taking the bottle from the owl‘s hand and downing a long swallow, his throat working. A drop of whisky escaped his lips and left a warm trail down his neck. Flit made an ugly, hissing noise when the owl leaned up and lapped at the trail. ―I‘m going to bed,‖ Flit said icily. ―There's a lot going on tomorrow, so be up early. I‘ll tell you all about it in the morning when I bang things loudly in the kitchen and shove a jalapeno and bacon omelet under your nose.‖ 76

The tawny owl stepped closer to Flit, and touched his arm, rubbing his fingers up and down in slow motions meant to be sensuous. Whoa, Talon wanted to say. That is not a good idea. That little sparrow looks pissed, and he is fucking deadly with pens.But his alcohol-addled brain wasn‘t processing fast enough. ―‘Nother fifty bucks, I‘d do him too,‖ the owl said, clearly unconcerned by the rage radiating from Flit‘s small frame in cold, black waves, or the way Flit very deliberately set his mug down on the hall table and began to reach for an umbrella in the stand next to it. Smiling, and still oblivious, the owl swayed toward Flit and licked a stripe across the sparrow‘s lower lip, leaving it glistening with spit. Flit made a horrified noise and jerked back, but Talon was already reaching forward, grabbing the owl‘s arm with bruising force and ripping him away from Flit. ―Back off,‖ Talon said darkly, squeezing the owl‘s wrist until he felt bones grind together and heard the owl gasp in pain. He pulled the owl up against his body and ground his dick against the young bird‘s hip, growling, ―Mine.‖ And Feathery Mother, help him, he really wanted to believe he was talking about the owl, but his mind kept replaying the way Flit‘s lips looked wet and shiny; he tried to smother the image with thoughts of how the little owl would look face down and spread open, but the pictures kept sloshing back and forth in his head, mixing until he couldn‘t really remember who he was supposed to be fucking tonight. He grabbed the owl under the arms and hauled him over his shoulder. The owl giggled and pinched his ass, fingers questing under the waistband of Talon‘s jeans. Talon grinned. Oh, yeah, that‘s right. He was fucking the owl. ―Ugh,‖ Flit said, wrinkling his nose. His face was flushed, and his words were 77

clipped and short, still pissed. ―You two disgusting people have fun.‖ ―We will,‖ Talon promised, loping down the hall to his bedroom. He fucked the tawny owl three times that night: once pressing the owl‘s face into the pillows, ass wiggling in the air, begging for it; once on all fours, sliding his fingers in right alongside his cock and making the owl scream and moan, and once on his back with the owl riding his dick. The owl screeched when he came, and he sucked cock like a star. He kept whimpering stuff like, ―yeah‖ and ―more‖ and ―harder‖ and ―fucking huge‖ and Talon just wanted to get off. He dug one hand into the owl‘s hip, the other hand holding the bottle. He took long pulls of Turkey while he shoved into the owl. The owl didn‘t seem to mind. In fact, he leaned down when he was riding Talon and drank the whisky right from his mouth. Halfway through the night, he let the bottle fall over. The whisky spilled out and soaked the bed, staining the sheets a golden brown that matched Flit‘s eyes. He fell asleep in a tangle of sticky arms and legs and stale booze. ---He woke up to loud clanging noises and off-key singing at the top of somebody‘s lungs. Three fucking guesses who was being a pain in the ass this early in the morning. He groaned and rolled over to bury his head in the pillows. His throat felt rough and smoky, like he‘d been sucking down cigarettes and sandpaper, and his head was killing him. Tiny woodpeckers danced inside his skull, stabbing at the back of his eyes. It hurt to blink. It tasted like something furry had died in his mouth. No, scratch that. It tasted like something furry had shit in his mouth, and then died. The sheets smelt like sweat and sex and whisky, and there was dried come 78

flaking off his stomach. It was uncomfortable as hell, and he didn‘t feel any better than yesterday: the same low, coiled knot thrummed in his stomach, and his skin was tight and itchy. The itchy maybe could be attributed to the leftover bodily fluids. He couldn‘t remember much after the bar last night, but he could remember flashes of flesh and movement, and warm heat around his dick. He vaguely remembered a face, but it was blurry, like his brain wasn‘t sure. Wait – an owl. He remembered a little, tarty owl. And coming home. And a – ―….HOPPIN’ AND A BOPPIN’ AND A SINGIN’,‖ bellowed out from the kitchen. Talon cursed fervently, the sound ringing in his ears until they felt like they were bleeding. He cursed alcohol, and sparrows, and hangovers, and then he picked up his alarm clock and threw it at his bedroom door. After the crash – and fuck, that had been a stupid idea, he thought, grabbing his aching head – there was a moment of blessed silence. Then his door flew open, and Flit sailed into the room. ―Good moooorning, sunshine!‖ Flit crooned, as loudly as fucking possible. He bounced into the room, brandishing a plate, and made sure to open Talon‘s curtains wide. After glancing over his shoulder to make sure the burning sunlight was streaming across the bed and directly into Talon‘s eyes, he sauntered up next to the bed and peered down at Talon with wide, guileless eyes. ―Did you sleep well? Your guest left already. But don‘t worry, I made certain he caught the school bus on time. Funny, he didn‘t want to stick around to have breakfast with me. But I know you’ll be hungry,‖ Flit went on, his laugh maniacal. ―I even made this wonderful greasy, smelly omelet for you, chock full of jalapeno and bacon and sausage and pepper and parmesan.‖ And he shoved the plate under Talon‘s nose. Talon got one whiff of jalapeno and meat and stinky cheese and sizzling fat, and 79

was up off the bed and into his bathroom so fast he stubbed his toe on the doorframe, and cracked his knees as he dropped to the tile. ―You fucker,‖ he groaned, hugging the toilet bowl, as he emptied the contents of his stomach. Flit stepped into the bathroom, picking an invisible piece of lint from his shirt. ―How very ungrateful. I go to all the trouble of making breakfast for you, and you can‘t even say thank you.‖ ―Fuck you,‖ Talon said, getting another whiff of egg and, ugh, over the bowl again. He wiped the back of his shaky hand across his mouth. ―Just ‗cause you‘re pissed that owl pawed all over you last night – ― ―Over me!?!‖ Flit started shrilly. Then he took a deep breath to compose himself, and dumped the omelet on Talon‘s head. He stalked out, and Talon sputtered as he rose up, eggs in his hair and fucking pissed off violence on the horizon, but the sudden movement made his head spin, and he sank to his knees, cursing and pulling bits of egg off his face. ―I am going to kill that little shit,‖ he told the toilet. The toilet didn‘t seem very sympathetic. The racket started up again from the kitchen, and Talon buried his head in his hands. ―…OH, WHEN THE SWAAAAAALLOWS come BAAAAAAACK…‖ ---Talon made it out to the kitchen an hour later. He‘d showered and gotten the food from his hair. His stomach had finally given up puking stuff it didn‘t have, and his head throbbed at a manageable level. ―Oh, look. It emerges,‖ Flit said acidly. He was at the table, reading the paper 80

one-handed, and eating a bowl of cereal. No greasy hell-spawn omelet for him, Talon noted. Today Flit‘s sling was light blue, complimenting his navy shirt and dark chinos. His hair was perfectly styled. Talon wanted to stomp past him, but stomping was unnecessarily jarring at the moment, so he settled for shuffling past pointedly and yanking the paper from Flit‘s hands. He collapsed on the other chair. ―Hey!‖ Flit began. ―I swear,‖ Talon said. ―I will punch you.‖ Flit sat back, his mouth screwed up tight. ―Well, it‘s your fault for acting so irresponsibly. And I couldn‘t sleep last night, thank you. Did you and your little friend have to be so – vocal?‖ Talon closed his eyes. Why had he come out of the bedroom? How could he ever, for even one second, forget how annoying Flit was? ―Really,‖ Talon said. ―Sorry, mom. I promise next time I‘ll be quieter when I fuck somebody in my own damn house. Hell, you can even join in, if it‘ll shut you up.‖ Flit froze, staring at him with a spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth, and there was suddenly a very uncomfortable silence hanging over the table. Flit seemed to shake himself. ―Well, I hope whatever disease you caught isn‘t catching.‖ Talon kicked him half-heartedly under the table. ―Shut up, sparrow.‖ ―Dress nicely for work today,‖ Flit said. ―Huh? Why?‖ ―You‘ll see when you get home,‖ Flit said, his eyes glittering. 81

---―What… the hell?‖ Talon said, stepping inside his house that night. Streamers lined the hall in dizzying shades of red and gold, and balloons that somehow matched the wall colors Flit had chosen were tied to all the doorjambs, bobbing cheerfully. He heard music and noise spilling through the house, and watched steady traffic move between his kitchen and living room, people chatting and sipping drinks or nibbling at plates of food. Flit‘s head popped out of the living room. ―Talon!‖ he said, sounding delighted. There was no trace of his earlier anger. ―You‘re home!‖ ―No,‖ Talon said. ―I‘m not home. I hit my head, and this is a nightmare.‖ Flit laughed, pleased and lilting. He came closer, holding two red cups sloshing with punch. ―Here,‖ he said, handing one to Talon. ―Drink up.‖ Talon slammed the drink back. He really hoped there was alcohol in it. His head still throbbed with remnants of his hangover, and the surest cure for that was more of the feather of the bird that pecked you. ―What is all this?‖ he asked. He could feel the anger simmering under his skin, but he was so used to feeling it around Flit that he hardly noticed anymore. ―It‘s a party,‖ Flit replied innocently. Talon growled, low in his throat, and crushed the plastic cup in his fist. ―I can see that. Why the fuck are we having a party?‖ ―Housewarming,‖ Flit said. ―I finished all my decorating, and I thought we‘d show it off to our friends.‖ ―I don‘t have any friends.‖ 82

―I do,‖ Flit said primly. ―So, by extension, you have friends, too.‖ He snorted and brushed past the sparrow. ―I don‘t want your friends, thanks. If they‘re anything like you, I‘ll just want to kill them.‖ ―Talon!‖ called a voice. He closed his eyes and turned slowly, already envisioning ways he was going to make the sparrow pay later. ―Mom?‖ he said, before he was swept into a massive hug, his mother‘s ample bosom nearly drowning him. He could see Flit over her shoulder, shaking with laughter, one hand held daintily over his lips. Kill. You, Talon mouthed, eyes narrowed. Flit turned his head to the side, his suppressed laughter making him double over as punch sloshed from his cup. ―Sweetie,‖ his mom said, ―You didn‘t tell me how much Flit had done with the place. Or how charming your little friend was.‖ She pulled him into another hug and whispered into his ear, ―I‘m so happy for you.‖ Talon pulled back. ―Mom,‖ he said in scandalized tones. ―It‘s not what you think. It‘s –‖ And then he remembered that he probably didn‘t want his mom to know that he‘d nearly killed another shifter in a fit of rage. ―I mean,‖ he said. ―It‘s still too early to pick out china patterns.‖ His mom pinched his cheek. ―Don‘t be silly. Didn‘t you see the new dinner plates Flit bought for the kitchen?‖ Talon‘s head whipped around, but Flit was talking to Hawk and – great, Zip was here, too. He caught a glimpse of Tawny walking into the living room chatting with Roadkill. Oh yeah, best party ever. 83

―Is this revenge?‖ he asked Flit later, once he had him alone. ―What are you talking about?‖ Flit asked, swirling punch in his cup, round and round, making a miniature vortex. Talon felt like that was his life right now. ―This whole party thing. Tell me you had this planned for weeks, and it wasn‘t just something you dreamed up today to piss me off. I promise I‘ll hit you less.‖ Flit laughed bitterly. ―I plan everything, Talon.‖ Talon did not feel comforted. ―You can‘t plan everything, sparrow.‖ ―No,‖ Flit said, giving him a hollow-eyed look. He stared down at his punch, and a mocking smile twisted his face. ―You can‘t.‖ And with that cryptic comment, he pushed past Talon and walked away. Talon stood there for a minute. Then he spotted some guys from work – of course Flit had invited them, why waste a chance to embarrass him? – and strode over to meet them, making sure to grab a glass of punch on the way. But he couldn‘t shake the feeling that something had changed. Something Flit didn‘t seem to be happy about. And when Flit wasn‘t happy – well. He got more annoying. He told himself that was the only reason he cared. When his mom came by later and told him how much she was looking forward to their dinner date next week, and wasn‘t Flit so sweet to arrange it, he remembered that he really, really hated that sparrow.

10. Flit Flit stared morosely at the remains of the party. The stacks of plates and cups wobbling precariously on the new coffee table and across other various surfaces around the room spoke of a good time recently had but hours of cleaning yet to be enjoyed. 84

He sighed and picked up his garbage bag, thinking to himself as he moved around the room and picked up the litter. It had been a very good party. Everyone had enough food and punch, the music had been excellent, and people had stayed late because they were reluctant to leave. He‘d planned it perfectly. He hadn‘t, however, planned on how good it would feel to see Talon walk through the front door. Or how much he wanted to please Talon with his efforts. Or how he couldn‘t stop watching Talon all night. After the fifth time Talon caught him watching, he cuffed Flit on the back of the head. ―Stop worrying, sparrow,‖ Talon said, sneering. ―I‘m not going to ruin your stupid party.‖ ―That‘s not—― Flit started to say and, miraculously, his brain caught up with how stupid his mouth was being. ―I mean… I didn‘t think you would.‖ Talon drew back and looked at him a little funny until Flit added, ―That‘s why I invited your mom.‖ ―Oh, yeah,‖ Talon said, clenching his hands into fists. ―Remind me to thank you for that later.‖ He smacked Flit in the head again and walked off. Flit caught himself smiling a little fondly at the memory and cursed. He‘d counseled enough battered birds to know it was not healthy to think of Talon‘s violence as his way of being affectionate. If it hadn‘t been for that stupid little owl last night… A surge of jealousy had him gritting his teeth. If it hadn‘t been for that owl, Flit was sure he could have continued to think of Talon as merely a handsome, brutally sexy, troubled bird. Okay, the sexy bit had slipped in there just now because he wouldn‘t have thought that before – well. Before he‘d been presented with a very visual confirmation of Talon‘s sexuality. 85

He hadn‘t really thought of sex and Talon together. He‘d thought Talon was handsome. But now the sounds he‘d heard coming from Talon‘s room last night were burned into his brain: every moan and shriek from the owl, the thumping bed, Talon‘s deep groans. It had confirmed that, yes, sex and Talon went very nicely together. He had lain in bed and vainly attempted to fall asleep, but his imagination kept trying to sneak into Talon‘s room for a peek. He found himself wondering what Talon would look like naked in bed, powerful and arrogant as ever, looming over his partner; it didn‘t sound like he was a gentle lover, either. And if Flit felt a little shiver at the thought, well, he tried not to dwell overlong. Laughter and voices in the hall drew his thoughts back to the present, and he poked his head out. Talon was standing in a group with several other large griffins. Flit knew they were colleagues from work; even if he hadn‘t invited them, he would have been able to tell from the way they held themselves with the same fighter‘s stance as Talon or the matching haircuts and multitudinous scars they all sported. Talon was standing closest to a tall, dark-haired man who was even larger than him; Flit remembered his name was Stone, which was apt, since his biceps were like boulders. Flit cleared his throat, and Talon turned around. ―Yeah?‖ asked the griffin. He looked relaxed and happy, which was an unusual look for him. Flit found himself staring, and for just a moment, he flashed back to last night and the way Talon‘s face had looked, drunk and easy, as the owl kissed along his neck. He shivered and goosebumps rose on his skin. He was doing a very good job ignoring his reactions to last night, and he intended to continue repressing until he absolutely had to deal with it. Flit cleared his throat again and watched Talon raise an eyebrow. ―Something you want?‖ Talon prompted. ―What am I saying – he always wants somethin‘,‖ 86

he said, rolling his eyes at his friends. They laughed obligingly. Flit felt his face heat. ―Aren‘t you going to help me with the clean up?‖ Talon laughed in disbelief. ―Yeah, right. This was your idea, sparrow. Me and the guys are going out. It‘s still early.‖ Flit saw red for a second – no, he saw golden feathers, and whisky brown – and said, ―Do try not to drag home any strays this time.‖ Talon and his friends were already moving to the door, but Talon hesitated, just for a moment. ―Whatever,‖ he said over his shoulder and walked out. Flit stayed awake staring at the ceiling in the dark of his room, until he heard Talon come home. Alone. He rolled over in bed, shut his eyes tight, and told himself he didn‘t care, and he was only relieved because it meant he‘d get some scream-free sleep tonight. But he‘d never been very good at lying to himself, so he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling again for a long time, and thought about how complicated this had suddenly become. ---―So,‖ Talon said the next morning at breakfast. ―You slept in.‖ Flit yawned, feeling peevish. What little sleep he‘d managed last night had not been restful. ―I‘m allowed to do that,‖ he snapped. Talon raised an eyebrow at his tone. ―What‘s with you? Molting time of the month?‖ Flit ignored him and went to the coffee pot. He‘d done a lot of thinking last night 87

and very little sleeping. He wasn‘t in a good mood. And that, of course, meant Talon would be practically chirping. ―I had to make my own coffee this morning,‖ Talon pointed out and grinned around a mouthful of cereal. He seemed pleased he was annoying Flit. ―You‘re shirking your duties.‖ ―My duties?‖ Flit said, spinning around, flexing his fingers so hard they cramped. He wished, then, that he had impressive claws like Talon or Hawk or Roadkill; he was in a mood to do damage. ―You arrogant ass!‖ Talon tilted his head, his eyes darkening. ―What the hell‘s wrong with you? You had your little party yesterday, everybody came and told you how great you were, you had a good time. Why‘re you being pissy?‖ Flit closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. ―The party wasn‘t for me, you idiot,‖ he said. Talon laughed in disbelief. ―Right. You invited all those people over to my house so I‘d have a great time.‖ Yes, Flit thought. That’s exactly what I did. He‘d thought throwing a party would be a good way for Talon to mingle, talk with Zip and resolve some of their lingering issues, talk to his friends from work, talk to his mother, talk in general, and not be a grumpy, isolated griffin for change. Flit hadn‘t invited anyone Talon didn‘t know. In fact, once word got out, people had asked to come. Talon might not realize it, but people respected him. They wanted to get to know him, they just couldn‘t get beyond the prickly, closed-off aura he radiated. He was mysterious, and an ass, and that intrigued people. They were half right: Talon was an ass, but Flit had lived inside Talon‘s pocket long enough to realize he was also handsome, and loyal, and protective, and even, occasionally, funny and charming. 88

He thought people should see that about Talon. He’d seen it, and now… well, that was his problem. He‘d had this argument with himself until dawn peeked through the curtains. He might have developed more than innocent feelings for Talon, but he knew he wasn‘t Talon‘s type. That was the end of it. Talon hated him, and with reason; most people didn‘t like being blackmailed. But it was for Talon‘s own good. Feathery Mother knew he obviously couldn‘t take care of his emotional and social needs left to his own devices. So, if he was going to help Talon – and Penny Pinfeather always helped – then he had find Talon someone who was his type. And, since he knew the kind of person Talon loathed (namely, him) he already had criteria to go on. He took a deep breath and tried to calm the fluttering in his stomach as Talon ate another spoonful of cereal and a trickle of milk ran down his chin. It followed the same path the whisky traveled two nights ago, and Flit remembered how the owl had licked it up. His tongue darted out involuntarily, and he swallowed hard. ―Didn‘t you have fun?‖ he asked. Talon frowned. ―Fun?‖ he asked, wiping the back of his hand across his chin. Flit silently thanked him for removing temptation. ―Yes,‖ Flit said, more patiently than he was feeling. ―Fun. It‘s this crazy thing where people smile and laugh and are generally pleased. I could have sworn I saw you smile at least once.‖ Talon snorted and picked up the newspaper on the table, flicking it open. ―I didn‘t wanna kill myself out of boredom, if that‘s what you mean.‖ ―Well, that‘s something, I suppose.‖ He took a sip of coffee, leaning back against the counter and closing his eyes in bliss. He finished the coffee in four more huge gulps, and barely noticed the burn. 89

Two more cups of coffee, he estimated. Two more cups of coffee and he‘d be ready to start planning again. ―What‘re you up to today?‖ Talon asked, like he‘d read Flit‘s mind. Flit started and opened his eyes; the newspaper was still clutched in Talon‘s hands, seemingly forgotten, as the griffin peered over the top, his eyebrows raised questioningly. ―I have some letters to answer for work,‖ Flit replied. Talon narrowed his eyes and smirked. ―You‘re gonna spend the day giving people bad advice?‖ ―No,‖ Flit said, ruffled. ―I‘m going to try to help an idiot or two.‖ He looked Talon up and down challengingly, making it clear he thought there was an idiot in the room, too. The smirk dropped from Talon‘s face, and his hands tightened on the newspaper. ―So today‘s all about self-help, huh?‖ Flit calmly poured himself another cup of coffee. ―And you? Got another feathery tart lined up?‖ He watched as Talon‘s hands gripped the newspaper‘s edges tighter and tighter, crinkling the paper between his fists. The sound of shredding paper slowly filled the room. ―Shut up, sparrow. At least people wanna fuck me.‖ Flit was all too aware of that. ―I‘m only saying,‖ he said, keeping his tone even. ―You‘d better get a move on if you want to make it in time. I hear school lets out at three.‖ He glided smoothly past Talon out of the kitchen, only to trip over a suddenly outstretched leg. He went down hard, his coffee cup smashing to the tile. He skinned the palm of his good hand trying to prevent his face from smearing across the floor and hissed when he pushed himself up to his feet and felt porcelain shards dig into his skin. 90

―Oops,‖ Talon said, calmly turning the page in his paper. Flit wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and saw it come away red. He‘d bitten a chunk out of his tongue when he fell, and it was stinging and swollen, his mouth filling with spit and blood. ―Bastard!‖ he slurred. Blood dribbled over his lip. Talon looked up sharply and blinked. ―Huh,‖ he said. ―That did more damage than I thought it would.‖ He put the paper down and made to stand up. Flit felt tears prick his eyes and turned hastily away. Why did he always fall for assholes? It was like he was never going to fucking learn. He left the room quickly and heard Talon say, ―Uh, Flit?‖ in a strange tone, but he didn‘t turn around. He decided that Penny Pinfeather could wait while Raptor Van Winkle paid him a visit. If he was asleep he couldn‘t feel the pain in his mouth or his hand. Or his heart. He was such an idiot. Stick to the plan, he thought. Stick to the stupid plan. Talon needs help. You help people. End of story. For the first time, Flit really wanted someone to help him. Except that wasn‘t how things went. ―Okay,‖ Flit said, sitting down on his bed later. He‘d picked the porcelain shards out of his skin, and his hand was wrapped up in bandages, still mostly mobil e, thank feathers. ―Let‘s work through this,‖ he said to himself. ―Self-analyzing. You can do this. You‘re the one with the degree. You like Talon. Why? You‘ve been spending time with Talon, getting to know him – strictly for research purposes – so it‘s only natural that you‘ve learned to like him.‖ 91

He could admit that. So far so good. ―You are sexually attracted to Talon. Why?‖ All right, that one was a little more embarrassing, so he shied away. He could admit that he was attracted to Talon. Analyzing his sexual kinks was not somewhere he wanted to go right now. He had them, that was all. He flopped backward onto the bed and sighed. Now that he‘d externalized his emotions, he was supposed to feel freer. Instead, it felt like he‘d only made them more real by admitting them. Great. He wasn‘t sure when he‘d fallen asleep, but he was woken by loud, insistent tapping. He blinked and sat up. The shadows in the room indicated he‘d slept until evening. He must have been more exhausted than he‘d thought. The tapping came again, louder. Someone was knocking on his door. ―Hey, sparrow,‖ Talon called, sounding annoyed. ―Did you die in there?‖ Flit huffed out a short, quiet laugh. ―What do you want?‖ The door flew open, and Talon stood braced in the doorway in all his broadshouldered glory. ―I want food.‖ ―Food?‖ Flit asked dumbly. Was Talon going to try and eat him again? Talon rolled his eyes, and even in the dim light, Flit could see their deep greygreen color. ―It‘s night. I‘m hungry. You‘re usually banging pots and pans together or tipping the delivery guy at the door by now.‖ Flit gaped. How could he have ever thought this stupid griffin was attractive? 92

Who did Talon think he was, thehousekeeper? Really, just who had the flight feather around here? Who was working his tailfeathers off? He went stiff and angry. ―I see. However, one of my hands is currently in a sling, thanks to you. My other hand is alsobandaged up nicely, and not much good for cooking or dialing, thanks to you. And since you‘re the one who owes me a feather-debt you can fix your own fucking dinner,‖ he finished with an enraged snarl. Talon took a step back. ―Are you just bitching?‖ ―What?‖ Talon looked uneasy. ―Are you just bitching?‖ he repeated. ―Or is your hand really hurt that bad? ‗Cause I‘m hungry.‖ ―Go away,‖ Flit said tiredly, falling back onto the bed. He put his newly bandaged hand over his eyes. The bandages felt scratchy against his eyelids. Talon laughed and stepped back into the room. ―Well, isn‘t this a familiar song and dance. I seem to remember a night not too long ago when I wanted you to leave me alone. As I recall, it didn‘t happen. As I recall I woke up tied to my bed.‖ ―If you try to tie me up,‖ Flit said, his voice muffled by his arm, ―I will exact a terrible retribution.‖ Talon made a funny noise, like his voice had gotten stuck. ―I wouldn‘t get close to you with rope,‖ he said finally. Pity, was Flit‘s half-formed thought. There went that fantasy. He felt the bed dip and then Talon shoved at his side. ―Are you gonna get up?‖ ―No.‖ 93

He could actually hear Talon roll his eyes skyward. ―You‘ve been in bed all day.‖ ―I‘m aware,‖ Flit said, speaking up to the ceiling. He didn‘t quite trust himself to look at Talon yet. ―Since I was the one in the bed.‖ Talon smacked the top of his head and stood up. ―Whatever. I‘m ordering pizza.‖ Flit sighed. He really should get up and eat something. ―Order one with anchovies?‖ Talon snorted and left the room. ―Who said I was getting you anything?‖ But when Flit stumbled into the kitchen an hour later, there was a small anchovy pizza sitting on the counter. Flit looked over at Talon, and Talon‘s face said, If you say one damn word, I will force feed you pizza until you choke to death. He turned back to the pizza and allowed himself a small smile. Moments like this reminded him that Talon might be an obnoxious bastard… but he was also a nice guy, underneath the bluster and violence. He deserved to be happy. I’ll find him someone, Flit vowed to himself. He could put his silly crush aside. Seventy-three couples are happily in love because I got them together. Talon will be number seventy-four. Then he bit down into a slice of pizza and tasted the onion. He hated oni ons. He looked over his shoulder and saw Talon studiously staring down at his plate as he chewed a slice of pizza, unable to hide the tiny grin playing over his lips. Talon knew he hated onions. Flit sighed and took another bite. 94

Talon was still a bit of a bastard.

11. Talon. Talon scowled and tugged hard at the tie choking his neck. He had on one layer too many, and his sweater was already sticking to his back. He had sweaty pit stains forming under his arms. There was hardly any breeze today, and he felt the heavy warmth of the sun beating onto his scalp. He squinted up at the sky, shading his hand against the sun's glare, and tapped his foot against the boards of the cheerfully whitewashed porch. A windchime hung unmoving next to his head, and he glared at it, just for existing. A trickle of perspiration ran from his temple down his jaw line. He hated dressing up. He always looked like an idiot. He tugged at his tie again, grumbling under his breath. Flit, of course, looked perfect. He'd swept his hair back into some sort of soft, sophisticated look, and he wore a pale green sweater that brought out the whiskygold of his eyes. He was calm and cool, unruffled as ever. He glanced over at Talon, a funny little smile on his face, and said: "Stop fidgeting. You're being ridiculous." Then he rang the doorbell a second time, and stood there patiently as he shifted the bottle of wine he was carrying to his other arm. "Tell that to your face," Talon replied, feeling stupid. The tie was cutting into h is neck, and he was suddenly aware of his heartbeat thrumming against the tight collar of his white shirt. "The shirt you bought me sucks," he growled. "It doesn't even fit." Flit spared him another glance, arching a thin eyebrow. "It's fine. You simply have no fashion sense. Stop being a baby, it looks handsome with the sweater." 95

Talon glanced away, tightening his jaw. "The sweater's an ugly color." "It's charcoal." "It's itchy." "It's cashmere." "I don't care if it's goose down, I don't like it." "It brings out your eyes," Flit said shortly, with the same funny little not -quitehappy smile. And that sounded too close to what Talon had been thinking earlier. He hated it when he noticed Flit's eyes. He jerked his gaze away and glared out over the front lawn, hoping for a distraction. Just then, then the front door swung open. "Hello!" his mother greeted them excitedly, clapping her hands together. Her cheeks shone, and she still had on a paisley print apron; wisps of light blond curls had come loose around her face. She looked beautiful. Talon's heart clenched painfully. "Come in, come in! I'm so happy you both could make it!" his mother continued, smoothing her hands on her apron before ushering them inside. The house smelled like apple pie, and Talon could guess what was for dessert. "It's our pleasure, Miriam," Flit said graciously, giving Talon's mother a warm smile. "Oh, please," Talon's mom said. "I know I told you at the party that my name was Miriam, but all my friends call me Beaky, and you should too, honey." "Beaky?" Flit asked, shooting Talon an amused look. His mom giggled. "Yes. It's because I talk and talk. Everybody says I could squawk the ears off an elephant." 96

Flit smiled charmingly. "I'm sure the elephant wouldn't even notice. He'd be too enraptured by the sweet sound of your voice." Okay, what? Talon thought. His mother was never going to fall for that, she was way too savvy. Apparently not. "You cheeky thing!" Beaky said, giggling again as she swatted Flit playfully on the arm. "I don‘t know what I'm supposed to do with you." Throw him out the window, Talon thought sourly. His mom was practically beaming at Flit, the little shit, acting like she wanted to adopt him on the spot. Flit smiled – his stupid, easy smile that made his whole face light up – and presented Beaky with the wine. "Don't worry, Talon keeps me in line. Here's a little something we picked up for you." "Oh!" Beaky said, taking the wine with a surprised look. "Why how thoughtful!" She narrowed her eyes. "And I just bet youthought of it, since my son wouldn't know a polite gesture if it pecked him on his tailfeathers." "Mom!" Talon protested. "Hush, you," Beaky said, swatting Talon on the head. Flit coughed to cover a laugh. "Actually, Talon told me you loved a good glass of wine. I helped him pick it out." Talon shot Flit a disbelieving look. That wasn't how it had gone at all. Flit had manhandled him down to the store, poking and prodding with his tiny hands, and told him they were picking something out for his mom, to thank her for being the hostess. Then he'd grilled Talon on what his mom liked, and Talon had managed to remember his mom going crazy over some wine Aunt Shrieky had sent two Birdingdays ago. 97

Talon's mom squinted one eye at him. "Really," she drawled out. "Yes, ma'am," Flit replied. He patted Talon on the arm. Beaky's eyes softened at the gesture. "Oh, aren't you boys cute?" she exclaimed. Flit quickly removed his hand, shooting Talon another one of those funny, pinched smiles. Talon suddenly had the feeling it was going to be a long night. ---He was right. Except, strangely, now that dinner was over, pie was digesting, and they'd moved to the living room as conversation wore down, a part of him didn't want the evening to come to an end. "I still can't believe I have a real, birdified celebrity in my house," Beaky tittered. Flit smiled easily. "Only my alter ego is famous." "Poppypeacock," Beaky said. "I bet if they put your handsome photo alongside your column, you'd have to beat them off with a stick. Of course, my Talon probably wouldn't like that, would he?" Talon sighed. The part where his mother thought they were a couple – that part he wouldn't mind coming to an end. "Oh, I don't know," Flit said. "A little jealousy might do him good. Keep him from getting complacent." "You're terrible!" Beaky laughed. Of course, Talon reflected, it figured that Flit was good with parents. He'd charmed Beaky like he had birdseed in his hands. He was all bright smiles and 98

gracious compliments, pretending to be sweet and humble. It was an act, and it was a damn good one. Talon knew the evil harpy that lived inside Flit, hiding behind his pretty, heart-shaped face, and his twinkling eyes, and his stupidly perfect hair, and his tight little wiry body – Talon hid a scowl. He was also, maybe, kind of pissed that Flit had never bothered to put this act on for him. "Talon, tell him he's terrible," his mom said, breaking into his thoughts. Talon bared his teeth in a grin. "You're terrible." He thought he saw Flit flinch. When the sparrow laughed, it sounded a touch forced. "I know. You tell me that enough." "Oh, my," Beaky said suddenly, glancing at the cuckoo clock over the mantel. "Is that the time? I've kept you boys here much longer than I should have! I'm sure you're eager to get home to bed." She gave Talon a knowing, embarrassing look that only mothers seemed capable of pulling off, and Talon wanted to hide his face in his hands. He noticed Flit blushing, too. He was abruptly very, very ready to go home. "It's been a wonderful evening, Beaky," Flit said, collecting himself first. "Best meal I've had in ages. Certainly better than anything I could make myself." "Hm?" Beaky said, raising an eyebrow. "Do you cook, honey?" Talon blanched. Say no, he silently urged Flit. For the love of everything feathery and holy, say no. "Er, yes," Flit said. Damn you, thought Talon. "How wonderful!" Beaky said, her eyes shining with delight. She jumped up 99

from her chair. "I'll have to give you some of my recipes to take home. You can make my baby his favorite foods and I'll know he's eating properly." "Mom," Talon said. "Um," Flit started. She ignored them both. "Come on, I have my recipe book put up in the kitchen. I'll give you a few ideas to take with you, but don't worry if you have any trouble, you can always call me." She grabbed Flit's wrist and dragged him from the living room, still talking as she went. "And if you don't have all the right pots and pans, honey, don't worry about that either because you can borrow some of mine, I've got plenty. Do you have a slow cooker? If not, I have an extra one, you'll need that to make –" Talon tuned them out and sank back into the couch, getting comfortable, as he resigned himself to at least another hour. He knew how his mother got when food was involved. He probably should have warned Flit his mom was a retired chef. ---Talon came home from work four days later and found Flit talking to a very handsome bird in their living room. Flit was sitting on the couch next to the bird, their knees practically pressed together. The unknown bird‘s arm rested along the couch back, his fingers casually brushing the hair at Flit's nape. Talon felt a twitch start under his left eye. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded, stalking forward. If Flit thought he could bring a date home, Talon would be happy to remind him that the only person allowed to get any tail in this house was Talon because it was his damn house. He didn‘t care if he was breaking up Flit's little seduction scene. The sparrow 100

could have blue beak for a week for all he cared. The bird looked up. "I‘m Robin," he said, flashing a cheerful smile. He had brown, grey-flecked hair and rosy-red cheeks. Talon ground his teeth together and admitted that Robin was a good-looking enough bastard. It wasn‘t a surprise that Flit liked them pretty. "Great," he said. "What the hell are you doing in my house?" Robin started to answer, but Talon cut him off. "Wait, you know what? I don't care. Just get out." "Now, Talon," Flit said reprovingly, but Robin laughed. "Sorry," the bird said. "I guess Flit didn‘t tell you I was going to be coming over. He‘s a sneaky little bitch sometimes, isn‘t he?" Talon felt his icy anger thaw. Anybody insulting Flit couldn‘t be all that bad. "I‘m not really sure what you‘re talking about, but I‘m going to agree with you on principle." "Thanks," Robin said, laughing again. He had a warm, easy laugh. It was nothing like Flit‘s bright, chirpy laugh. Flit scowled, folding his arms over his chest. He moved away from Robin, and Talon felt even better. Maybe the date wasn‘t going so great. "Well," Flit said, still scowling. "I can see you two will get along like a nest on fire." Robin grinned lazily. "Now, Flitty, don‘t be upset. You set this up. You should relax, you‘re way too high strung." Talon snorted. "I‘ve met power lines that weren‘t as high strung as him," he agreed. He shifted and leaned against the living room wall, muscles flexing. 101

He saw Robin‘s eyes trace his movements approvingly, and he wanted to feel amused, but instead he felt a curiously annoyed flash shoot up his spine. He didn‘t mind being admired – hell, he liked a stroke to the ego as much as the next bird – but if this guy was supposed to be Flit's date, it was pretty damn sleazy for him to eyeball Talon so blatantly. "Ha ha," Flit said. He didn‘t seem upset that Robin was grinning like Talon was a worm and Robin was the early bird who'd found him. "I‘m going to go make some coffee while you two get acquainted," Flit said, standing up stiffly. He looked between Talon and Robin, hesitated with a strange expression, and said: "I hope you both behave yourselves until I come back." Talon raised his eyebrows as Flit left the room moving awkwardly, like he was reluctant to go. What'd he think Talon would do, turn into a griffin and savage his date on the couch? He turned and caught Robin‘s eye, ready to offer a gruff word and leave, but Robin winked at him, smiling fondly in the direction Flit had gone. "He‘s really such a busybody, isn't he?" Robin said, nodding his head toward the kitchen. "I‘ve known him since we were in college together. We were roommates. Feathers, he was a pain in the ass." "Oh, yeah?" Talon asked, intrigued despite himself. Maybe Robin had some embarrassing stories to tell about younger Flit. "Oh, yeah," Robin echoed, smirking. "Now, if I know Flitty, and I do, he probably didn‘t tell you what he was doing, right?" "Maybe he did," Talon said warily. He didn‘t like the way Robin assumed he knew Flit best, just because they'd gone to school together or something. All right, he probably did know Flit best. Talon wasn‘t sure why that bothered him. Robin laughed. "Please. That little feathery idiot loves pulling these stunts on people, tugging them around like he‘s the all-knowing puppetmaster. I love him, 102

but he is a total shit." "Hey," Talon said, narrowing his eyes. "I wish my friends talked about me as sweet as you talk about Flit." Robin waved his hand dismissively. "He doesn‘t care." Talon thought Flit probably would care. He hid it pretty well, but he was a sensitive little bastard. "You‘re kind of a shitty date," he said instead. Robin blinked, then laughed. "I hope not. You‘ll have to tell me after dinner is over." "After -?" Talon started. "- dinner," Robin finished with another laugh, relaxing back into the couch. "I knew Flit didn‘t tell you. He's very keen on the blind part of blind date. I think it's more like blindsided. All right then, I guess a formal introduction is in order: Hi, I‘m Robin, and I‘m your date for the evening." "What?" Talon asked, pushing away from the wall. "I know, I know. Surprise, right? I figured Flit was lying when he told me he‘d cleared this date thing with you, but the way he talked you up, you sounded too hot to pass on." "Uh," Talon said. "It‘s all right if you don‘t want to go through with it," Robin continued. "I‘d be pissed if I was you. But," he said, his expression mischievous, "Don‘t you think it‘d be a terrible pity if your anger toward Flit prevented you from enjoying a night out, great dinner, and hot sex?" It took Talon about two seconds to decide and when he did, he said: "A great dinner, huh?" 103

"I‘ve got reservations," Robin said. By the time Flit came back with the coffee, they were already gone. ---"Flit‘s going to be mad," Robin laughed, linking his arm through Talon‘s as they walked to the C-Train platform to catch the next one into the city. Talon looked down at Robin's arm and made a face, resisting the urge to punch Robin so he'd let go. He could forgive handsome guys a lot, especially if handsome guys mentioned the promise of sex and food. "So what?" Talon said. Robin shrugged. "He‘s just more annoying when he‘s mad." Talon snorted. "I doubt that." They walked across the clouds in silence. Talon was glad Robin didn‘t try to fill the empty air with idle chatter like Flit probably would have. A man liked his quiet. "Flit tells me you‘re a Beakbreaker?" Robin asked, after they reached the platform and bought their tickets, waiting for the train. Talon nodded. "Yeah." "That‘s pretty impressive," Robin said. "I‘m only a science teacher." Talon laughed. "Man, you couldn‘t pay me enough to hang around kids all day. I‘ll take the criminals." "I‘d lay odds I have a couple of students who will see you some day," Robin said wryly. "There's one cardinal brat who's entirely too interested in the Bunsen burner, and my classroom ceiling has the scorch marks to prove it." "You should call my office," Talon said. "Some of the guys do this presentation 104

at the schools where they scare the kids into flying straight." "I'll keep it in mind," Robin said, smiling and showing off a dimple. "Is there a practical demonstration where they cuff one of the kids and haul him away? I can give you candidates." Talon thought he could like Robin. ---"So," Talon said, around a mouthful of steak later, "you‘ve known Flit for a while." "Yeah," Robin agreed, cutting his own steak. He took a bite and drained his wine glass. "Like I said, we were roommates in college. I was an education major and Flit was doing his ornipsychiatry thing." "He was an awful roommate, wasn't he?" Talon asked. "You said he was a pain in the ass. I bet he redecorated your half of the room and shit." Robin cocked his head. "No. Flit kept to himself a lot at first." Talon snorted. "Flit? Kept to himself? What, did you chain him to the bed?" Robin laughed easily. "No. After our first year, he blossomed into the annoying little jerk we know and love today. He was just coming off a really bad bre akup right after we met, that's all." "Yeah?" Talon said, taking a sip of wine and trying to ignore the way his metaphorical ears perked up. Robin's eyes darkened. "Yeah. The guy was a real piece of work." "Mm," Talon agreed. "Flit told me about him," he lied. Pretending to know more than you did was a great interrogation technique; people spilled all sorts of stuff if they believed you. 105

Robin blew out a breath and propped his elbows on the table. "Really? I'm surprised. He usually doesn't ever talk about Oz. I think he's ashamed he let it go on as long as it did." "It was a while ago," Talon hedged. "Well, yeah," Robin frowned, "but you don't just get over your boyfriend beating the crap out of you on a regular basis." Talon felt like all noise and movement in the restaurant stopped. He kept his face blank through sheer force of will and very slowly put his hands under the table, clenching his fists so hard his knuckles cracked. "Yeah," Talon said, swallowing because his throat was dry. He felt like he had himself under control, so he quickly reached up and grabbed his wineglass, downing the contents in one go. His hand maybe shook a little. "I think that's what really prompted Flit to go into ornipsychiatry," Robin continued, apparently oblivious to Talon's tight-jawed, vibrating rage. "He wanted to understand people's motivations. From both sides, I guess." "Some people are just bad," Talon said. "Trust me on this. You don't need to understand their motives." Robin tipped his head in acknowledgement. "I suppose you see your share of that." Talon made an agreeing noise. "So, this Oz guy," he said. "Where is he now?" Robin's eyebrows rose. "I don't know. Flit didn't keep in contact with him. I'm sure the restraining order had something to do with that." Talon flattened his lips. "Did you ever meet him?" he pressed. Robin looked hard at Talon. "No," he said slowly. "But I saw his handiwork once 106

or twice before they broke up." Talon put his hands under the table again. "Got a last name?" Robin laughed and looked down. "Right," he said softly, a little bitterly. He looked up. "Prey," he said. "I remember that much." "Huh," Talon replied, already making plans. He'd get some of the guys together when he went into the office Monday. They could run the name through the database. Make a quick house call. He picked up his fork again. Robin finished his dinner and sat back, eyeing Talon speculatively for a minute. "You're gorgeous," he said finally, "but I don't think this is going to work out." "What?" Talon said, pausing with another bite of steak halfway to his mouth. Robin smiled. "If it makes you feel better, you can tell Flit I slept with you. I won't say anything." Talon squinted his eyes in confusion. "Huh?" "Gorgeous and stupid," Robin said, shaking his head sadly. "My favorite." "Uh," Talon said. "I'm not really sure – what – does this mean we aren't having sex?" Robin laughed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, much as it pains me to say. Like I said, I just don't think it'd work out. But I had a great dinner. I'll get the check." Talon frowned. "I'm not a chickadee. I got it." Robin laughed. "Macho. Flit's got his work cut out for him." "I guess," Talon said. "He'll probably keep trying to set me up. I don't know what he thinks he's doing." 107

Robin looked at him like he was a complete and total idiot.

12. Flit. Flit sat in the kitchen with his broken arm propped awkwardly on the table, nursing his fifth cup of coffee, and told himself he was being absurd. He should just go to bed. He didn't need to wait up for Talon so he could find out how the date had gone. Besides, it might have gone so well he'd wind up waiting until tomorrow morning. He stared down morosely into his coffee cup. He didn't want to imagine how much fun Talon and Robin were having. Flit knew firsthand Robin was a great bird – funny, smart, talented. Talon couldn't help but like him. And Robin could make Talon happy. They'd be a cute couple. A perfect couple. He pushed his coffee away and sighed. He needed to get over this silly infatuation. He was a professional, and his job was to find Talon a nice bird to help him get over Zip, someone who could appreciate him and take care of him and love him like he deserved. Someone who was emphatically not Flit. It was just strange, that was all. He hadn't really been honestly attracted to anyone in a long time, and it was throwing him for a loop. He'd lived alone since – well, since college, really, and he didn't want to think about life before that. His forced cohabitation with Talon – and all right, yes, he was the one forcing it, beside the point – was unusual. Living practically in Talon's pocket, getting to know him – it was situational attraction. It would pass. His head jerked up when he heard the front door open. He straightened and 108

plastered a bored expression on his face. He couldn't stop himself from pulling the coffee close again and tapping his fingers on the rim of the mug. Talon's low voice rumbled down the hallway; Flit heard Robin's pleasant tenor, and Talon's grumbling laughter, then the jingle of keys thrown into the bowl by the door. He waited, tense, for Talon to invite Robin inside, but the door shut and only one pair of feet made their way down the hall. Talon walked into the kitchen and stopped short when he saw Flit. "Uh," Talon said. "Hey, spar – Flit. You're up." "No," Flit said, "I'm not." Talon frowned. "What?" "I'm sleepwalking. And when I sleepwalk, I make coffee and sit in the kitchen and drink it." Talon's frown deepened into a scowl. "Funny." He brushed past Flit, making sure to knock his shoulder as he did. "Did you leave any for me?" "Maybe," Flit said, sniffing disdainfully, hoping to hide his racing heartbeat as he brought his mug up to his lips to take another sip. "You're home early." "Yeah, well," Talon replied, his back to Flit as he poured a cup of coffee, "quick sex in an alley doesn't take that long." "What!" Flit squawked, his hand spasming. Coffee sloshed over the side, scalding his fingers, and he quickly set the mug down, wiping his hands on his trouser leg. Talon turned around and smirked as he blew on his coffee. "Sorry, I'm not the kind of bird to kiss and tell." Flit pressed his lips together. "Oh really? You certainly had no problem when you came home drunk with that under aged tart on your arm." 109

Talon's expression snapped back into a scowl, and he stepped forward with a dark look. Flit winced, already expecting the customary smack to the back of the head, and Talon just – stopped. A peculiar expression came over Talon's face. "Shut up, sparrow," he grumbled, leaning back against the counter. He took a long drink of coffee and appeared uncharacteristically sulky. "You're not my mom." "No," Flit said. "But I could always call her up." Talon took two steps forward this time with his hand half-raised before he stopped and visibly calmed himself. "Do it and die," he growled instead. Flit tilted his head. Was Talon actually restraining himself? Perhaps sex did put him in a better mood. He cleared his throat. "Did you and Robin at least have a nice time before the . . . alley sex?" "Yeah," Talon replied, smirk back in place. "It's amazing how much I want to kill your friends way less than you." Flit blinked and turned his head away, distracting himself by taking another sip of coffee. "Are you planning on seeing him again?" "No," Talon said. Flit turned around to stare at him. "But why?" Talon shrugged one shoulder. "Not my type." "Oh," Flit said. "Just your type enough to have sex with, I see. What, exactly, about Robin is not your type?" "Why do you care?" Talon asked suspiciously, setting his mug down. 110

"So I know what to look for," Flit replied evenly. "For the next date. The more information I have the better." "No way," Talon said. "I don't want any more dates." "Mhm," Flit said. "So you say." Talon slammed his mug into the sink, rattling the dishes. "I mean it, sparrow. I don't need you fixing me up. I can get my own tail. It's late, I'm going to bed." He stomped from the room. Flit waited until he heard Talon's door bang shut. "Good night," he said softly. ---After a somewhat sleepless night, he woke first the next morning, like usual, and made sure to set a pot of coffee brewing for Talon. The griffin was more partbear than part-lion before he'd had his caffeine. Not that most people could really tell the difference between early morning grumpy Talon and regular grumpy Talon. Flit thought he might be getting a little too involved because he could tell the difference. He eyed the recipe book Beaky had given him and flipped it open to the section on breakfast foods. Beaky had put a tiny star next to 'Wildseed Pancakes,' so Flit cracked his knuckles and got to work. Talon stumbled into the kitchen half-dressed an hour later, just as Flit was flipping the pancakes onto a large platter. "Good morning," Flit said primly, trying not to stare at the way Talon's sweatpants rode low on his angular hips. His chest was covered in fine, blond 111

hair that trailed sharply down his muscled abdomen. Flit wondered if the hair felt soft or crinkly and burned himself on the skillet in his distraction. He hissed softly and shook his fingers, wincing at the sting. Talon yawned so wide his jaw cracked. "Gnh," he grunted intelligently, heading straight for the coffee pot. He got a mug out of the cabinet and poured himself a cup, foregoing sugar or cream to down it black. Flit busied himself flipping the last of the pancakes and turning off the stove as he tried to wipe the fond smile from his face. "Did you want syrup on your pancakes?" Talon turned around, the mug cradled possessively to his chest, and cocked his hip against the counter. He didn't seem entirely awake. "Oh, you, uh – breakfast," Talon said. He scratched his jaw. "You made breakfast." Flit studied Talon in confusion. "I always make you breakfast." Talon looked startled. "Yeah," he said. And then again, more slowly, as he stared at Flit. ". . . Yeah. You do." Flit shrugged slightly, feeling embarrassed and exposed, as he carried the plate of pancakes to the kitchen table and set the syrup bottle down next to it. "I cook for myself. It's easy enough to cook for two." Talon poured himself a refill of coffee, eyes never leaving Flit. "Right," he agreed. They ate in oddly comfortable silence. ---Talon acted strangely the rest of the weekend, watching Flit when he thought Flit 112

wasn't looking, not speaking much. When he did address Flit, there was a curious, contemplative tone to his voice, like he was figuring something out. Flit wished he knew what was going on in Talon's head. He busied himself with next week's column and avoided Talon, although he did notice Talon slip away for several hours on Sunday. When Talon returned he seemed to be in a much more cheerful mood. He knocked and came into Flit's bedroom, peering over his shoulder. "Whatcha doin'?" Flit glanced at him sideways, but didn't stop typing on his laptop. "Working on my next piece of worthless advice for the public, as you would say." Talon chuckled. He moved away and sat down on Flit's bed. What in the clouds was he doing? Flit could just see from the corner of his eye as Talon flopped backward, sprawled out on the mattress. Now there was a nice picture. "Oh yeah?" Talon said. "What's this week's crisis?" Flit's fingers hovered over the keyboard. "A young quail wants to know if she should give her philandering rooster husband another chance." "Definitely not," Talon said. "If you screw up like that, you don't get another chance." "But what if he really loves her and it was a mistake?" "It wasn't," Talon said firmly. "He'd keep his cockadoodle in his pants if he loved her. He wouldn't hurt the person he loved. And she should leave his ass for her own good." "Yes, well," Flit said more sharply than he intended, "sometimes people don't always do what's best for them. She might believe he'll change and that he won't hurt her like that again. " He saw Talon sit up quickly on the bed. "That so? And if he does?" Flit took a deep breath and began typing again. Old wounds stung if you poked at 113

them too much. "Then hopefully she'll leave him rather than continue in a destructive relationship." "Yeah," Talon said. "So what are you gonna tell her?" Flit paused again. "That she needs to make a decision. If she loves her husband, and she thinks she can forgive him, she should allow him another chance. But there are no such things as third chances. If he cheats on her again, she should leave him." "So you'd give him the benefit of the doubt," Talon said, "Because you're a big chick. And a hopeless romantic." Flit finally looked at Talon, feeling nettled. "It doesn't kill you to be optimistic. People make mistakes, you know." "Sure," Talon said. "And in my world, if you make a mistake, you take your lumps. You don't get a do over." Flit ground his teeth together. It was no use talking to Talon – he always thought he was right, no matter what. "You ever get questions about abuse?" Talon asked abruptly. "Like, if that rooster were smacking her around would you tell her to give him another chance?" Flit's fingers froze for a split second, and he knew Talon saw it, knew he heard Flit's tiny intake of breath. "I don't – no. If he were abusing her, I'd advise her to leave." "Even if he didn't mean to? Even if it only happened once?" "Yes," Flit said quietly. "In my experience, it never only happens once." ". . . in your experience?" Talon asked, his voice oddly low. 114

Flit cleared his throat. "As a professional ornipsychiatrist." Talon didn't say anything for a few seconds. "Guess you'd know," he said eventually. "Yes," Flit said, thankful Talon didn't realize how close to the truth he was, and turned back to the computer. "Was there something else you needed or can I get back to work?" Talon scratched absently at his chest, looking down. "Don't think I ever said sorry. For, uh, trying to kill you when we met." Flit barked out a surprised laugh and swiveled fully around. "What?" Talon scowled. "I'm not gonna say it again." "Well, don't think an apology gets you your flight feather back," Flit said, arching an eyebrow. Talon was acting rather bizarrely out of character. Perhaps he was trying the honey versus vinegar approach. "Fuck you, sparrow, I hope that quail doesn't take your advice," Talon said. Ah, there was the vinegar he was used to. "And shit, see if I'm ever nice to you again," Talon finished grumpily. He planted his feet on the floor and stood up, flexing his hands. "Do warn me if you plan to be," Flit said, laughing lightly. "I'll need to prepare myself for the shock." Talon grumbled something under his breath and walked out, and Flit very purposefully pushed the conversation from his mind. He had a column to finish, and then several potential suitors to weed through for Talon. He was so looking forward to that. He sighed. ---115

13. Talon. "Hey, guys," Talon said, strolling into the precinct on Monday. He was greeted by a chorus of hellos and a deep Yo from Stone. "Got a thing," he said, his grin sharp, as he hopped up to sit on the edge of his desk and patted the paper he'd brought with him. He hadn't been able to wait until Monday; he'd come in yesterday to run Prey's name through the system. "Could be fun, if anyone wants to help." Stone sauntered over first, maneuvering his bulky frame between the desks. Talon was the biggest guy in the squadron, if you didn‘t count Stone, because Stone was practically his own squadron. "Yeah? Blood gonna be involved?" "Be sad if it isn't," Talon replied easily, his grin growing wider. "Nice," Stone said. "I'm in. Who's the perp?" Talon handed him the paper and waited while Stone read through. Stone arched a thick, dark eyebrow and looked up with a low whistle, rubbing a hand over his head. His hair was longer than Talon's regulation buzz, but not by much. "Damn, this guy's a piece of shit. Seven accounts of battery? How'd he keep getting out of it?" "No one was willing to press charges. And he has money." Stone grunted and shook his head, scanning the report again. "Fucking shame. Hey, says here this first victim took out a restraining order, his name's –" Stone stopped and glanced up at Talon. Talon looked back calmly. "Huh," Stone said, breaking eye contact first. "Name's familiar. Just can't place it." 116

"Good," Talon said. Stone paused, his eyebrow creeping upward again. "How's your roommate these days?" he asked pointedly, just to be an asshole. "Fine," Talon said, acknowledging Stone's warning with a dip of his head. Bringing your personal life to the job was frowned upon, to put it mildly. "Regular Suzy Songbird." "Thought he was Penny Pinfeather?" "Thought I told you never to say that name in front of me." Stone laughed, the sound reverberating deeply across the room. Several other Beakbreakers looked up. "When you wanna head out?" he asked, slapping Talon on the back. "Got some paperwork to finish first from the bust the team did last week." Talon grimaced, jerking his thumb toward a pile of papers on the corner of his desk. He would've been more pissed at being stuck with hours of deskwork, but he had plans to relieve some tension later. "Right," Stone said. "Think there'll be a report for this?" he asked, setting the paper with Prey's information down on Talon's desk. "Nah," Talon said. "We're just going to have a little chat with the guy, right? Nothing official. We might not even need our badges." "Sure," Stone said easily. "No need for paperwork. I hate that shit." "Exactly," Talon said, flashing a toothy smile. Stone's answering smile was just as toothy. ---117

Talon shrugged on his beat-up brown leather flight jacket as he and Stone walked out the precinct door that afternoon. Stone had on a similar jacket, but his was black and new because he was kind of a flash bastard. "Nice threads," Talon commented. "Shut up," Stone said easily, punching Talon's shoulder. "You're sufferin' from the green-beaked monster, my friend." Talon rolled his eyes and grinned. "Whatever. Ready to go have a friendly talk with Mr Prey?" Stone rotated his shoulders and rolled his neck from side to side. "You know me, Tal. I love talking." ---Prey's house was more like a ramshackle cottage. For somebody with money, it looked like he lived in his own droppings. The shutters hung off the windows like flaps of dead skin, and the paint was peeling. The steps up to the small front porch were bent and humped from the elements, washed to gray wood. Trash littered the yard. Stone eyeballed the building, using his hand to shield his gaze from the sun. "Damn," he said. "Thought you said this fucker was rich." "He is," Talon said, frowning. "Or rich enough. He was Ivory League." Stone whistled. "Went to school that high up in the clouds?" "Yeah." It was all in the report. Prey went to school the same place as Flit, and he dropped out after the first semester and Flit's restraining order. Talon flexed his fingers into fists. He knew the file front to back. 118

"Think he's home?" Stone questioned. "Dunno," Talon replied. "But I can wait." Stone looked sideways at him. "You wanna talk real bad, don't ya?" he drawled, his deep voice amused. "Yeah, today I'm feeling particularly lo-qua-cious," Talon enunciated, starting forward without waiting for Stone, an eager bounce in his step. "Big word, big guy," Stone laughed quietly as he caught up. They walked purposefully up to the front door, both of them opting to jump over the steps rather than risk twisted ankles if the wood gave. The floorboards on the porch creaked alarmingly under their combined weight. Talon banged on the screen door with his fist, rattling the wood frame. Bits of paint and plaster showered to the ground. "WHO THE FUCK IS IT?" a voice bellowed from inside. Talon felt every muscle in his body seize tight, rage simmering under his skin. He could picture the bastard on the other side of the door, fetid and boozy, stinking up the air in unwashed clothes, stubble on his face and eyes bloodshot. It didn't take much more effort to imagine him as a crumpled, bloody heap on the floor. Stone put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Easy," he said. Talon shrugged him off. "Answer your damn door and find out," he shouted back. They heard muffled cursing and the heavy creak of floorboards as Prey came closer. The inner door flew open to reveal the dingy gloom of the shack, and Talon found himself staring through the dark screen, face to face with Oz Prey himself. 119

"Hey, asshole," Talon said, and punched his fist straight through the screen into Prey's nose. "Shit!" Prey said, clutching at his face and stumbling backward. Blood spurted between his fingers as he flailed around. Talon smiled grimly and yanked open the door. Stone put a hand on his arm. "Everybody walks away from this breathing." "Breathing, sure," Talon said, pushing inside the house. "Walking I can't guarantee." Prey had managed to pull his shit together. Blood dripped off his chin, staining his dirty shirt. He was a tall guy with plenty of muscle. Talon hoped he didn't go down easy. "What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?" Prey said. "Just a couple of friendly, neighborhood Beakbreakers," Talon replied, "making a house call." For every step he took forward, Prey backed a step down the hall, eyes darting between Talon and Stone. "What the fuck?" Prey spat out. "What are Beakbreakers doing here?" Talon took a moment to study Prey. He'd been wrong about what he'd look like: aside from the dirty t-shirt and the stained jeans, Prey was well put together. His piercing gold eyes were keen and alert and – right now – wide with fear. His white hair had jet streaks at the temples, and the cut looked expensive. He was also clean-shaven with chiseled cheekbones, a dimpled chin, and thin, sculpted lips. Talon was really glad he'd fucked up the bird's nose. "We were in the neighborhood," Talon said. "Thought we'd drop in and say hi." 120

"We're swell folks like that," Stone added. "I didn't do anything," Prey said, backing up another step as he held up his hands as though to ward them off. "I'm innocent." "That's not what I hear," Talon said. "Who the fuck told you that?" Talon smirked. "Let's just say . . . a little bird I know," he replied. Prey's eyes narrowed. "Who?" he demanded. Talon made a disappointed, tsking noise under his breath. He cracked his knuckles deliberately, one by one. "Pal, I don't think you're in any position to get testy with us. We're here to give you a little lesson on how to treat your gentlemen right." Prey's posture relaxed and a sneer stole over his face. He didn't look all that handsome anymore. "Oh, right. This 'little bird' said I hit him, right? I bet it was Perry. The clumsy idiot ran into a door. He says I smacked him around, didn't he?" "Could be," Stone said, glancing at Talon. "Yeah, well, he's a liar. I don't hit people." "Try again," Talon said. "I almost believed you, but your delivery lacks something." Prey licked his lips. "I don't think it matters what I say. You came here for a fight, didn't you?" "Give him a prize, Stone," Talon said, his eyes tracking Prey's movements, noting the way his legs tensed like he might run. 121

"I already told you, I don‘t hit people. Those sluts all lied." "There's a restraining order with your name on it that says different," Talon hissed out. He could hear the low shriek trying to work its way into his voice and felt phantom claws at his fingertips. "The bitch who took that out was a lying piece of trash." Talon's teeth clacked together. He imagined what it would be like to snap his beak through Prey's neck. He gritted his teeth and said slowly, deliberately, "Flit wouldn't lie about that, you stupid son of a bitch." Prey's eyes widened before his features twisted into something dark and dangerous. "You know him? That little bitch! He put you up to this!" "He didn't put me up to anything," Talon said. Shit, he thought, he shouldn't have mentioned Flit's name. "I just think you should learn to pick on birds your own size." "That stupid bitch deserved it. He needed someone willing to keep him in line," Prey sneered. "Fucking slut. I'd hit him again." Talon lashed out almost before he was aware of what he was doing. His fist caught Prey across the chin, snapping his head back. Prey's left hand shot forward and grasped Talon's forearm on the downward stroke; he used it to haul Talon closer and brought his fist up at the same time. Talon caught a glancing blow off his cheekbone that made him grunt. Then they were grappling in earnest with each other, falling to the floor in a heap, punching and kicking wildly. There was no finesse. Talon was out for blood and Prey seemed equally incensed by the mention of Flit's name. Prey was also quicker than Talon thought he'd be and obviously not an inexperienced fighter; he landed some good, solid punches. Talon managed to block most of the damaging ones, until Prey got him across the solar plexus so 122

hard with an elbow that it knocked the breath out of him, pain radiating across his chest. In that instant of weakness, Prey punched Talon in the mouth, splitting his lip and making him bite his tongue. He spat blood to the side and landed a ha rd punch to Prey's stomach in retaliation that made the other bird double over. "Talon," Stone started to say. "Stay out of this," Talon said, huffing, as he crouched low to the ground. "I can handle it." Prey straightened and dove at Talon's legs. Talon put his hands out and they collided. He went backwards and his head bounced off the floor hard enough that he saw stars, air whooshing from his lungs on a pained grunt at the impact. "I'm gonna kick the shit out of you," Prey said, leaning over Talon while he was still dazed and unmoving. "And then I'm gonna find Flit and work him over real good. He always looked so pretty painted black and blue." Talon heard his own heartbeat go slow and steady, like when he flew high up into the clouds where the air was freezing and it was hard to breathe. Everything crystallized. His head whipped up and he rammed his forehead against Prey's nose. The other bird howled and pulled back, and Talon followed him up and over onto his back, standing over Prey's body and wailing punches everywhere he could reach. "Don't – fucking – touch – him," Talon bit out, punctuating each of his words with a kick. He heard something snap under his boot and Prey screamed, loud and high. Stone tried to haul him off, and Talon let out a roar, twisting around and swinging his fist wildly. It slammed into Stone's face, and Stone grunted, his grip going slack. 123

Talon lunged forward, pummeling Prey's face and chest. Prey brought his hands up, trying feebly to block the punches, and Talon knocked them away, landing a crunching punch to Prey's mouth that definitely knocked loose a few teeth. He felt Stone grab the back of his shirt and jerk him hard. The collar cut into his throat and made him cough reflexively. The sudden motion threw him off balance and he went to his knees, breathing heavily. Sweat beaded cold on his forehead. "Fucking stop, idiot," Stone said, wrapping his arm around Talon's neck as he hauled him upright. Talon stumbled but managed to steady himself. Prey was a twitching lump on the floor. He moaned pitifully. His face was a mess of blood, and he clutched his sides, whimpering with each wheezing breath he took. He probably had broken ribs. Stone curled his hand around the back of Talon's neck in warning; his hand was so large his fingers nearly met over Talon's Adam's apple. "We're done here," Stone hissed and yanked him toward the door. Talon coughed and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as he was dragged away. His knuckles were split and bleeding. When he dropped his hand to his side, it dripped red. "Yeah," he said. Stone shook his head when they were outside. "You punched me. You stupid fucker. Let's get you home." ---For some reason, Talon had sort of forgotten about Flit. Until he got two steps inside his house with Stone hovering behind him, threw 124

his keys into the bowl, and saw Flit pop his head out of the kitchen doorway, already talking loudly as he dried his hands with a dishtowel. "Talon," he said cheerfully. He hadn't looked up from his hands yet. "You're late. I hope you like your food cold because I certainly didn't get a phone call from you telling me oh my GOD." He stopped and stared at Talon. His face paled. "Most of the blood isn't mine," Talon said. He heard Stone sigh wearily behind him. "That comforts me immensely," Flit said, beginning to sound hysterical. He practically launched himself down the hall, but jerked to a stop halfway and took a deep breath, then finished coming closer with halting steps. He brought the dishrag up to Talon's face with shaking hands, and Talon let him. Flit smeared the blood away and swiftly catalogued Talon's wounds, ending with Talon's hands. He gripped Talon's wrist and held his bloody knuckles up to the light. "What happened?" Flit asked, his eyes wide and horrified. "Ran into something," Talon said shortly. "With my fist." Flit stared at him, mouth agape. Talon could feel the heat from Flit's fingers bracketing his wrist. "A couple times," Talon added, and hated that he sounded guilty. "Dumbass," he heard Stone mutter. "Are you all right?" Flit said. He was still pale and his eyes were huge and round in his face, making him look small and vulnerable. "I'm fine," Talon said. "But we could use a little more ice and a lot less questions. These cuts sting like a bitch. And my face hurts." 125

Flit's eyes traced Talon's features. His hands fluttered like he wanted to touch the bruises on Talon's face. "It wasn't a big deal," Stone said in a deep, businesslike tone. "We tangled with a perp. Hazard of the job." Flit started, like he hadn't realized Stone was there, and took in Stone's appearance. He made a little dismayed noise. "Oh, no, you got hit, too!" "Yeah," Stone said, working his jaw and glancing at Talon. "Crazy fucker clocked me good." Talon looked away. "Sorry," Flit said, "Let me get you some ice." "Don't worry about it," Stone replied. "I'm gonna head home." Flit hesitated. "If you're sure . . ." Stone's smile was lopsided. "I am. Just take care of Tal here. He's a big baby when he's hurt." Flit smiled weakly. "I know," he said. He swiveled on his heel and disappeared quickly back into the kitchen. Talon heard him run the rag under the faucet and then open the freezer door to get some ice. Talon swallowed. "Stone," he said, as Stone moved toward the door. Stone stopped but didn't turn around. "Thanks," Talon said simply. Stone's shoulders shook, and Talon thought he might be laughing. "Uh huh," was what he replied, but his tone said You owe me, motherfucker. 126

"I know," Talon said. Stone cocked an eye at Talon over his shoulder. He wasn't smiling, but there was somehow a fond look on his face. "Don't come to the precinct tomorrow, birdbrain. Take it easy and keep your head low. I'll deal with any complaints." "You really think he'll complain?" A grin broke out across Stone's face. "Shit, son. After the tail-whoopin' you gave him? I think he'll lay an egg every time he hears a knock on his front door." Talon grinned back, even though he could taste blood from the cut on his lip .

14. Flit. "Can I ask about it?" Flit asked the next morning over breakfast. Talon looked up, his fork poised over his plate. His lower lip was swollen and bruised, and the raw scrapes on his cheek looked harsher and redder in the morning light. "No," he said after a thoughtful pause. He was watching Flit strangely again. Flit frowned down at his plate. "Is it some sort of secret Beakbreaker thing?" Talon grinned, slow and lazy, and licked his lower lip. It looked like the cut had reopened. "Yeah," he said. Flit hmphed. "It's not like I'd sell the story to the newspaper or anything. I can be discreet." "Don't worry about it," Talon said, his expression closing off, even as a small smile still played over his lips. "Eat your breakfast and shut up." Flit glared down silently at his Finch toast, poking the soggy bread and spreading the powdered sugar and syrup around. He didn't see why Talon wouldn't tell him. 127

He just – he just wanted to know what had happened. Maybe if he knew what happened, it would stop the worry gnawing at his gut that something like this would happen again. He kept his head down and peered up through his lashes across the table. Talon was reading the newspaper with one hand, shoveling toast into his mouth with his fork, completely oblivious to Flit's attention. He had bandages wrapped around his knuckles, spots of red already showing through. The wrappings made his hand look bulky and funny holding the fork. Flit's eyes roamed Talon's face, taking in the damage for what felt like the umpteenth time. It wasn't as bad as it had appeared yesterday, and he shuddered a little, remembering. He never in his life wanted to see Talon look like that again, blood sprayed across his face, staining his teeth crimson, his knuckles shredded and raw. He felt bile rise up his throat at the image. The food he'd eaten churned in his stomach, and he pushed his plate away. The movement caught Talon's attention. "Not hungry?" he asked curiously. "No," Flit said. He stood and walked over to take his plate to the sink. Talon caught his arm as he went by, grinning up at him. "Hey, no sense wasting food this good. I'll eat it." Flit looked down at Talon's empty syrup-covered plate, about to make a comment about flabby bellies and exercise habits, when Talon, still grinning playfully, swiped a finger through the syrup and popped it into his mouth, sucking the sweetness off. Flit couldn't stop his blush; he felt it crash across his cheeks like a tidal wave. He shook his arm loose and said, "Fine, fine," dropping the plate on the table and striding to the sink. Talon seemed surprised at the reaction. His eyes widened, narrowing sharply in 128

the next instant. "Thanks," he said in a curious tone Flit did not like at all. "Don't mention it," Flit said, and fled the kitchen. ---It took Flit two more days before he thought he could call Robin without the first words out of his mouth being, I challenge you to pistols at dawn. "Hey, Flitty," Robin said when he answered the phone. "How's my favorite neurotic avian? Haven't heard from you in a while." "You‘re hilarious," Flit said. "I'm fine, the last few days have just been . . . busy." "Sure," Robin said. "It's not like you were avoiding me because you're jealous I went out with Talon or anything." "Robin," Flit said warningly. "I have a purely professional interest in Talon. I don't care who he dates." "Of course not," Robin deadpanned, "Professional. You live with him, you cook for him, you decorate his house like your own nest – it's totally professional. I mean, it's not like you're in love with the guy." Flit bit his lower lip and stayed quiet. Damn Robin and his overly perceptive nature. ". . . Flit. Flit," Robin said quickly. "Please tell me you are not that much of an idiot." "Robbie," Flit whined, leaning against the wall. He let his head sink to his chest. "I think I really, really am." In the past two days, Flit had also stopped trying to tell himself he wasn't head over heels for Talon. He knew denial wasn't healthy. It didn't change anything to 129

admit his feelings to himself; he could continue on like before, just with enhanced self-knowledge. It was fine. He heard Robin sigh. "Then why the hell are you setting him up with other birds?" "Uh, because I'm blackmailing him into doing what I want and he hates me?" "He doesn't hate you, Flit." "He hates me enough," Flit replied. "He liked you though, you horrible slut." "Slut?" "An alley fuck, Robin? Really? What would your students say?" "Oh," Robin said. "He . . . told you." Flit rolled his eyes, picking at the hem of his sweater. "Yes. Just to annoy me, I'm sure." "Yeah," Robin said, sounding terribly amused. "Sorry about that. You can't help it when the primal urges take over. I had to have him as soon as we got out of the restaurant. Big strapping man like that, you know how it is." Flit could not figure out why Robin was laughing. "Thanks," Flit replied sourly. "You can stop there. I don't need details." "Oh, Flitty-Flit-Flit," Robin lamented, "You're an idiot. Just tell him you like him. Tell him you want his hot, muscular body. Tell him you want his grumpy griffin babies and a happily ever after and all that other crap." "Shut up," Flit groaned. "You're supposed to make me feel better about this, not worse. Trust me, Robbie, Talon would rather eat me than kiss me." 130

He knew he wasn't the easiest person to get along with, and he was sure Talon was all too eager to get rid of him. And even though a small part of his conscience had pinged guiltily ever since he'd forced his way into Talon's life, Flit wasn't going to walk away until he'd fixed things. He heard Robin sigh again. "I think you're wrong. But you're not going to listen to anybody, including me, so I won't bother. You can figure it out on your own. This is your whole self-sacrificing, martyr thing at work, isn't it?" "I'm not being a martyr, Robin," Flit said primly. "Don't be dramatic. I'm just putting my feelings aside so I can do what's best for Talon." "Saint Flitticus," Robin said dryly. "Hanging up now." "Tell him," Robin said quietly. "No," Flit answered just as quietly. "I'll call you later." ---Flit was curled up on the couch reading the latest issue of Stratus Psychology when Talon wandered into the room. "Hey," Talon said. Flit looked up warily. Talon had been unusually pleasant the last few days, and the sudden behavioral change had Flit on edge, waiting for a smack to the head that never came. "Hello," Flit said back. "You, uh, almost done with your phony science stuff?" Talon gestured at the journal in Flit's hands as he rocked lightly on the balls of his feet, shifting from side to side. 131

Flit pursed his lips. "I'm nearly done reading legitimate medical articles, yes." Talon laughed and came farther into the room. "I was thinking maybe we could eat out tonight." "Oh," Flit said, blinking. "Well, I was going to make veggie burgers, but I could order something. What would you like?" "No," Talon said. "I meant, maybe, we could go out to eat. At a restaurant. I heard there's this new Mexican place over on Cloud Nine called Parroteca. It sounded good." Flit wing-bent the edge of the page to mark his place and put his journal down on the coffee table. "You want to go out? In public? Looking like you just got off the set of Flight Club?" Talon touched his lower lip lightly. It wasn't swollen anymore, but there was a scab on the lip, and the bruises on his face were an interesting yellowy purple shade. "It's no big deal. Anyone gives me trouble, I'll shoot 'em." "Naturally," Flit said, rolling his eyes. "Heaven forbid you engage in any sort of dialogue." It wasn't long ago when a comment like that would have made Talon bristle. Now he just smiled absently and scratched at a scab on his cheek. "So, uh, dinner sounds okay?" "Er – yes," Flit replied, honestly not sure what else to say. "Good," Talon said. "You wanna go around seven?" "That should be fine." "Good," Talon repeated. He lingered, like he had something else he wanted to say, and Flit watched him expectantly, feeling slightly befuddled. 132

Talon glanced around the room. "This, uh. The living room. Looks good. What's that color?" Flit glanced at the walls. "Blue," he said. "Right," Talon said. "It's . . . a nice blue. Calming. It goes with the white couch and chairs. Makes me think of clouds and stuff." Flit squinted one eye. "Are you all right?" Talon scrubbed a hand over his face, and then coughed. "Yeah. See you at seven." He left. Flit picked up his journal. He glanced at the doorway Talon had left through and considered it thoughtfully. Then he turned to the article on dissociative identity disorder. ---15. Talon. Talon was feeling pretty good a week later as he got home from work and unlocked his front door. He didn't think Flit realized it yet, but he'd installed four new locks, just in case. Even if Stone didn‘t think Prey would come looking for him, Talon thought it was better to be safe. He threw his keys in the bowl, whistling softly under his breath. He'd taken Flit out twice in the last week, surprised to find that he actually enjoyed spending time with him. Once you got past the cheerful, know-it-all surface Flit was all right. He was damn smart, and funny, and not half-bad looking. Talon was sort of having fun. It was Friday, so maybe they'd go out for pizza at Pie in the Sky. He hadn‘t taken Flit there yet and thought he might like it. 133

He'd thought idly, once or twice, what it would be like if he and Flit were . . . together. The sex would probably be really good. And Flit could cook almost as well as his mom. And when he wasn't babbling and being annoying, he was easy to talk to, which Talon found strange until he thought it probably had something to do with all of Flit's mumbo-jumbo ornipsychiatry training. He wondered what it would be like to kiss Flit, maybe shut that pretty mouth up for a minute or two. But then he laughed quietly to himself because – Flit? Really? C'mon. He walked into the living room, shrugging off his leather jacket, and found an attractive young man with shaggy, sun-washed hair and tanned skin lounging on the couch. He had on board shorts and flip-flops, his feet propped on the coffee table. He jumped up easily when he saw Talon. "Heya," the bird said, striding forward to shake Talon's hand as he grinned with a wide, full mouth. "I'm Paul." "Nice to meet you," Talon said, his attention focused on glaring at Flit. If they did go out for pizza now, he was ordering a shitload of onions, just to piss Flit off. The sparrow was perched on the arm of the white leather recliner, sipping daintily at a mug of something. His sling was a light pink today, which went well with the salmon colored sweater he wore. "Sparrow," Talon said flatly. Flit looked back at him, his expression even, and raised his mug to his lips. "Thought I told you no more dates," Talon said. "Did you?" Flit asked. "I must have forgotten. Next time you should write it down." 134

"Dude," Paul said. "No worries. We'll have an awesome time. You look like a guy who could use a fun night out." "Do I?" Talon asking dangerously, feeling his shoulders tighten. "Yes," Flit said quickly. "Don't be such a spoilsport, Talon. Paul has a lovely evening planned for the two of you: cloud diving and then dinner below clouds at a quaint little restaurant by the sea." "The sea? Why the hell would I wanna go down soilside?" "Paul's a fisherman," Flit said mildly. "That's where he makes his livelihood." Well, Talon thought. Open beak, insert claw. He grunted in reply. "A fisherman," Flit repeated in the same mild voice. "That means he often works with his hands. He's very successful. He pulls in some of the biggest catches around." "It's a pelican thing," Paul said, his broad smile growing even broader. Talon didn't see how that was possible. "We're the best fishermen around. Don't let the cormorants or the seagulls tell you anything different." "Maybe you've heard of Paul's company?" Flit said. "Fishing on a Star? It's an immensely popular brand. Paul's his own CEO." Talon glanced again at the young man from his unkempt hair to his ratty flip flops. "Is that your executive look?" "Sure," Paul said, flashing another easygoing grin. "I try to keep the workplace casual. I'm a laid-back kinda guy. I find it helps minimize stress if I maintain a more zen atmosphere. You should try it." "Yeah," Talon said. "I should. In between hunting down criminals and stuff. I'll go buy a pair of sandals. Your idea sounds great for people who don't actually 135

bust their ass for a living, putting their lives on the line." "Whoa," Paul said, holding his hands up. "Hostile. Is that where you got your face damage from? 'Cause man, no wonder people wanna punch you." Talon's eyes narrowed and he took a menacing step forward. Flit got up hurriedly from his chair at the same time. "You got a pretty big mouth," Talon said. "I'm a pelican. We're known for our big mouths," Paul said, still smiling. "And our big beaks. And our big everything," he added with a wink. "Uh huh," Talon said, unimpressed. "You certainly think highly of yourself." "Of course. Pelicans are the most wonderful bird, after all," Paul said, laughing. He had a low, carefree laugh. It grated on Talon's nerves. "Is that so?" Talon asked, folding his arms over his chest. "Do pelicans have a big fucking ego to go with their big everything else?" "Uh, no, man," Paul said. Now his laugh was a trifle uncertain. "I was just – I mean, you've heard the old saying, right?" Flit winced, like he knew what was coming. Paul cleared his throat and began cheerfully reciting: "The most wonderful bird is the pelican. His beak can hold more than his belly can. He can hold in his beak enough food for a week, but darned if I know how in hell he can!" Talon stared at him, waiting a beat. Then he looked at Flit. "No," he said, and walked out. ---136

"Talon," Flit said in a prissy little voice later when he found Talon sitting on the back porch, watching the sun drop below the clouds. Talon had shucked off his shoes and had his bare feet propped up on an overturned flowerpot, his jeanclad legs crossed at the ankles. "What?" Talon asked. He scratched the label on his beer bottle with his thumbnail, peeling away tiny, wet scraps. Flit walked around to stand in front of him, his hands on his hips, and a scowl darkening his features. The sunset's golds and reds limned him in rich color. He was sort of beautiful, Talon realized. He'd known Flit was attractive, but – no, he was beautiful. Huh. Talon toasted him with the beer bottle. "What?" he repeated. Flit sighed noisily and rolled his eyes. "That was your date you walked out on, in case you missed it." "Told you I didn't want any dates." Flit's jaw tightened. "You should have given him a chance. He's a nice young man." Talon took a long swig from his bottle. "Do I look like I wanna date a nice young man? Besides, he practically had barnacles growing on his skin. I don't date beach bums." "Fine," Flit said, in a tone that suggested the conversation was far from over. "No more ridiculously wealthy beach bums on your next date." He stalked inside. Talon nodded and stared at the sunset for a second. "Hey!" he said, snapping around to yell through the door. "Hey, no dates at all!" ---137

"Hello, Talon! My, you're looking well!" Flit said cheerfully the second Talon walked through the door three days later. He was dressed like he was going out, and he was clearly up to something. Talon backed up a step, his hand on the doorknob. "What?" he asked suspiciously. "Nothing, nothing!" Flit said, leaning closer and patting him on the che st. His hand felt warm through the fabric of Talon's shirt. "I'm just heading out for dinner with a friend so you're on your own tonight. Your food is in the microwave, just heat it up when you want. Have fun!" Then Flit was out the door before Talon could growl, What friend? He scowled and walked to the kitchen. And saw a strange bird sitting at his kitchen table. The bird was dressed in a tweed suit, twisting a long-stemmed rose nervously in his hand. He looked up when Talon walked inside. "Hello," the little man said nervously, licking his lips. He stood up unsteadily, like he might be dizzy. He was about the same height as Flit, but thinner. He had light brown hair, brown eyes, and small spectacles that seemed to be perpetually slipping down his nose. "I'm Finch. Finch Finchley, it's pleasure to make your acquaintance. You have a lovely home." He held out the rose with a twitching hand. "I am gonna kill that fucking sparrow," Talon said. ---"I don't date much," Finch admitted. They were sitting on the couch drinking coffee. Talon hadn't had the heart to throw him out just yet. He was afraid Finch would hyperventilate and die from 138

embarrassment or something. It was like sitting next to a firecracker that someone had lit, waiting for the bang. Finch couldn't sit still, practically shivering with energy. He was clearly a highly strung little man. "I mean," Finch continued, his mug shaking so that small drops of coffee sloshed over the side and showered down on the white couch. "I mean, I want to but . . . I get . . . a little nervous." "No shit," Talon said. Finch paled. "Oh n-no, oh m-my God," he stuttered. "Am I making you uncomfortable? I bet I am. I overshare, I know I do, Flit tells me – I mean. My therapist tells me that I need to control my urge to babble endlessly about myself. And he's right because this one time I was at a party and –" "Uh, overshare," Talon said. Finch's mouth snapped shut. He took a shaky drink of coffee. The couch got a little browner. "This isn't going well, is it?" Finch asked miserably. He swallowed and his thin shoulders sagged. "Not really," Talon said. "But it's not your fault, it's mine. I'm already sort of seeing someone." "Oh!" Finch said. "I didn't – Flit didn‘t tell me that, oh God, I'm sorry. I can't imagine how awkward this must be for you, it reminds me of this time I -" "Flit doesn't know," Talon interrupted before Finch could work himself up any more. Talon watched as Finch seemed unable keep from fidgeting. His fingers were in constant motion, plucking at folds of leather on the couch, smoothing invisible wrinkles from his shirt, tapping on his thighs. He gave Talon a headache just watching him. 139

"I should go then. It was lovely chatting with you," Finch said. His chin wobbled bravely. Talon suddenly had an idea. "Hold on a second," he said. He went to his bedroom, found what he needed, and headed back. Finch was sitting on the edge of the couch when he returned, practically vibrating. Maybe coffee had been a bad idea. He handed Finch the piece of paper. "What's this?" Finch asked. "Call this guy," Talon said. "His name's Paul. I think you two might get along." ---"You set your date up with your other date?" Flit asked the next morning. He was waiting just inside the kitchen door, ready to pounce like a fucking guardbird. He had his hands folded across his chest, one foot tapping impatiently on the floor. Talon glared and walked past him. Coffee. No one should have to deal with Flit before coffee. Flit huffed noisily and beat him to the counter. There were two steaming mugs already sitting by the coffee pot. In one the liquid was black, in the other it looked like it had cream and sugar. "They're both yours," Flit said. "The black one first, the cream and sugar when you can actually process taste." "Ungh," Talon said gratefully, swallowing huge gulps of sweet, caffeinated nectar. 140

"What didn't you like about Finch?" Flit demanded. Talon gaped at him. "If I wanted to date a fucking hummingbird, I'd date a hummingbird," he said finally. He finished his black coffee and moved on to the second mug. "So Finch is a little tightly wound," Flit said evasively. "He's lovely. Very sweet. Very detail oriented." "Very crazy," Talon said. Flit coughed to cover what might have been a laugh. "That's not nice. Wasn't there anything you found attractive about him?" "He was small like you," Talon said, before he could think. He blamed not being awake. The coffee hadn't really hit his system yet. Flit blinked. "I'll . . . keep that in mind," he said. "Hey," Talon said, remembering. "Where'd you go last night?" "Oh, yes, I'm sure you care," Flit said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I'm heading to the feed store now to get some ingredients for a cake your mother wants me to help her bake, so make me a list if you need anything." He swept out of the room. Talon glared down into his coffee cup. He did care. ---He was getting a glass of water a few afternoons later when the doorbell rang. He carried his glass as he strolled down the hall and opened the door. A young man stood on the other side. He was tall but thin, all knobby knees and elbows, with a hooked nose and flaming pink hair. He looked about twenty. 141

"Hi!" he gushed. "I'm looking for Talon?" Talon eyeballed him, took a long drink of water, and then closed the door in his face. ---It became a pattern, strange birds showing up in his house every few days, and Talon found himself looking forward to each new candidate Flit brought to the house for him to reject because it turned into a new game. And it frustrated Flit, so it was an awesome new game. He didn't intend to date any of them. He always told Flit they weren't his type for some made up reason or another. Flit would nod seriously, scribble notes onto his clipboard, and bite his lower lip while he scowled fiercely down at his charts and graphs and spreadsheets or whatever, checking another potential suitor off his list. He liked to watch Flit's face, liked the annoyed, pinched frown that formed between his delicately arching eyebrows. Flit was cute when he concentrated. They were sitting next to each other on the couch after the latest bird, an owl, had finally left. Talon wasn't even kidding when he said the owl gave him the creeps, and he couldn't put his finger on why. The guy had been handsome and polished, with little spectacles like the ones Flit sometimes wore. And he'd also seriously wigged Talon out. Flit too, if the way the sparrow grimaced and violently crossed out the owl's name on the list was any indication. "That one really sucked," Talon said. "Are you just plucking random birds from the sky now?" "Shut up," Flit said distractedly, chewing on the end of his pen. "I'm going to find you a birdfriend, Talon." 142

Talon rolled his eyes and sank back on the couch. "No rush," he said. "Hey, remember when I said I didn't want any more dates?" Flit stopped nibbling on his pen and eyed Talon archly. "Did you write it down?" Talon laughed because, okay, that was funny. Flit looked surprised and a little pleased. He had a small smile on his face as he bent over his clipboard. ----

16. Flit. Flit hummed to himself as he washed the breakfast dishes. The sun was shining outside and it was another bright, cheerful morning. The only dark cloud on the horizon was Talon's date later this evening with a flashy cardinal, but that wasn't until hours later so Flit was fully prepared to enjoy the day. This would be Talon's eighth date, and Flit frowned a little as he rinsed a plate and placed it in the dish drain. He hadn't thought Talon would be so finicky about the process, but he was determined his matchmaking skills would be successful. He had literally dozens and dozens of happy couples to his name. Talon only has one, he thought a little smugly. Flit made a face as he recalled Finch and Paul, still annoyed that Talon had played matchmaker better than him. The happy couple had called just yesterday to thank Talon for getting them together and to invite both Talon and Flit to Paul's house for dinner at the end of the month. 143

Flit smiled a little as he remembered. Talon had been ready to refuse, but Flit had gleefully snatched the phone away and promised they wouldn't miss it for the world, and they'd even bring dessert. It was worth it to see the way Talon sputtered and turned a dull red before he stomped from the room. Snickering, he was just placing the last glass up in the cabinet when he heard the doorbell ring. He frowned over his shoulder, setting a plate down. He was sure Talon wasn't expecting anyone, and he wasn't either, unless Talon's date tonight had come very early. He dried his hands on the dishtowel by the sink. Talon had already left for work. Perhaps he'd forgotten something? Flit rolled his eyes. It wouldn't be the first time. Of course, Talon was in a much better mood about work these days, ever since Flit had started letting him have his flight feather back during the day. Talon hadn't really said anything, but Flit was sure if Talon had been able to transform he wouldn't have been injured so badly in that last fight. He walked down the hall and undid all the ridiculous locks Talon had recently installed on the door. He wasn't sure why the griffin was suddenly so security conscious, and he hadn't paid much attention when Talon gave him the lecture on opening the door to strangers. Please. He was a grown bird. He didn't have anything to be afraid of. Chuckling ruefully to himself, he opened the front door, prepared to shoo away a talonmarketer or a Jaybird's Witness. Any words he might have said died on his tongue. His worst nightmare stood in front of him. "Hey, baby," Oz said. "Long time no see." 144

Flit stumbled back in shock as Oz pushed his way into the house, shutting the door behind him. Flit felt like his brain had shut down. The world was fractured and sharp. He noticed things in jagged pieces: the sun was out; the hall was quiet; his hands were still slightly damp. Oz seemed taller. His face was beaten and bruised, the marks healing, and he had a white brace taped over his nose. "How you been?" Oz said, his yellow eyes cold. "Oz," Flit finally said, regaining the power of speech. His heartbeat rabbited in his chest as memories tried to crowd in. "Oz, you can't be here. You – you can't. I have a restraining order against you." "Funny thing," Oz said, picking at his teeth with his pinky nail, seemingly unconcerned. "You did. But they're only good for so long unless you get 'em renewed." "I – no," Flit said, still backing up. Oz followed him slowly, almost leisurely, like he had all the time in the world, with a terrible smile on his face. "It's been years. I thought –" "You thought I'd stopped wondering where you were, baby?" Oz asked, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. The bruising on his face made his eyes look shadowed and demonic. "You're breaking my heart, Flitty-boy. I never stopped thinking about you. The one that got away." "No," Flit said, terror clawing up his throat. "Get – get out." "I don't think so," Oz said. "Took me long enough to find you. We gotta have ourselves a long talk." "How did you find me?" Flit asked. He was halfway down the hall now. If he 145

could make it to the kitchen, he could get the phone, call Talon. Find a knife. "Like you don't know," Oz sneered, suddenly much closer. Flit stumbled back another step, and Oz smiled. "It doesn't matter. We gotta talk about me and you. I think there are some unresolved issues, don't you?" "No," Flit said, shaking his head. "No. Please. Just. Get out. I – I'll call the Sky Patrol." One corner of Oz's thin lips curled up into a smirk. "How you gonna do that with all your broken fingers?" Flit made a small sound and whirled around, sprinting for the kitchen. He only made it a few steps before Oz slammed into him and pinned him against the wall, his long fingers wrapping around Flit's throat. "Bad move, Flitty," Oz said, leaning close. Flit could smell the booze on his breath. Oz was missing a tooth on his left side. "Why you wanna make me mad?" Flit choked, clawing at Oz's arm, his back pressed against the wall and his toes barely touching the floor. He spine was a painful burn and it felt like his neck was going to snap, all his body weight hanging limply from Oz's hands. He couldn't breathe. Black spots began to dance in front of his eyes and he felt the way the blood pooled in his face, how his heartbeat throbbed against Oz's vice-like grip. "Pretty bird," Oz crooned, swaying close. He pressed a slimy kiss to Flit's lips. The pressure from his hands forced Flit's jaw closed and prevented him from pushing his tongue inside Flit's mouth, but he contented himself with licking across Flit's teeth, sliding around between his lips and gums. Flit wanted to gag. He tried to struggle, but Oz's grip was too strong. Oz backed away a step, surveying Flit's purpling face with satisfaction, tightening his grip. 146

The black spots dancing in Flit's eyes widened and multiplied while the edge of his vision began to grey out, and he thought, I'm going to die. The last thing I'll see before I die is this sick bastard. Sudden rage washed over Flit, sharpening his senses and focusing his mind. This wasn't right. This wasn't how it ended – he was stronger than this, he didn't deserve this, he didn't want Talon to come home and find his corpse in the middle of the hall. He couldn't let Oz win. As Oz moved back to gloat, Flit saw his opportunity. Just enough space had opened between their bodies for Flit to gather the last of his fading strength and lash out, bringing his knee straight up into Oz's groin. Oz made a high-pitched noise as he let go of Flit and pitched sideways, cradling his genitals and moaning. Flit dropped to the ground and nearly went to his knees as the blood rushed to his head. They were standing next to the entrance to the living room. While Oz was still groaning on the floor, Flit staggered inside, heading to the window. Talon's desk sat underneath. It was the only place he could think to find something to defend himself. Flit experienced a horrible sense of déjà vu, remembering just a few weeks ago how he'd fled here escaping Roadkill, and how that had turned out. But he knew this was going to turn out different. This was going to turn out with him dead. He braced his good hand on top of the desk, steadying himself. There was a rushing sound in his ears and it hurt to breathe, hurt to suck air down his abused windpipe. He pulled open the drawers in Talon's desk frantically searching for something, anything, a letter opener, a pair of scissors, a 147

"Where d'you think you're going?" Oz panted, stumbling into the room, his hand still cupped over his groin. "You stupid bitch. You aren‘t gonna walk away from this. You're just making it harder on yourself." "Stay back," Flit said hoarsely, grabbing a fountain pen, the first thing he could find. It hurt to talk, and his throat felt scraped and raw, pain pulsing in a fiery ring around his neck. Oz caught his breath slowly and smirked. He bent his knees in a half-crouch between Flit and the door. "Baby, c'mon, let's stop playing. You know you can't win this." Oz lunged for him and Flit gripped the pen hard around the middle, bringing it down in a wide arc with all the force he could manage. He nearly retched when he embedded it far enough into Oz's arm that the bottom of his fist rested against Oz's skin. Flit yanked the pen out, and Oz screamed as he stumbled away. Blood welled bright and fast from the wound. Oz looked up at him, disbelief and rage flashing in his yellow eyes. "You fucking slut! I'll kill you!" He threw himself at Flit and Flit brought the pen down again and again. Oz grappled with him, trying to grab his arm, but his hands were slippery with blood and he kept losing his grip. Flit drove the pen deep into Oz's shoulder and yanked it out with a fierce snarl. Oz howled and clapped a hand over the wound, blood bubbling between his fingers. Flit raked the sharp point of the pen across Oz's face. Oz stifled a yell and reached for Flit's throat, getting up close. 148

Flit jabbed the pen as hard as he could into Oz's stomach. His hands were slippery with Oz's blood now, making it hard to keep hold of the pen, red staining his arms to the elbow. Oz grunted and his eyes rolled into his head as he fell backward onto the floor, his hand flying out to grab at the couch as he went down; it left trails of blood on the white leather, patterns like a gruesome child's finger-painting. Oz's chest and arms were covered in shallow gashes and deep stab marks. The front of his shirt was soaked in blood. Flit leapt over Oz's prone form and ran down the hall into Talon's bedroom. He spun around and slammed the door closed, fumbling one-handed with the lock. He heard Oz's groans echo between shouted obscenities. He pelted across the room, not bothering to go around Talon's bed – he clambered straight over the top of the mattress, smearing blood on the sheets, and grabbed for the phone on Talon's nightstand. He had a white-knuckled grip on the receiver, and he misdialed twice before his shaking fingers punched in the correct numbers. The phone started to ring. He could hear Oz thumping down the hall, cursing him, promising how much he was going to hurt Flit when he got the door open, how he was going to bend Flit's fingers backward and take the pen tip and push it under each fingernail and – Talon picked up on the sixth ring. "Beakbreaker Talon," he answered gruffly. "Talon," Flit sobbed, sagging on the edge of the bed, clutching the phone so hard his fingers ached, "Talon, he's here, oh God, please, you have to help me, I need you to –" Oz began banging on the door, great booming cracks that shook the frame. "Flit?" Talon said. His voice sounded strained. "What?" 149

"Please," Flit whimpered. "Please, p-please, you have to come, he's here, he's going to kill me, please, please." He was breathing so hard and fast he was barely keeping air in lungs for a half a second at a time; he felt dizzy and knew that if he didn't stop he was going to hyperventilate. "Calm down," Talon said. "What, just – calm down – what the fuck is going on? Where are you?" Flit heard the door splinter. "Oh God," he said. He dropped the phone and picked up the pen, his hand shaking. Talon's tinny shouts drifted up from the receiver. "Flit? Flit? Motherfucker!" He heard the dull beep beep beep of the disconnected call, just before Oz gave the door a final kick and it banged open inward, bouncing off the wall and denting the plaster. "Gonna make you sing, pretty bird," Oz said, his smile half-crazed. Blood soaked the fabric of his shirt and dripped off his arm onto the floor. He stepped across the threshold. "Gonna make your screams into a song." Flit tightened his grip on the pen, angled it at Oz, and stifled a quiet sob. Talon, he thought, feeling cold and hopeless. Talon, please, please, please. ---17. Talon. Talon's paws slammed into the front door so hard the vibration traveled straight down to his tail. He folded his wings as he smashed through the wood and tumbled into his hallway, his momentum carrying him several steps. He had to dig his claws into the tile to stop himself; his nails carved deep gouges in the floor, and a high, grinding shriek echoed around him, rattling his teeth. He shifted out of his griffin form and banged his hip against the hall table as he 150

lurched forward. "FLIT!" he roared. "Flit! Where the fuck are you?!" He sprinted down the hall and flung his hand out to grab the doorframe, swinging himself into the living room. He nearly slipped on the blood. It was everywhere: abstract splatters across the floor and on the walls, red handprints on the back of the white couch, smeared like someone had dragged themselves up. "Flit," Talon tried to say. He couldn't find his voice. He swallowed and tried again. "Flit," he rasped out. Then, louder: "Flit!" No answer. Fuck, no, no, Talon thought to himself, racing out of the room and following the trail of blood to his bedroom. He saw how his door was broken in half, splinters of blood-soaked wood littering the floor. His bedroom was empty, but there was even more blood in here. The sheets were missing from his bed and the mattress was stained crimson. "Fuck," he said out loud, spinning on his heel and racing back down the hall to the kitchen. Fuck, fuck, please no, I didn't get here in time – He skidded to a halt just inside the kitchen. Flit was sitting at the kitchen table with his back to the door. Relief crashed through Talon so hard he staggered and had to put a hand on the doorframe to steady himself. "Flit," he said, rushing to Flit's side, his hand clutching at Flit's shoulder. 151

Flit didn't move. His breathing was slow and even. "Flit?" Talon asked, very quietly. Flit was staring straight ahead. He didn't turn his head to look at Talon. His hands were pressed flat on the table in front of him, covered in blood. A black fountain pen lay in a straight line between them. "Flit," Talon tried again. "What happened? Are you okay?" Flit's lips moved silently for several seconds. "Yes," he said finally. His voice was wrecked and gravelly. Talon noticed the reddened, purpling bruise around his neck. "Where is he?" Talon asked. Flit still wouldn't look at him. One of his hands moved slowly to cover the pen. Talon could see dry blood caked under his nails. "I think he's dead," Flit said in the tiniest, most terrified voice Talon had eve r heard. Talon finally caught sight of the sheet-wrapped bundle on the floor in the corner. The trail of blood ended there in a slowly spreading pool around the body. "Shit," Talon said. "Just stay put. Lemme – I'll check." Flit stared down at his hands. Talon wasn't sure he'd seen him blink yet. He went across the room and knelt by the body, pulling the sheet partway from Prey's pale face. He used his fingers to check for a pulse, and he wasn't sure whether he was relieved or not when he found one. It was thready and weak, but it was there. He went back to Flit's side and crouched down so that they were eye level. Gently, he cupped his hand under Flit's chin and turned his face so he could look 152

at him. Flit's eyes were wide and bloodshot, his irises swallowed by the black of his pupil. He was probably going into shock. His expression was blank, like all his muscles had frozen, and he looked at Talon like he didn't recognize him at all. It scared Talon more than anything ever had before in his life. "You didn't kill him," Talon said. Flit's expression crumpled. He made a strangled noise and launched himself into Talon's arms. The chair clattered sideways. Flit's small hands clutched at Talon's shirt; he gathered fistfuls o f fabric and drew himself closer as he sobbed into Talon's chest. Talon wrapped his arms around Flit's shaking body, and they sank to the ground together. Talon rocked him, rubbing his hands over Flit's back and making low, shushing noises. "It's okay," Talon said. "Fuck, it's okay, you're safe." "I stabbed him," Flit whimpered, his mouth pressed somewhere near Talon's neck. Talon could feel Flit's tears wetting his skin. "Yeah," Talon replied. "With a pen. Is this gonna become a habit with you? Should I start hiding them? Am I in danger?" Flit made a garbled sound that was probably supposed to be a laugh and pressed closer. "No," he said. He waited a beat. "Maybe," he added. Talon laughed, so fucking glad Flit was okay it felt like his chest was gonna split open in relief, the adrenaline still pounding through him. He bent his head so he could bury his nose in Flit's hair and take in a deep breath. The sour scent of dried sweat and fear overpowered the soft honeysuckle fragrance of Flit's shampoo. "You're the only person I know whose weapon of choice is a ballpoint," Talon said, shaking his head, his nose still smashed against Flit's scalp. 153

Flit choked out a laugh and rested his forehead against Talon's chest, taking hiccupping breaths to calm himself. His fingers curled into the fabric of Talon's shirt. "It wasn't a ballpoint," he rasped. "It was a fountain pen. Much classier." "Totally," Talon said, inhaling deeply again. He pulled away and wiped a smudge of blood from Flit's earlobe. "I'm sorry," Flit said quietly. Talon jerked back far enough that he could peer down fully at Flit's face. Flit's lashes were shining wet, thin tears squeezed from the corners of his whisky-gold eyes. He looked beautiful and heartbreakingly fragile, and Talon realized that was only half-true and sort of deceiving. This little sparrow had just taken a guy out with office supplies. He maybe hugged Flit a little tighter. "Fuck, what for, you idiot?" Flit laughed and cast his eyes down. "There's blood all over your house and a body in your kitchen and it's my fault." "Uh, right," Talon said, belatedly remembering that he wasn't supposed to know who the fuck the guy was laying half-dead on his kitchen floor. "So. Wanna tell me what's going on?" Flit nodded and spoke haltingly. "That's – that man. He used to – we dated. A long time ago. It was – it was a bad relationship." "No shit," Talon said. "He beat you?" Flit made a tiny, hurt noise in the back of his throat and his eyelids fluttered closed, his fingers digging tighter into Talon's shirt until Talon could feel Flit's short nails bite into his skin. "Yes," he said softly. "But I got out, dammit. I got out!" "And he found you," Talon said, feeling like a horrible, horrible bird. 154

Flit nodded miserably. "Yes. Fuck, I'm sorry, I don't know how he found me, I was so careful – I made sure not to leave a trail when I got away from him. I wrote under a pseudonym, I haven't seen him in years, I just – God, I don't know how hefound me." He gave a small, hiccupping sob. It felt like someone had reached inside Talon's chest and started twisting everything around. If he were a better bird, this was the part where he'd come clean, tell Flit about going to see Oz and kicking the shit out of him. But there was still a pen within reach on the table and he wasn't willing to risk Flit's anger just yet. Talon swallowed. "What‘s his name?" "His name's Oz," Flit said, getting his voice back to normal. Or as normal as it could be, since it sounded like Prey had damn near choked him to death. "Oz Prey." Talon touched the ugly marks on Flit's neck, and Flit hissed through his teeth. "He hurt you anywhere else?" Talon asked. Flit shook his head uncertainly. He was still moving slowly, sluggishly, like he wasn't quite all there yet. It was so wrong it hurt, seeing Flit quiet and awkward like this, and Talon felt sick to his stomach. "Let‘s get you cleaned up, okay?" Talon said. "How about that? I'll grab a washcloth, I'll be right back." He started to get up and Flit grabbed tighter, making a noise of protest. Talon disentangled Flit's fingers from his shirt. "Hey, hey, it's okay, remember?" He jerked his head in Prey's direction. "He's not getting up. I'll be right back, just lemme grab a washcloth. Okay?" Flit still looked scared and unsure. Talon brushed a thumb across his cheek and watched how Flit closed his eyes and swayed into the touch. 155

"Right back," Talon promised. He felt the slight movement under his hand as Flit nodded. "Stone's gonna be here soon," Talon said, letting his hand drop. "He was right behind me. He's gonna help, okay? I'll just be a sec." His mind screamed in protest as he walked out of the room, screamed at him that he was headed the wrong direction, why the fuck was he leaving, where the fuck did he think he was going? Flit was sitting in the kitchen hurt and terrified and fucking shaking and why wasn't he with him right now? He gritted his teeth and made it to the bathroom where he grabbed a handful of washcloths. He turned the faucet on. Waiting for the water to heat up felt like the longest ten seconds of his life. He heard wingbeats and a landing thud and then Stone's voice boomed down the hall. "Talon?" "Kitchen," Talon shouted in reply, wetting the last washcloth and jogging back to Flit. When he got inside, Stone was looming over Flit, who was cowering in the chair. "What the fuck happened?" Stone was saying, looking back and forth from Flit to the body wrapped in blood-stained sheets in the corner. Stone grabbed Flit's shoulder and shook him lightly. "Shit, what the hell?" "Stone," Talon said slowly, nearly flinching at the sound of his own voice: it was a low enraged hiss that was prehistoric and deadly. "You need to let go. Right the fuck - now." Stone stared at him for a second before slowly removing his hand, putting both hands in the air in front of him in a placating gesture. "Chill, boss. It's okay." 156

Talon didn't say anything as he walked to Flit's side. He was afraid to. He didn't think he could manage words right now, not with that hot, furious feeling still clawing up his throat. He took Flit's hand in his own callused grip – God, they were such small hands – and ran the warm washcloth over the skin, rinsing the blood away. He made sure to swipe gently at the webs of skin between Flit's fingers. Flit had his head down, watching the motions. "I'm gonna order pizza tonight," Talon said, keeping his voice low. "I promise not to get onions." Flit's head snapped up, his eyes shining brightly and his cheeks pinked. "Talon, I –" he started to say but his voice choked off. "Shh," Talon said, turning Flit's hand over and cleaning the delicate lines of his palm. "'S okay. Just – it's okay. We'll clean up this mess, I'll make you some tea or something, we'll get pizza, we'll watch one of those stupid romantic comedies you like. All right?" Flit swallowed and nodded after a minute. "All right," he answered, his voice barely a whisper. Stone cleared his throat. "Somebody wanna tell me what the hell's going on? Am I gonna have to help cover up a murder? 'Cause I'm wearin' the wrong shoes for that." Surprisingly, Flit laughed. "No," he said. "I don't think so. He's just – unconscious?" He looked to Talon questioningly. "Yeah, blood loss," Talon confirmed shortly, staring at Stone and silently willing him not to say anything. "Domestic disturbance. Flit's ex showed up and attacked him. Any injuries Flit inflicted on him were in self-defense. That's the guy under the sheet. Still has a pulse, but we need to call a skybus." 157

Stone's eyes widened for a split-second. "Ex?" "Yeah," Talon said. "Guy's name is Prey." "Right," Stone said slowly, glancing at Flit. He whipped out a cellphone from his trouser pocket and quickly punched in a number. "Yeah," he said into the mouthpiece. "Beakbreaker Stone. Need a skybus at 1874 Cloudherst Lane. Yeah. Yeah, Agent Talon's house. No, he did not kill anyone, you asshole. Thanks." He hung up. Flit snorted out a small laugh, and Talon grinned back wryly. They were all quiet for a moment. "Shit goddamn, son," Stone said, shaking his head and breaking the silence, "remind me never to piss off this spitfire psycho sparrow of yours." "Yeah," Talon said, wrapping an arm around Flit's shoulder. Flit leaned into him gratefully. "You don't even wanna see what he does with scissors." Flit laughed hoarsely and pressed his face to Talon's chest, and Talon was never going to let anything hurt him, ever again. ---18. Flit. Flit heard the clunk and slide of twelve different locks opening. He paused for a moment and then returned to typing up his latest article. Talon had gone even crazier with home security in the last two weeks. Talon's footsteps echoed in the hall. The door clicked firmly shut, following by another round of locks clunking. "Flit?" Talon called. His voice was raised and worried. 158

Flit was curled sideways on the newly reupholstered living room couch with his laptop in front of him. He rolled his eyes. "Yes?" he called back. Talon came into the room. "Oh. There you are." "Indeed," Flit said. "Heaven forbid you don't know where I am every second." Talon scowled. "Whatever. What's for dinner, bitch?" Flit sighed and closed his laptop. He stood and stretched, his spine popping. His back loudly protested the way he'd been twisted for hours, hunched over as he researched and typed. "There's takeout in the fridge," he said, hefting his laptop and trying to push past Talon out the doorway. "For me. You'regoing out tonight." Talon didn't budge. "I'm what?" he asked menacingly. "You're going out," Flit repeated firmly. "I've arranged for you to meet up with a lovely little cardinal for drinks and dinner, and I think you'll like him." "It's a date," Talon said flatly. "Of course," Flit replied. He nudged Talon's chest with his shoulder, trying to get by. Talon's big hands came up and grasped Flit by the shoulders. He propelled Flit backwards to the couch. Flit's legs hit the back of the seat as he sat down wit h a startled oomph. "Get your hands off me, you birdbarian!" Flit snapped. "I'm not going on anymore dates," Talon said, his hands a heavy weight on Flit's shoulders. 159

"Yes, you are." "Hey, you're right, my answer's changed in the last two seconds and now it's no." Flit blew out an exasperated breath and glared up at Talon. Talon had moved back and crossed his arms over his chest, his typical I'm-bigger-than-you-don'tfuck-with-me angry face plastered on. "I don't wanna go out," Talon said stubbornly. "I'm staying home." "Talon," Flit said patiently. "You've stayed home every night for the last two weeks, ever since – I just think it's time you went out. These birds aren't going to date themselves." Talon made a rough noise in his throat and briefly shut his eyes, like he was trying to erase Flit's presence. "For fuck's sake – I don't want to date anyone! I'm happy how things are!" "Oh, now I know that's not true," Flit said, waving Talon's protests away. He set his laptop aside. "You need a nice bird in your life, Talon, even your mother says so." Actually, what Beaky had said was, "Flit, I'm so happy Talon has a sweet bird like you in his life, though I'm sure I don't know how he managed it!" Flit hadn't had the heart to tell her he and Talon were not even a remote possibility. "Don't drag my mom into this," Talon warned. "God, I don't even know why she likes you. If she knew how fucking evil you were she'd ward her house against you." "She's knitting me a sweater," Flit said smugly. "Of course she is," Talon replied. "Anyway," Flit said, standing up. Talon didn't move away, so Flit was suddenly 160

right in Talon's personal space. He sucked in a deep breath and pushed at Talon's chest with his good hand. "He's coming here to meet you at seven, so I expect you'll be ready and dressed by six forty-five." Talon leaned down until his face was uncomfortably close. "Do you?" he asked, his green-grey eyes glittering. Flit tried not to gulp in terror. "Yes." "Okay," Talon said, his teeth bared in a wide, unfriendly grin. The expression did nothing to comfort Flit. "Sure. I'll go get ready. And you'll come with us." "I hardly think so –" Flit started to say. "That's the deal," Talon said. "Take it or leave it." "Oh yes," Flit said, "And what if the date goes well? What if you two hit it off and you decide to take the evening back to his place, hm? I'm not going to go with you and watch, you pervbird." "Shit," Talon cursed, his face angry and too close, and Flit's heartbeat stuttered in his chest. "If you're so worried about me getting laid, why don't you just do the job yourself?"

19. Talon. "W-what?" Flit said, a blush darkening his pretty face. "Yeah," Talon said, warming to the idea. He hadn't really planned to make his move like this, but the words were already out there, and fuck if Flit didn't look pretty staring at Talon with his mouth half-open. And Talon wanted this. "Yeah," he said again, stepping closer so their chests brushed together. "You think I need to fuck the pain away or whatever so I can get over Zip. So let's do it." 161

"Are you – are you insane?" Flit gasped. "Why in the world would you think I'd ever – mmph!" Talon thought kissing Flit to shut him up might be a good idea. He was wrong. It was a fucking great idea. "Mmph mmph mmm!" Flit said, his hand fluttering over Talon's chest, pushing ineffectually. Talon wrapped his arms tighter around Flit's body, smiling against Flit's lips and kissing him harder. When they broke apart, Flit's mouth was swollen and wet with spit, and his chin was reddened from Talon's rough stubble. "What!" Flit sputtered. "What – that – that's not funny, Talon." He shoved, hard, and Talon nearly stumbled back. "Wasn't going for comedy," Talon replied, dipping his head again to reclaim Flit's lips. This time Flit didn't fight nearly as much, and Talon allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction. He knew the sparrow was attracted to him; he hadn't missed the way Flit's eyes traced his bare chest in the morning or how his breath caught, just a little, when Talon leaned too close. They were both consenting birds – there was no reason to fight this. Flit was frantic, kissing Talon like he wanted to eat him, his lips moving in constant rhythm, licking wet little stripes into Talon's mouth that made his dick harden in his jeans. He fumbled and grabbed for Flit's good hand, trapping it between their bodies, forcing it under his shirt and over his stomach and chest to thumb his nipple. "Wait," Flit panted, hot little puffs of air as their lips brushed. "Shouldn't we talk 162

about this?" "Talking is the last thing we should be doing," Talon said, moving to b ite at Flit's jaw. He grabbed Flit's ass and hauled him up in the air. Flit made a startled noise and his legs came up, wrapping vice-like around Talon's waist. Talon walked them toward the wall until he felt Flit's back hit it, the shock of impact jolting through them both. Flit's hips made tiny, involuntary hitching motions that pressed their dicks together, and Talon growled, grinding against him. Flit gasped into Talon's mouth as Talon shoved his tongue inside, licking everywhere he could reach, and Talon heard Flit moan a tiny, breathy little, "Please," and fuck, that was it, he was moaning too, humping up into Flit and knocking Flit's head against the wall, about to come in his jeans like a fucking teenager. He slowed down and Flit gave a tiny whimper as his head fell back, baring a delicious stretch of throat for Talon's questing mouth. Talon wrapped his arms tight around Flit and stumbled back from the wall, knocking down the hall, stopping every few minutes to press Flit against the wall again and ravage his mouth. Talon's tumbled into his bedroom door, slamming his shoulder against the wood and making their teeth clack together sharply. "Ungh, no," Flit said, jerking his mouth away in startlement. He had a small cut on his lower lip, a bright bead of blood welling to the surface. "No," he repeated, his voice getting stronger. "We can't - Talon, stop, what are we doing? Please, we have to stop – This is –" "No strings," Talon huffed, tugging at Flit's lower lip with his teeth, the coppery tang flooding his mouth. He didn't know what Flit's hang-up was, but he was ready to say anything at this point to get them moving into the bedroom and his dick in Flit's ass. "No strings," he repeated, sucking at the small wound, something hot and animal driving him to taste the salty flavor of Flit's blood. "This is no fucking strings, 163

okay, nothing but sex we both want, nothing but – ah, shit, your mouth, you beautiful fucker – just two birds and some mutual beak scratching, all right?" "Nngh," Flit agreed with another moan, his good hand clutching at Talon's shoulder as Talon's head moved down so he could lick and bite at Flit's nipples through his shirt. "No strings. Beak scratching, got it, mmnnyeah." ---It didn't take long before Talon had two slobbery-wet fingers inside Flit's ass, pumping in and out up to the knuckle, and the sparrow was still talking. "Talon, I'm not sure – ah, ah – that we should be doing this and – uuuungh – maybe we should think about it some more and –" "Oh my God," Talon said. "Do you ever shut up?" He twisted his fingers sharply and watched Flit's eyes roll back into his head. He pulled his fingers out with a wet squelch, wiping them on the soft inside of Flit's thigh. "Knees," Talon said. "Get on your knees. I'm gonna stuff your mouth so you can't talk." Flit's eyes flew to meet his. "What –" he started to say. "Now," Talon growled. Flit's jaw went slack, and Talon was afraid he'd pushed too far, ready to backtrack and laugh it off, but Flit scrambled off the bed and hit his knees so hard they cracked, and Talon forgot to be worried. "Oh, fuck," Talon said, "You're gagging for it, aren't you?" He grabbed Flit's chin in his hand, steering his face closer to Talon's dick. Flit nuzzled him, mouthing at his erection through the fabric until the crotch of his trousers was hot and moist. Talon groaned and pushed Flit's head away, quickly unzipping and taking his 164

dick in his hand. He fisted it roughly two or three times, and guided the head to Flit's mouth, dragging the tip slowly over Flit's lips. Flit lapped at Talon's dick like it was candy, his tongue darting out between his pretty pink lips as he made hot, whining noises in the back of his throat. His good hand stroked Talon's thigh, gripping the flesh and kneading into the muscle like a cat with a blanket. "C'mon," Talon said. "Need your mouth on me, God, suck on it." He grabbed Flit's face and lined his thumbs over the pressure points in Flit's jaw. Flit's mouth lips parted, his pink little tongue darting out to wet them. "Talon," he said in a sexed-out, needy voice, his eyelashes fluttering and casting shadows over his pale, freckled cheeks. He opened his mouth and looked up, waiting, his lips a perfect tiny 'O'. Talon slid his dick in with a low groan, letting it rest on Flit's tongue for a minute, before he began to thrust shallowly. It felt fucking amazing – hot and moist and just right – and he shoved harder, seeing how deep he could go, nearly coming when Flit's throat opened wide and let him sink all the way down. Flit made hungry noises around his dick, bringing his hand up to fondle Talon's balls, his thin fingers stroking and caressing. Talon pumped his dick in and out and soon the soft touches on his balls and the suction on his dick had his body tightening with the first stirrings of orgasm. "I'm gonna come," Talon warned, his voice wrecked and guttural. He could hear Flit breathing hard through his nose, trying to get air in around Talon's fat dick in his mouth, and fuck, if that wasn't the hottest sound, Flit's warm, wet heat around him, sucking him down, throat working so hard to take all of Talon inside. Flit turned those big, whisky-gold eyes up to him. His lashes were spiked and wet, streaks of dampness at his temples, and Talon thought about how next t ime they did this, he might like to pull out and come all over Flit's face, make his lashes clumpy and stuck together, paint stripes of jizz over his cheeks and his perfect, bow-shaped lips. 165

But not right now. "Gonna come," he repeated, grunting, thrusting his hips to get a little more friction. "And you're gonna take it all, unngh, yeah, but don't swallow, baby, okay, don't swallow. Gonna – ah, ah -!" He could feel the tension building in his balls as they tightened almost painfully, and Flit licked a little harder, pressed his tongue just right along the vein on the underside of Talon's cock, and Talon came with a howl, jerking his hips, emptying himself into Flit's warm, waiting mouth. His fisted his hands in Flit's hair and drove his cock deeper, holding it there. Flit made a choked sound, like he couldn't breathe, and his hand pushed frantically at Talon's stomach; thin spurts of come dribbled from the corners of his mouth, white streaks over his chin and down his neck, but that was okay, because he kept most of it in his mouth like Talon had ordered, his cheeks bulging a little with the mess. "Yeah, that's it, save it in your mouth," Talon said, panting, as he pulled free and used his thumb and forefinger to press Flit's lips together, swiping at t he lines of come that had leaked out. "You're gonna be a good boy for me, aren't you? Gonna keep it all inside, rolling around on your tongue, while I fuck you, yeah you are." Flit made a small, distressed noise, still breathing hard through his nose. "Shhh," Talon soothed, petting Flit's hair. "I'm gonna make you feel so good," he said. "Gonna fuck you so hard, baby, dick you so deep, you'll love it. Just don't swallow. Not until I tell you to. You got that?" Flit hesitated, and then nodded his head shakily. He was trembling and coltish, his skin shiny with perspiration, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Fuck, Talon loved this. He helped Flit up and back onto the bed, pushing him down flat on his back. 166

Mindful of Flit's arm, Talon levered his weight over Flit's legs, trapping them. Flit sunk lower into the mattress and Talon licked at his face, at the corners of his mouth, tasted the musky bitter of his own come. He sucked and bit down Flit's body, as Flit shuddered and trembled beneath him, making needy, pleading noises. He buried his nose in the dark curls around Flit's red, flushed dick and took a deep breath. Then he kissed the crown of Flit's dick and sucked the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip and pressing hard into th e slit. Flit gave a muffled cry, his hips coming up, and Talon had to pull off. "Watch it," he growled, forcing Flit's hips back down. "Don't move." Flit whimpered, but stilled obediently, and Talon went back to work bringing Flit to the edge. "Not gonna let you come like this," he said after a long minutes spent laving his tongue over the head of Flit's oozing dick, precome a sharp, bright taste, Flit's encouraging whimpers singing in his ears. "You gotta come on my cock, pretty bird." Talon sat up and reached for his nightstand, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. Flit's hand stretched out, covering Talon's hand. His eyes were wild, like he was scared, and he glanced at the condom in Talon's hand, shaking his head. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. Talon's eyes widened in understanding and his dick hardened impossibly. He had to bite the inside of his cheek, hard, to keep himself under control. "I'm clean," he said, needing to let Flit know. Flit nodded, his eyes fluttering closed, sucking in another loud breath through his nose, his lips pressed so hard together the skin around his mouth had gone white. "Hell yes," Talon said, grinning ferally. He chucked the condom packet across 167

the room and swooped down, biting and leaving stinging kisses over Flit's chest, worrying Flit's nipples between his teeth until they were swollen and tender. "Mm, can't wait to fill you up at both ends," he said. "Sticky and messy, full of my come, gonna watch it dribble out of you." Flit moaned brokenly, his lips still sealed. Talon kneeled on the mattress and dragged Flit onto his lap so his ass rested at the top of Talon's thighs and his legs were splayed wide and wanton and embarrassing in the air. He gripped the back of Flit's thighs in his huge h ands and spread Flit's legs even wider, pushing forward so that Flit was nearly bent in half and his sweet pink hole was on display, the muscle already pulsing and quivering in anticipation. "So fucking beautiful," Talon breathed out, staring down, watching as Flit cheeks reddened and a flush blossomed over his chest. He lowered his head and licked a stripe straight up Flit's crack, jabbing his tongue into Flit's hole. He wiggled the tip in, making tiny thrusts, and then licked up and around Flit's balls before coming back down to work at Flit's hole. He let his saliva dribble messily down Flit's crack, and Flit keened high in his throat as the muscles of his channel fluttered around Talon's tongue. "Whaddya think?" Talon asked, pulling away with a wet slurp and wiping his face on Flit's thigh. "Think maybe my tongue is the only slick you should get? Might make it a little rough but I bet you want that, don't you baby-bird? How does that sound, just me using my hands and spreading your cheeks wide and fucking my tongue up in there so my dick can follow right behind it?" Flit made another desperate, mewling noise, his head thrashing from side to side. "No?" Talon asked, smirking as he lowered Flit's legs back down. "Maybe next time. Don't worry, I'm gonna use lube on you, baby. This is a lot of dick to take." 168

He thrust experimentally into the cleft of Flit's ass and was rewarded with another strangled cry. Flit was doing a good job keeping his pretty mouth shut. He needed a reward for that. Talon let go of one of Flit's legs to grope across the sheets for the lube. He untwisted the cap and drizzled it over his fingers as Flit watched him with wide, hungry eyes, pupils blown black and only a glimmer of gold iris showing. He got two fingers back inside Flit in no time and added a third, scissoring his fingers and stretching Flit out, watching him writhe and moan. He let his fingers slip free and swiped them over his dick for a quick lube. Then he lined his dick up with Flit's hole and penetrated him with one long, smooth thrust, pushing past the initial resistance as the head popped through the tight ring of muscle. He didn't give Flit any time to adjust, just drew his dick out until the fat head was stretching Flit wide, the rim strained thin around his d ick. He pumped in and out, his balls slapping against Flit's ass, and he knew he was hitting the right spot because Flit moaned deep in his throat and his good hand came up to clutch at Talon's ass, urging him on. Flit's short nails dug into his skin, the sting was so fucking good, and suddenly Talon needed to hear Flit's voice, needed to know how this felt, needed the broken, frantic sound of Flit saying yes and more and giving himself up. "Swallow," Talon panted, canting his hips and fucking into Flit hard, driving deeper with every thrust. "C'mon, swallow, fucking swallow you gorgeous slut, swallow it all down, ungh, c'mon, wanna hear you now." Flit's throat worked hard once, twice, as he gulped the come down, and he let out a loud gasp as his mouth finally opened. "Oh, fuck," he said, and it was like a floodgate releasing, like he'd been saving up every word since Talon had forced him quiet. "Oh, fuck, Talon, God, please, yes, yesyesyes, unnnf, harder, fuck, I need – ah, ah – p-please, harder, wanna feel – oh,God –" Flit stuttered and his eyes rolled back in his head as he came, expression an exquisite balance between pleasure and 169

pain, his entire body going taut like a bowstring before sagging into the mattress. And God, that was the hottest thing Talon had ever seen. He slammed into Flit harder as Flit clamped down on his dick, muscles spasming tight with orgasm, and then Talon was coming, gasping and emptying himself inside Flit's body in heavy spurts that had him grunting in surprise because fuck he couldn't remember coming this hard or long in his life, and he was still shooting his load, feeling how it made Flit's insides hot and slippery. He pulled out, his dick still dribbling come from the slit and painting pearly drops that glistened in Flit's dark pubic hair, watching in fascination as Flit's hole pulsed and thick wads of come oozed from his tender, reddened opening. Talon leaned down and licked at Flit's hole, sucking out some of the come, and Flit shuddered and cried out at the touch to his oversensitive skin, clutching desperately at Talon's shoulder. Talon moved up the bed and kissed Flit messily, feeding come into his mouth, letting him taste it, their tongues moving slow and sloppy against each other. "Ungh, fuck," Talon finally groaned as he pulled away and rolled over onto his back, his chest heaving. Flit laughed breathlessly, his voice completely fucked-out as he said, "I think we just did." Talon grunted in reply, reaching out to pull Flit toward him. He manhandled Flit, pushing and tugging, until Flit was draped over top of him like a warm, living blanket, his back pressed to Talon's chest. Flit squirmed for a minute, struggling half-heartedly to get away, but Talon just wrapped his arms tighter and Flit eventually subsided, relaxing against him. Flit was so small he barely weighed anything, and Talon loved how he felt stretched over him, his head pillowed on Talon's chest, his legs trapped between the V of Talon's thighs. 170

Talon kissed the top of Flit's head, keeping his lips pressed against Flit's damp scalp, getting a deep whiff of sweat and sex and honeysuckle shampoo. "No more dates," he said firmly. Flit's laugh was a little shaky, and Talon felt it rumble down through his own chest. It made him flex his fingers into Flit's side and try to pull him closer even though that wasn't really possible. "Okay," Flit agreed. Talon felt mellow, his muscles pleasantly tired. The only sound in the room was their breathing, evenly matched. Flit was quiet for about four more seconds. "All right, this is ridiculous," he finally huffed. He wriggled in a way that, had Talon not just gone two rounds, might have made him interested in going another. "I'm not sleeping like this, you know, we need to get cleaned up, ugh, or I will have to peel myself off you tomorrow." "Oh fuck me," Talon said. "That has to be the shortest afterglow in the history of sex." "Shut up," Flit said, but he was smiling. He turned his head and pressed a wet kiss to Talon's chest that went a long way toward mollifying him. Flit kept wriggling and reluctantly Talon was forced to let him slide off, but he immediately curled into Talon's side, his delicate hand resting on Talon's chest, and that was okay, too. ---20. Flit. Flit combed idly through the golden hair on Talon's chest, skimming his fingers across the hard muscle of Talon's chest and abdomen. Talon gave an approving 171

grumble. He continued to move his hand in soothing patterns over Talon's skin, learning the dips and curves of Talon's body: the twisted line of Talon's collarbone, obviously broken more than once; the bulge of his pectoral muscles, firm and well-defined with flat, wide nipples; the thick, furred patch of curls that led down the center of Talon's chest, circled his navel, and faded to a narrow dusting before joining his thatch of pubic hair. His fingers explored further, noting the battle wounds Talon bore: the two small, puckered scars that looked like bullet wounds just below his ribcage; the three deep gouges that ran diagonally in a short swipe just below his left nipple, longhealed and purple-pink against his tan skin; a burn mark, shiny and tight, near his hip; and myriad other nicks and scrapes, the origins of which Flit could only guess at. He bent his head and tasted Talon's skin, the salt and sex, flicking his tongue over the scars' texture, some smooth and some rough, as his mouth followed the paths his fingers had taken. He dragged the tip of his tongue through the crinkly hair on Talon's chest, feeling it tickle his chin. His lifted his head and let his fingers continue to roam until Talon's breathing evened out and Flit knew he was asleep. Then, stretching his head up to kiss Talon's lips softly one last time, he tucked himself against Talon's chest and, exhausted, closed his eyes. Talon's heartbeat was loud in his ears. Gentle nudges woke him some time later. He surfaced slowly from his dreams and felt light kisses over his face, his brow, his eyelids, his nose – a pause, and then the slow, lingering press of lips against the warm skin over his heart. The kisses continued, gentle and almost reverent, in a determined line across his collarbone over his shoulder and up his neck, ending with a whispery touch below the curve of his jaw. His eyes fluttered open. "Mm," he mumbled in dreamy contentment, his head 172

still muzzy. "Shh," Talon whispered hoarsely. In the low light, Flit could see he was propped on one elbow, watching Flit intently with glittering predator's eyes that reflected the light. He rubbed a thumb back and forth gently across Flit's cheekbone. "Tal'n," Flit slurred, his eyelids lowered drowsily. "Yeah," Talon said, voice soft. "Go back to sleep, little bird. You're gonna need to rest up for what I have planned." "Mm, promise?" Flit murmured, a small, sleepy grin on his face. Talon leaned down and kissed his temple, cupping his face in one large hand. His thumb rested at the left corner of Flit's lips and his palm spread over the right side of Flit's face, fingertips brushing Flit's ear. "Promise," he breathed against Flit's skin. Flit made a pleased noise and smiled as his eyes drifted shut. He could still feel Talon's hot breath ghosting over his skin. ---He woke up the next morning and stretched leisurely in the pools of early morning grey light. Talon was a warm, solid weight against his back, one arm slung over his waist in casual possession. He shifted, careful not to dislodge Talon's arm, and maneuvered around until he could observe Talon's sleeping face. He trailed his fingers lightly along Talon's strong jaw. Talon scrunched his nose up and grumbled something in his sleep. Flit laughed silently and leaned forward to kiss Talon's mouth. Then he smiled and gently disentangled himself. Talon grunted and shifted away as Flit got up. He padded naked to his room where he found an old pair of sweatpants, slipped them on, and made his way to the kitchen. 173

Before long he had several skillets going on the stove: pancakes, eggs, and bacon sizzled away. When the bacon was done, he was going to use the same pan for sausages. And maybe later, biscuits and gravy. The toast popped up just as Talon stumbled into the kitchen. He'd managed a pair of sweatpants as well, but the front was noticeably tented. He scratched at his stomach and surveyed the kitchen. "What the hell?" Talon asked finally, his voice a sleep-rough rumble. Flit laughed and flipped the last pancake onto the stack next to the stove. "It's breakfast." Talon yawned and leaned against the doorframe. "I can see that," he said. "What I'm wondering is when the army arrives to eat it." Flit took a look around him. He had two pots of coffee made, freshly squeezed orange juice in a pitcher already on the table next to a large bowl of fruit salad, and three skillets going on the stove. The browned toast slices were still sitting warm in the toaster, and he had butter and four kinds of jam spread out on the counter in front of them. He glanced at Talon, his shoulders a guilty hunch. The oven dinged. Talon raised an eyebrow. "It's a quiche," Flit admitted sheepishly. Talon chuckled and pushed away from the doorframe, crossing the room to stand behind Flit. One hand wrapped over Flit's hipbone and his thumb stroked the skin above the sweatpants' hemline; the other hand came up to Flit's jaw, tilting his head so Talon could drop a wet kiss to Flit's neck. 174

"I woke up and the bed was empty," Talon said, mouthing at Flit's shoulder blade. He nipped lightly at the muscle. "Afraid I'd been horrified by the loss of my maidenly virtue and run away?" "Something like that," Talon said. His whole body was flush tight against Flit, no room between them. His skin was warm and slick pressed to Flit's bare back. "Unh," Flit said, clutching the spatula and swaying backward. His ass rubbed over Talon's groin, and he could feel Talon's cock hard and insistent through the layers of fabric between them. "Didn't like it," Talon continued. "I had plans, sparrow. Plans to wake you up with a blowjob and then fuck that pretty little ass again. Plans that did not include getting up today, just getting it up today." "Hedonist," Flit half-laughed, half-moaned as the hand clamped over his hip moved across his stomach and slipped inside his sweatpants. "Mm," Talon agreed, stroking Flit's cock lazily. "So get with the program." He thrust against Flit, the hard heat of his cock sliding between Flit's fabric-clad ass cheeks. "Aren't you hungry?" Flit managed to say. "You worked up an appetite last night." Talon licked the shell of Flit's ear and bit down gently on the soft lobe. "I'm about to work up a little bit more of one." Which was how Flit found himself being fucked over the kitchen counter, hi s sweatpants around his ankles and his eggs burning on the stove. "You're going to eat those," Flit ordered, after he'd cleaned them up with a dishtowel, as he scooped a large helping of blackened eggs onto Talon's plate. Talon grimaced and glanced up at Flit's face. "Every last crumb," he agreed, his 175

voice glum. But his grey-green eyes twinkled. True to his word, Talon licked the plate clean. Flit thought it was rather sweet. Then Talon jumped out of his chair and attacked Flit, forcing him to endure a disgusting, eggy kiss, and Flit threw the spatula at his head. They barely made it back to the bedroom. ---Flit hummed to himself, dancing around the kitchen as he flipped through Beaky's recipe book and tried to decide what he'd make Talon for dinner tonight. He could do oysters – he knew Paul could probably get them a discount on seafood. And weren't oysters supposed to be an aphrodisiac? Although it wasn't as though he and Talon needed any help in that department. The phone rang. He did a little skip over to the wall and plucked the phone from the receiver. "Hello!" he answered cheerfully. "Hey, Flitty," answered Robin. "Robin!" Flit said. "How are you? To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?" There was a suspicious pause on the other end, and then he heard Robin suck in a startled breath. "Oh my God," Robin said. "You're fucking him." "Who – I'm not – You got all that from a simple greeting?" "No, I got it more from the smug, self-satisfied, I'm-getting-laid-regularly tone of your voice than the actual words." "I do not sound –" "Slut," Robin said, and he was laughing so hard Flit could barely understand him. "God, I wish I'd had a pool going on this, I bet I would have won big. I just can't 176

believe it took you this long to spread your, ahem, wings." "Robin!" Flit said, scandalized. "Well, congratulations," Robin said, still laughing. "You and the griffin finally worked out your issues." "Yes, well," Flit said, clearing his throat nervously. He heard Robin stop laughing and sigh, and then in the voice of beleaguered best friends everywhere, say: "Flit." "There hasn't been much chance for talking. It's been more . . . grunting. And moaning. And the occasional scream." "God, you're such an idiot." Flit leaned against the wall and bit his lip, thinking about his reply. "It's just . . . The first time we – the first time, Talon said he wanted this to be a no-strings affair. So we're doing that. No strings, just . . . fun." "You're in love with the fucker, and you agreed to no strings? What the hell is wrong with you?" "I don't know," Flit said glumly as his good mood evaporated. "I just . . . I'll take what I can get, Robin. He's – he seems happy. And that's all I want." Robin groaned. "I hate you so much. I know you, Flit, you freak, and this is going to blow up in your face. You need to talk to him and tell him how you feel." "No, I don't. It'll only complicate things. He doesn't want that." "Kaboom," Robin said flatly. He whistled a long slide that started high and ended with a garbled noise of impact. 177

"Oh, shut up. It's not going to blow up!" Flit protested. "I know where I stand with Talon, he's made it very clear. We're two grown birds and we're allowed to have consensual sex without involving any feelings. It doesn't have to mean anything." "Except it does," Robin said wryly. Flit swallowed. "Yes, but – Talon doesn't need to know that. It would make him uncomfortable." "And it might make him look for sex elsewhere, I can see how you'd want to avoid that." "Well, it's very good sex," Flit said lightly. "Oh, I bet. However, to judge for myself, I'll definitely need details. Lots of messy, filthy details." "You are a sick, voyeuristic bird." "Hey, I've gotta get my kicks somewhere since I'm just roosting at home every Friday night. Don't change the subject, jackass. You need to talk to him," Robin said. "I will," Flit replied. "Just – I will." "Flit," Robin said patiently. "I'm your best friend. So when I tell you that you are being a complete dodo bird, please listen to me." "Fine," Flit said. "Don't preen yourself bald worrying. I'll say something to him. But I want – a little time. First." "All right," Robin sighed. "Now, the important question: he made you sing like a canary, didn't he?" Flit pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know why I talk to you." 178

"I'm entertaining," Robin replied. ---21. Talon. They had sex every day for a week straight, all over the house, and Talon was feeling pretty damn good about life. Flit stopped trying to find him dates, so he knew they were on the same page about what they were doing. He wasn't sure when it had happened, when he'd done something crazy like fall for an annoying sparrow, but now he couldn't imagine life without Flit and that . . . wasn't so bad. Flit fit him perfectly. They fit together perfectly. Their bodies slotted into each other like matching puzzle pieces, like they'd been made for each other; and Flit had slid into his life like he was always meant to be there and Talon just hadn't known it. Now he came home to Flit's cheerful smile, and Flit's annoying remarks, and Flit's bossy attitude, and Flit's decorating fanaticism, and Flit's delicious cooking, and Flit's dumb advice column mail, and Flit's kisses, and it was all his. That made it different, because all of it – the good, the bad, the stupid, the annoying – it belonged to Talon. And man, he had never eaten this good in his life. He patted his stomach, still full from an enormous home-cooked breakfast, and walked into the office. He heard some snickering, but he didn't think anything of it until he got to his desk. Then he stopped. "Motherfucker," he said. 179

There was a giant bouquet of flowers sitting in a vase on his desk. The flowers had long stems and spiky leaves like beaks; the vibrant orange and pink blossoms were long and feathered like plumage: Birds-of-Paradise. Three guess who the smug little shit that sent the flowers was, and he didn't need the first two. Ignoring the birdcalls and whistles of his fellow Beakbreakers, Talon seated himself at his desk, cleared his throat, and opened his drawer to pull out the report he'd been working on yesterday. The flowers loomed embarrassingly in his peripheral vision. But they smelled okay. "So," Stone said, wandering over a few minutes later and propping his hip against the edge of Talon's desk. He crossed his arms. Talon looked up from the report he was finishing. "So?" Stone raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at the flowers sitting on Talon's desk. Talon cleared his throat and very pointedly did not look at the flowers, instead choosing to bend his head back to work. Stone leaned over and plucked the card from the center of the arrangement before Talon could stop him, reading it aloud, his voice colored with deep amusement: "They say flowers have their own language. Since I couldn't find any flowers that said, You are a god in the sack, these will have to do. –F." "Uh," Talon said. He scratched his nose. "You birddog," Stone chuckled, replacing the card. "I can't believe you got that little sparrow eatin' outta the palm of your hand. Thought he was smarter'n that. So, when'd you two lovebirds finally get your heads outta your tailfeathers and start flappin' wings on a regular basis?" 180

Talon eyeballed him. "What do you mean finally?" Stone blinked. Then blinked again. "I mean – shit, this is from Flit, right? Or is this from one of those dates?" Talon shifted uncomfortably in his chair, fiddling with his pen. "It's from . . . Flit." Stone cocked his head. "Then you two an item now?" "I gue – uh, yeah. Yes." "You don't sound too sure." "No, I am. We are. Just, can – can we not talk about it?" Stone stared at him, and then burst into laughter. "I do declare!" he drawled, exaggerating his accent. "Why, yer a-blushin' like a chick gettin' her first peckin'!" "Ass," Talon said, scowling furiously. His face felt hot. "Well, I'll be," Stone said, still chuckling. He straightened and stood. "I got it the wrong way around, don't I? Little Flit's gotyou eatin' outta the palm of his hand." "Like hell," Talon said. "I wear the pants." "Sure," Stone said easily over his shoulder as he walked away. "After Flit tells you which pair to put on." Talon lobbed a stapler at his head, but Stone just ducked and kept walking, flipping him the person over his shoulder. Talon was going to have a thing or two to say to Flit when he got home, and the first thing would be, I hope those flowers weren't poisonous because I'm going to 181

make you eat them. The second thing would be, On the bed and spread 'em. Okay, maybe that would be the first thing. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, told his dick to pipe down, and glanced up at the clock. Shit. Seven hours until he could go home. ---Talon opened his front door and found Flit already waiting for him on the other side, which was pretty much perfect, as far as he was concerned. "Talon," Flit said primly. "I think we need to talk –" "Uh huh," Talon said, dropping his jacket on the floor and grabbing Flit's face with both hands. He smashed their lips together and walked Flit backwards a few steps. Then he broke the kiss, reached down and grabbed Flit by the waist, and tossed him over his shoulder. He stalked to the living room with long strides and threw Flit down on the couch. Flit bounced once and made a little squeaking noise. "Long day?" he asked in a high-pitched voice, his eyes wide. "Hell yes," Talon said, unbuckling his belt. "Get your damn pants off or I'm just gonna pull your underwear to the side and fuck you." Talon had never seen anyone undress that fast one-handed before. They fucked on the couch and then he moved them to the bedroom. He never did find out what Flit wanted to talk about, but he wasn't really worried because if 182

Flit wanted to talk, there was no stopping him. Talon would hear about it eventually. But more importantly, Flit thought he was a god in the sack, and Talon was definitely the one who wore the pants, screw whatever Stone said. He nudged Flit, who mumbled sleepily and burrowed closer. "I fuck you," Talon said. "You're the skirt. I'm the pants." Flit cracked one eye open. "What?" he croaked. "Nothing," Talon said grumpily, folding his arms. Flit squinted up at him. He looked adorable and sleepy with his hair tousled and mashed on one side and his face pale and freckled. His delicate eyebrows were drawn together in confusion, and there were pillow creases on his cheek. Talon wanted to kiss him. "Why am I a skirt?" Flit asked, knuckling one eye. "'Cause I wear the pants. I'm the man." "We're both men," Flit replied, his lips curving in amusement. "I rather think that's the point." "I'll show you my point," Talon said, rolling over and pinning Flit to the mattress. "My," Flit said breathlessly, staring up at him. His cheeks were flushed pink and his eyes danced mischievously. "You know, sometimes a point can be hard to get across. You might have to make it several times." "Damn," Talon said with an exaggerated sigh as he undulated his hips and slid their dicks together. "There goes my night." 183

---"That was awesome," Talon said afterward, collapsing on his side next to Flit on the bed. He propped his head on one hand and looked down at Flit's sweaty, flushed face. Flit laughed throatily, still panting, his forearm thrown across his eyes. Talon dragged his finger down Flit's nose, traced the way his lips curved upward as he tried to nip at Talon's finger pad. He let his finger trail down further, never breaking contact with Flit's skin: over his chin, down the pale column of his throat, through the slippery sheen of perspiration on his chest. "When do you get your cast off?" he asked idly, rubbing his thumb over one of Flit's nipples. "Friday," Flit said softly. His breathing had slowed to normal. "Nice," Talon said, smiling crookedly down at him. "I'll finally get my damned feather back for good." Flit stiffened in his arms. "Yes," he said, slanting his eyes away. "Guess that's too bad for you, you power mad sparrow," Talon said, chuckling inwardly while he kept his face and tone serious. He enjoyed the hell out of teasing Flit. "I'll have you outta my feathers once and for all." ". . . yes," Flit said, smiling weakly. He met Talon's eyes for a brief second before his gaze skittered away. "Too bad for me." Talon flopped onto his back and let out a contented sigh. "I like this," he said to the ceiling. "You like what?" Flit's voice drifted to him, something off about his tone. "The sex," Talon said. "The uncomplicated, abundant sex. This was a good idea. I have the best ideas." He and Flit didn't have to go through all the crazy, 184

emotional shit other couples did. They'd slid gradually from enemies to lovers with barely any pause. They understood each other, understood what this was. Flit shifted next to him. "Right. No strings." Talon slid his gaze sideways. Flit was looking away from him, biting his lip, his profile pensive. "No strings," Talon echoed with a frown Flit didn't see, feeling suddenly sour. It wasn't like he was expecting a declaration of love from Flit or anything; he wasn't stupid. They'd only been fucking for two weeks. But still, it would be nice to get a little commitment or something. The sex was great – actually, the sex was fucking amazing, and his cock was already twitching interestedly again knowing it had a bed full of naked sparrow to itself – but he was in this for more than sex. He liked Flit. A lot. Stupidly a lot. And Flit liked him back, or he wouldn't have sex with him, and make his favorite foods, and fucking decorate the place like it was his own nest. Talon was pretty certain they were in sync about this relationship thing. It bothered him a little, though, how Flit was always quick to bring up how no-strings he wanted it. Talon was fine with having no-strings understandings, but . . . he was okay with some string. Like, a little bit of string. A small bit of twine, even. He was pretty sure Flit wanted that, too. So, no biggie. He didn't know why he was agonizing over this like a nervous chickadee. Flit abruptly turned over, facing Talon. A bright grin stretched his mouth, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "So," he said. "When you get home on Friday, we'll have a ceremony. I'll tie a special ribbon around the feather. I'm thinking we invite our friends, have some elegant candles lit, a red carpet unrolled across the entranceway, maybe some somber chamber music in the background, and then a drum roll during the handover –" 185

Talon slapped a hand over his mouth. "I will kill you." Flit mumbled something against his hand, his golden-brown eyes alight with mischief. "Seriously," Talon said. "I'm kicking you out." A dark expression flickered across Flit's eyes before quickly disappearing. Then he laughed beneath Talon's hand, and Talon felt Flit's tongue slather wetly over his palm. Instinctively, he pulled his hand away. "Gross," he said, wiping his hand on the sheets. "And you say I'm the birdbarian." Flit just grinned triumphantly, the little shit. "You can't kick me out if I leave first," he said, sounding flippant. "Yeah right," Talon shot back, rolling his eyes and trying to ignore the uneasy feeling tightening his chest at Flit's words, "like I'm ever gonna get rid of your annoying face." That same weird, hesitant expression darted over Flit's features again. "Of course not. I'll stay as long as you ask me to." "I'll keep that in mind," Talon said with a smirk and another roll of his eyes, reaching for Flit. Like he even needed to ask Flit to stay. No, what he needed was to kiss him. Right now. ---They were going at it hot and heavy the next night, Talon thrusting into Flit's tight little body hard and fast, but Flit's stupid hand was moving between them, pinching at Talon's nipples and wandering further down, rubbing where their bodies joined. 186

It was distracting. So Talon grabbed Flit's hand and drew it up over his head, pressing it down into the mattress. "Fucking hold still," he said, "or I swear to God I'll tie you up and fuck you." Flit arched his back and came so hard he nearly bucked Talon off. "Whoa," Talon said, staring down at him. He stopped thrusting. "Oh God," Flit said, his blush spreading down his chest. Talon grinned. "I knew you had a rope fetish, you kinky bitch." Flit covered his face with his hand, clearly mortified. "Shut up." ---Finally spent (nearly an hour later thank-you-very-much), Talon let go of Flit's pinned hand and rolled onto his side. He traced his fingers through the sticky pools of come cooling on Flit's stomach. "Ropes, huh?" Flit groaned and flung his arm over his face. "Do you have to be such an ass about it?" "Speaking of asses," Talon said, his lips curving into a wicked smile, "What are your thoughts on spanking?" Flit hit him with a pillow. But he didn't say no. So that was cool. ---187

22. Flit. Flit spent the sky cab ride home from Dr Crane's office staring down at his arm and running his fingers over the newly healed skin. There was only a pale pink scar to show where the bone had snapped and lanced through. He flexed his fingers, wincing slightly; his forearm twinged with stiffness but Dr Crane assured him it would fade as he began working his disused muscles more frequently. He studied his skin, still almost unable to believe the cast was gone. His arm was browner near the wrist and elbow, but the color went suddenly pale in banded lines where his skin had been hidden beneath the cast. He traced the spot where tan skin met pale, frowning down in concentration. When he got home he needed to start dinner. It would be strange finally being able to cook with both hands. He bit his lip and sat back in the seat, resting his arm on the door and staring out the window. Clouds rushed by as the sky cab sped toward Talon's house. He was going to make Talon's favorite dinner and set out a bottle of wine . And then he was going to give Talon his flight feather back. He wasn‘t certain how that was going to go. Once Talon had his feather back, there was nothing keeping him from kicking Flit out, like he'd threatened. And Flit . . . Flit wasn't sure what Talon would do. They hadn't exactly talked about what was going on between them. Talon seemed happy, but then again, Talon was getting laid regularly. He sighed. What if Talon was just making the best of the situation until it was time for Flit to leave? Maybe Robin was right and he should talk to Talon, tell him how he felt. But what if Talon didn't feel the same? What if Flit ruined their casual affair by telling him, and Talon called it off anyway? He slumped down in the seat, blinking to clear the moisture from his eyes. His body felt like a giant jumble of nerves, tight and twisting, and if he moved too 188

fast in any direction he'd snap. ---His lawyer Mr Ibis called him just after he walked through the door. "Ah, Flit, excellent," Mr Ibis said when Flit answered. "I have some things to discuss with you." Flit silently rolled his eyes as he cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear, flexing his fingers absently and studying his scar while he listened to Mr Ibis prattle on about the case. He had a date set for Flit to appear in court before a judge and give his statement about Oz. Flit wondered if he could ask Talon to go with him. It would be nice not to have to go alone. But maybe Talon wouldn't be around then. Mr Ibis cleared his throat, interrupting Flit's thought, and said, "Which brings us to our second matter." Flit sighed quietly. In lawyer-speak, that meant, Which brings us to me rambling for another thirty minutes about something trivial because I get paid by the hour . "I wanted to let you know Mr Prey is attempting to counter-sue for battery, but I shouldn't worry if I were you. There's no evidence." Flit's mouth dropped open, as he protested, "Of course there's no evidence! It was self-defense!" "Not when he claims Beakbreaker Talon assaulted him in his own home, it isn't. However, as I said, there is no cause for alarm. Mr Prey has no witnesses and no supporting evidence. The jury will assume he's merely trying to create doubt. Beakbreaker Talon has an exemplary record when compared to Mr Prey." "Wait," Flit said, a cold shiver running down his spine. "Wait, Oz says Talon attacked him?" 189

"Yes, but –" "When?" Flit asked flatly. He heard papers rustling. "Several weeks ago, it would appear," Mr Ibis replied. "But Mr Prey was alone when the alleged attack occurred. He also claims Beakbreaker Stone had some involvement. However, I've spoken to Beakbreaker Stone personally and he assures me that Mr Prey is merely, and here I quote, 'Blowing wind 'tween his tailfeathers.' A colorful man, Beakbreaker Stone." Flit's grip on the phone tightened. His mind flashed back to Talon returning home with bruises and swollen knuckles, Stone at his side, and then Oz showing up not long after, looking like he'd been in a fight. He remembered asking how Oz had found him and Oz sneering, Like you don't know. He covered his mouth with his hand to muffle a harsh noise. "Flit?" Mr Ibis queried. "Are you still there?" "Yes," Flit said, barely keeping his voice under control. "Sorry." "You needn't concern yourself, my boy. Mr Prey doesn't have a branch to perch on. This is all a fairly open and shut case. I should imagine with the charges against him that Mr Prey finds himself enjoying prison hospitality for some time." "That's," Flit said, swallowing. "That's good to hear." "Isn't it?" said Mr Ibis. "If I have anything further to relate to you, I shall call. And should you have any questions, please do not hesitate to phone my secretary." Flit mumbled a goodbye and hung up with Mr Ibis, his hands shaking. He crossed the room and sat down at the kitchen table, staring numbly at its polished surface. 190

Talon had known. Talon had known all along. Somehow, he'd found out about Flit's past, and he'd gone to see Oz to – what? Gather some dirt on him? Find something he could use to blackmail Flit in return? His fists clenched slowly. Was Talon playing him for a fool? God, he felt – he felt cheap, all of a sudden. And stupid. He laughed at himself. He'd almost thought about telling Talon his feelings! Talon would have laughed at him. He stood up slowly, and began to pace the room. How dare Talon sneak around and lie like that! He'd sat there and pretended not to know anything after Oz showed up and – Flit stopped, frozen. After Oz had found him. Had Talon . . . had Talon told Oz where to find him? He whimpered. No, no, Talon wouldn't have done that . . . would he? He bit his lip. They hadn't exactly been friends then. But he'd – No, Talon wouldn't do that. Maybe Talon had accidentally said something. He crossed his arms, hugging himself against a sudden chill. That had to be it. Right? But that meant – it was still Talon's fault, because that bastard had gone to see Oz. And Flit couldn't figure out why. What had happened when Talon went to see Oz? Why had they fought? Why had Talon lied about it? He heard the jingle of keys at the front door, signaling that Talon was home from work, and he marched out of the kitchen and down the hall to stand squarely in front of the door. He'd get answers. ---"Hey, bitch," Talon said, looking a little surprised to find Flit right there when he 191

walked through the door. He grinned and slung his arm around Flit's shoulder, yanking him in for a hot, hard kiss. Flit felt Talon reach around and slip his flight feather into Flit's back pocket like usual, like he did every day when he got home from work, like things were normal and fine. Flit held himself rigid, and Talon pulled away, blinking down at him in confusion. "Something wrong?" "Oh no," Flit said, his fists clenched and vibrating with the urge to punch Talon in the face. "Not at all. I often have people lie to me about beating up my exboyfriend." Talon took a step back and his face flushed guiltily. "What are you talking about?" he hedged. He couldn't quite meet Flit's eyes, and for some reason that made Flit even angrier. "Stop lying," he hissed. "How could you – why didn't you tell me about this?" Talon hesitated, like he might still try to deny it, and then he shrugged. "Whatever, it's not a big deal. He had it coming." "You assaulted him!" Flit said. "Of course it's a big deal! That's illegal! That's – I can't believe you'd do that! You're supposed to be an officer of the law!" "Yeah, well, sometimes things are greyer in the clouds," Talon said stubbornly, his jaw set. He crossed his arms and glared at Flit. "What the hell does that even mean?" Flit snapped back, throwing his hands up in the air. "It means," Talon said, gritting his teeth, "that sometimes it's not black and white, okay? Sometimes we've gotta do things outside the rules to get the job done. That's just how it works." "How does that make you any better than the criminals you put away?" Flit asked coldly. 192

An ugly expression flashed across Talon's face. "Shut your mouth, you stupid –" he started to say, raising his hand. Flit flinched, shrinking back, and barely kept himself from instinctively bringing his hands up to cover his face. He'd seen that sort of expression before. Talon stopped his hand halfway, and he looked stricken. "Fuck, you can't think – Flit, I wouldn't –" "No?" Flit asked. He straightened and squared his jaw, even if his chin was trembling. "You certainly had no problem beating the shit out of Oz." Talon ran a hand over his short hair and grimaced. He blew out a heavy breath. "Okay, fuck this," he said slowly and deliberately. "We'll talk when you're not acting crazy." Then he turned on his heel and began to walk away. "Oh, no," Flit said, grabbing Talon's arm before he could take more than two steps. "You are not leaving. We're talking about this right now." "We're really, really not," Talon answered, his back to Flit and his shoulders a rigid line of tension. "Yes we are. How did you find out about Oz?" Flit asked fiercely. "It doesn't matter how I knew," Talon said, with a deadly sort of quiet. He still hadn't moved, and Flit couldn't see his face to judge his reaction. "It doesn't matter? It doesn't matter? It's my life, you asshole! Who gave you permission to dig around in it?" "I didn't dig around –" "No," Flit said venomously, pressing his fingers into Talon's arm. "I bet you had one of your little buddies at work look up whatever they could find on me. I bet you hoped I had some unpaid parking tickets or some embarrassing photos – and 193

oh my, you must have been so happy when you found out I had such a dark, juicy secret you could use against me. Does that sound about right? Come on, give me a hint, how am I doing?" Talon didn't say anything, but Flit could feel his muscles tense. "What went wrong?" Flit pressed. "I mean, why did you have to rough Oz up? Didn't he agree to help you right away? I'd think the two of you would be eager partners. He was always telling me what a pain in the ass I was, just like you do. Maybe you two are more alike than –" Talon whirled around, his face deadly pale, and Flit backed up until he hit the wall. "Shut your fucking beak," Talon said, voice dark and hateful, as he advanced on Flit. "That's not even close to what –" Flit made himself as small as he could manage, unable stop the small, scared noise that escaped him. Talon's steps faltered. "I'm not," he said. "I'm not like him. He hurt you. That fucking – I wouldn't do that." Flit stared at him incredulously. "Are you serious? Do you even hear yourself? All you've done is hurt me! That's why I'm here in the first place!" Talon took a hard step back, like Flit had punched him. "What?" Flit pushed himself away from the wall, anger making his movements sharp and jerky. "In case you've forgotten, you nearly killed me when we met. That's why I have your flight feather until I get my cast off, you idiot!" "Yeah, well," Talon snapped, "it's off now, so where's my damn feather, you whiny bitch?" For just a moment, Flit wanted to sob. "It's right here," he said, ripping it from 194

his back pocket and throwing it at Talon's head. ---23. Talon. Talon caught the feather easily before it could hit him in the face, and it was just one more thing to add to his growing rage. Why was Flit being such a fucking tool about this? He'd done the little shit a favor! Flit should be fucking thanking him, worshiping at his feet, and instead he was bitching like Talon had done something wrong. "Your aim's kind of shit, but thanks," Talon said acidly, tucking the feather into his pocket. "Oh, my pleasure," Flit replied. "And you can stick your feather up your ass." "And you can get the hell out!" Talon snapped. He knew it was a stupid thing to say as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but Flit made him so angry he couldn't fucking think sometimes. Flit blanched, but rallied himself quickly. "No problem," he said. "I've clearly overstayed my welcome." Talon pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache he felt forming behind his eyes. "Shit, don't be like that, c'mon." "What should I be like?" Flit asked with his fists balled at his sides. His freckles stood out on his flushed face and his eyes glittered hard with anger. He looked sort of beautiful and wrathful at the same time. "Should I be happy you lied to me? Grateful you poked your beak where it didn't belong? Oz told me – he found me because of you, Talon! Do you have any idea what it was like opening the door and finding –" Flit choked off, looking quickly away. Talon watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath. " – finding your worst nightmare on the other side?" Flit finished shakily. "And 195

you didn't – you pretended like you didn't even know who he was!" Talon shifted restlessly, trying to come up with something to tell Flit. He hadn't known what made him want to beat the shit out of Oz at the time, not really, hadn't examined it too closely, but he knew he didn't like seeing Flit hurt. And the thought that there was some bastard out there who'd fucked his sparrow over and gotten away with it . . . It made him really fucking angry. Like, irrationally angry. "You were already freaking out, thinking you penned Oz to death," he replied. "I wasn't gonna tell you then, I figured you'd be pissed at me." "Pissed!" Flit said. "My God, it's like you're a psychic!" "What the hell's your problem? You should be happy Oz got the shit kicked outta him after everything he did to you! Robin said he saw how bad it was, and I don't care, I'd fucking do it the same all over again. You need somebody to look out for you." Flit's laugh sounded a little crazy. "Robin said – that bitch. I can't believe you don't – this really isn't alarming to you at all, is it? This sort of thing happens all the time." "Not all the time," Talon said. "But it's like I said. Things are greyer than you think. Oz was a piece of shit and he managed to slip through the system. How many other birds has he hurt besides you, Flit? We did what we had to." "No wonder the Beakbreakers have such an awful reputation," Flit said sourly. "Protecting the population of the skies, indeed." "Fuck you," Talon said. "I didn't think he'd come after you. Shit, give me some goddamn credit. I'd have protected you if I'd known." "You'd have – You thought you'd beat a man up and there'd be no repercussions? How idiotic are you? He's trying to sue you! No, what you did was reckless, and illegal, and stupid, and you went behind my back, and –" 196

"Don't call me stupid!" Talon shouted. "Fuck, you little shit, I'm not – You're such a fucking pain in the ass! No wonder he beat you!" He sucked in a harsh breath, immediately wishing he could take the words back, and he watched as everything – all color, all expression – drained from Flit's face. Flit's hands fell to his sides, and his whole body sagged. Suddenly, he looked doll-like: porcelain-white and fragile. "Ah, shit," Talon said. "Flit, I didn't –" "I'm going to bed," Flit said. Talon could actually see him trembling, and fuck if he didn't want to shoot himself in the face for being such an asshole. "Flit –" he tried again. "Alone," Flit said, his voice like a wasteland. Talon watched as Flit turned around and disappeared into his room. The door closed with a quiet click that was louder than any gunshot he'd ever heard. ---24. Flit. Flit sat on the edge of the bed and hugged himself, rocking slowly, trying to forget Talon's words, but it was no use: they looped around in his head, get the hell out and no wonder he beat you and it hurt. Flit wrapped his arms tighter, like if he squeezed hard enough he could keep all the pain and grief inside where it could only choke him quietly, but his breath caught on a hitching sob. His nose felt clogged and thick, and he couldn't suck in any air. He had to open his mouth and take gulping breaths. He didn't sleep all night. By dawn, he'd made a decision. 197

He thought maybe he could understand why Talon and Stone had practiced their own brand of vigilantism. He still didn't think it was right, but maybe Talon had been trying to protect him, in his own bullying way. He couldn't honestly say that a small part of him wasn't thrilled that Oz had finally had a taste of what he'd put Flit through, but . . . Talon could have been hurt, too. And he'd lied about it, like Flit didn't have a right to know. He hunched over until his forehead nearly touched his knees, still rocking. He knew he'd made Talon angry, but did Talon really want him to leave? Was it – was this it? Talon had his feather back and maybe he didn't want Flit around anymore. They'd never made any promises to each other. But maybe he was overreacting. They had both been angry. Maybe – He shook his head. He'd told Talon he would stay if Talon asked him. So he'd leave it up to Talon. Because, in the end, Flit didn't care about Oz or the fight or anything he just – he loved Talon, as simple as that. Talon, who was sometimes a thoughtless, insensitive jerk, but still one of the best people he'd ever known, even if he occasionally did incredibly dumb, illegal things because he thought it was best. And despite how hardheaded and macho Talon could be, it didn't change the fact that Flit was ridiculously in love with him. And maybe it was stupid and self destructive, but he couldn't help it. Even if this relationship would only ever be casual for Talon, he'd take what he could get. He wanted to be with Talon more than anything. He'd let Talon make the choice. He'd stay if Talon wanted him to, if Talon asked. All Talon had to do was ask. Please, please ask, Flit thought, as he put his face in his hands and cried. ---198

25. Talon. Talon wandered out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand, annoyed that he‘d had to get it himself. He‘d yell at Flit for forgetting when he found him. He‘d made his coffee the usual way, but for some reason it wasn't the same; instead, it tasted bitter and gritty, nothing like when Flit made it. Still, the smell of chicken creamer wafted up pleasantly to his nose, and he inhaled deeply in appreciation. Hopefully the creamer would help mask the taste. Flit was probably still sulking in his room like a little bitch. He'd come out eventually when he realized that Talon was right about Oz. When he did, maybe Talon would – all right, he'd apologize. Not for going to see Oz because fuck that noise, but for – for the other thing. For what he said at the end. The way Flit's face had just sort of shut down, the slow, measured steps he took as he walked away – yeah, Talon never wanted to see that again. He rubbed absently at the ache in his chest. He headed toward the living room and stopped walking when he saw Flit standing at the front door with two bags at his feet and a canvas duffel slung over his shoulder. Talon's grip tightened on the coffee cup. "What are you doing?" he snapped. "Leaving," Flit said, twisting the strap on the bag he carried over his shoulder. "My arm‘s healed and you have your flight feather back, so it looks like the end of my annoying presence. No reason for me to stay, right?" Talon‘s heartbeat sped up. Flit paused, and there was a strange, expectant expression on his face as though he were waiting for a response. When long minutes passed and he didn‘t get one, 199

he made a sound like a cross between a sigh and a laugh, pinched and aching. "Not going to give me a kiss goodbye?" he teased, but his voice wasn't right: it was a brittle, too-bright chirp. Talon scowled furiously. So Flit didn't think there was a reason to stay? Fine. Fine. After everything he'd done for the little shit, after all the times they'd made – had sex, after everything, and the fucking idiot didn't think there was a reason to stay? Flit had been pity-fucking him, he suddenly realized, all part of his stupid Let's fix Talon bullshit; he'd wanted Talon to get laid, so he'd done it himself. Now his job was done. And like an idiot, Talon had bought into it. He'd thought maybe Flit liked him, he'd thought maybe this was something permanent, that maybe he and Flit were –

But now he remembered how Flit had said right from the beginning that it was just fucking, how he'd repeated it all the time, flat out told him that this was a nostrings kinda thing. And like a moron Talon had thought maybe that had changed, maybe – Well, fuck Flit, anyway. "Don‘t let the door hit you in your tail feathers on the way out," he sneered. Flit‘s shoulders drooped in defeat and his head hung low. "You really are a complete bastard," he said, his voice quiet and hitching, like he was about to cry. But when he blinked and looked up, his eyes were clear as he shouldered his bags and walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him. After Flit left, Talon stood there for a long time, unmoving, staring at the door. Then he very deliberately hurled his coffee mug at it, watching the mug shatter against the wood and shower down in a rain of ceramic debris and burning liquid. 200

He went to his room, closed the door, and didn‘t come out for a long time. ---The next day when Talon came home from work and opened his front door, it felt like a two-by-four suddenly slammed into his chest. The house was quiet, and no one was waiting by the door to bother him about his day or ask him what he wanted for dinner or give him a kiss. He took a deep breath and he wanted to choke because even the air tasted sour and unused. He looked down at his feet, staring at the expensive cream-colored tile. Flit had ordered it special from Italy for the entranceway, and Talon had told him it looked ridiculous. It didn't, really. It looked fancy, but not bad. He toed his boots off and left them near the door, because if he didn't Flit bitched at him about scuffing the floors. He took slow steps inside, his feet making barely a whisper, the rustle of his clothing harsh and loud in the empty hall. His eyes swung to the green glass bowl on the hall table as he walked past. Flit had bought it so Talon wouldn't lose his keys. He threw his keys into the bowl. They made a dead jangle. He stared at them for a minute and then shuffled into the kitchen. Flit had painted the kitchen a cheerful yellow that Talon hated looking at before he'd had his first cup of coffee. But in the afternoon sunshine, it looked bright and inviting, and Talon could almost imagine Flit bustling around the stove cooking, filling the kitchen with the smell of food and his constant chatter. He shrugged his jacket off and draped it over the back of the chair. The kitchen was really clean, he noticed. The counters all sparkled and there was a small crystal vase on the windowsill above the sink with a single Bird-of-Paradise inside. The pots and pans Flit had acquired since he'd been here were lined carefully in the dish drain. Flit must have washed them before he – Talon would have to bring them to his mother or something. He didn't cook. 201

He sat down heavily at the kitchen table and examined his hands. His knuckles had healed, but he had fresh pink scars, like tiny reminders. The daylight faded into darkness before he got up, his knees creaking, and went to bed. Later that night, after tossing and turning for hours, he woke up from a dream where Flit, in sparrow form, flew around and around his body with a piece of string held in his beak, tangling Talon‘s arms and legs together until he fell down, and Flit landed on his chest, chirping a happy song, making Talon laugh and smile. He sat up in bed with a gasp, eyes wide and heart pounding. That should have been a nightmare, but it wasn‘t, and he knew why. He loved Flit. Fuck. He wanted to hit something. ---Talon didn‘t sleep for the next two days. He called work and told them he‘d caught human flu. They told him to stay home. Then he called Stone and told him what happened, in a clipped, grunting sort of way, and Stone called him a fucking idjitand hung up on him. Then Stone called him back, cussed him out, told him to go after Flit, and hung up on him again. Talon stared at the phone in his hand. Why the hell would he go after Flit? Flit left. Flit had made it pretty clear there was no reason for him to stay. So mostly he sat at his kitchen table and drank coffee and stared around his house a lot. Flit had done a pretty good job decorating, he decided. It looked like a home. A home he didn't have anyone to share with. The phone rang, and Talon practically leapt across the room to snatch it up. 202

"Hello?" He answered a little breathlessly. "Heya!" said a pleasant voice Talon immediately recognized as Robin. "I'm looking for Flit. I haven't heard from him in ages." "Flit's not here," Talon said, sinking back to the chair in disappointment. "Oh, that's all right. Could you have him call me when he comes back?" "He's not coming back. Ever." There was a long pause, and then Robin said finally: " . . . well, shit." Talon thought that summed things up nicely. "What happened?" "I dunno," Talon replied dully. "Things were fine. We were having awesome sex all the time. Flit got his cast off and he was gonna give me my flight feather back. And then we had this stupid fucking fight –" "Wait," Robin said. "You got your feather back?" "Well, yeah," Talon said. "Flit's arm is healed, and he said he'd give me my feather back when it was." "I see," Robin said significantly. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Just – is that what you two fought about?" "No. Flit gave me my feather back." He sat up, remembering. "He fucking – he fucking threw it at my head," he said indignantly. "Mm," Robin said. "And then what?" 203

"And then we yelled at each other and we went to bed. And then I wake up and that stupid fucking friend of yours is packed and ready to go!" "Well, you had your feather back. Wasn't that the deal? Once Flit was healed, he'd leave?" "That was – yeah, I mean, that was the deal. But things changed." "Did they?" Robin asked evenly. "From the impression I got, Flit didn't have a reason to stay." Talon bristled. "Of course there was a fucking reason to stay! We were – there was a fucking reason, okay? I wanted him to stay." "Think very carefully about this," Robin said. "I know it's hard for you, gorgeous, but try to remember: did you ever, even once, tell Flit you wanted him to stay?" Talon held the phone away from his head and glared at it before bringing it back to his ear. "What do you think I am, some kind of fucking moron? Of course I – oh shit." Robin sighed heavily. "I'm some kind of fucking moron," Talon breathed in awe. "Wow." "Everyone forgives you because you're pretty," Robin said. "I didn't ask Flit to stay," Talon repeated. "I think – I think he was waiting for me to ask him. Fuck. He was." He remembered the expectant look in Flit's eyes as he stood by the door, twisting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. He'dasked Talon. He'd fucking given him the opening, eyes wide and pleading, No reason for me to stay, right? And Talon had taken it the stupidest way possible. Flit wasn't telling him there was no reason for him to stay. 204

He was asking Talon. He was asking to stay. "Oh, shit," he said again. "Look, I'm probably breaking about twenty-seven codes of best-friend etiquette by telling you this, but you do know Flit was in love with you, right?" "What?" Talon asked, struck dumb. "Head over claws, I'm afraid." "What – no," Talon said, shaking his head even though he knew Robin couldn't see it, and trying ruthlessly to squash the thing with feathers fluttering in his chest. "He said. He said it was just fucking. No strings." "Uh huh. And again, think hard: before or after you told him it was just fucking?" "Oh. Oh, fuck me," Talon said. "I thought so," Robin replied. "No, I mean – wait. Wait. If he was so in love with me, why the hell did he leave?" "Let's see, besides the fact that he didn't think his feelings were reciprocated or that you wanted him to stay? I'm going to take a wild guess that you said something horrible to him during your argument. And because I know Flit, he obsessed over it all night and left the next day. How'm I doing?" "You're creepy." "No," Robin said. "I'm just not a fucking idiot. You said you two had a fight?" Talon shifted uncomfortably, his chest feeling squeezed tight as he remembered Flit's hurt, betrayed expression. "Yeah." 205

"About what?" "Hey, man," Talon said, straightening. "Listen, I don't even know you that well, I'm not gonna spill my guts about –" "Please," Robin said. "Please spare me the macho bullshit or I swear I will come over there and cut you. I confiscated three switchblades from my students today. What the hell were you two fighting about that was worse than your usual constant bickering?" Talon hesitated. "It was about Oz." "Oh," Robin said. "Oh. I begin to see how you might have dipped your toes in dangerous waters." Talon sighed. "Flit found out I went to Oz's place and had a word or two with him." "You did what?" "It was after our date. I didn't – I maybe let you think I knew about Oz when I didn't. So." "Oh, man," Robin said, groaning. "Flit is gonna kick my ass. No wonder he hasn't called me. Thanks a lot, dicksmack." Talon cringed. "I might have mentioned your name when we were fighting. He, uh, he wasn't really happy I went to talk to Oz behind his back and then lied about it." "No kidding. And by 'talk' you mean . . .?" "Punch, pretty much." He heard Robin take in a startled breath. "Hold on – I don't think I'm hearing you right. You beat up Oz?" 206

"Uh, yeah," Talon said. "I mean, when you put it like that. It wasn't like I planned –" He stopped. Actually, he had sort of planned to fuck Oz up before he went over there. "He punched me –" He was going to say first, but that wasn't true either. "Um," Talon finished lamely. "Yeah, I did. That's how he knew where to find Flit, too." "I'm sorry," Robin said. "I – oh my God – how – hahahaha, how are you such a fucking imbecile? I can't – no, no, it's too much – shit, I can't breathe, I'm laughing too hard, give me a minute. Ahahaha, moron." He could hear Robin howling, sucking in whooping lungfuls of air, hysterical with laughter and nearly impossible to understand. Talon hung up and slammed the phone down so hard the table shook. Robin called back. "Okay," he said when Talon finally picked up right before the answering machine could switch on. "I can't promise that it's entirely out of my system, but I will try to contain myself." "Thanks, you're a pearl," Talon snarled. "Temper, temper. You shouldn't be so testy with me when I'm going to tell you how to win back your boyfriend. Honestly, someone please save me from handsome, emotionally dense men." ----

26. Flit. The first thing Flit did when he got home after leaving Talon's was open all his windows because the air had gone musty and stale during his absence. 207

The second thing he did was change the sheets on his bed. The third thing he did was turn all the lights off. The fourth thing he did was crawl into bed and pull the covers over his head. The fifth thing he did was cry until he fell asleep. ---Flit woke up several hours later to a soggy pillow and an ache in his chest. The sun had changed positions, and late afternoon light slanted through his windows, catching the dust motes floating in the air. He got out of bed feeling stiff and ugly and padded to the kitchen to put the coffee on. He got down two mugs from the cabinet out of habit and then stared at the extra mug in his hand for several seconds. His legs folded under him and he hit the floor, the mug falling from his nerveless fingers. It rolled a few inches away, but didn't shatter. He wished it had. He didn't know how long he kneeled on the cold tile floor – but his legs had gone numb, and the sun had long since set. He got up on wobbly legs and went back to bed, leaving the lonely mug sitting forlornly in the middle of the kitchen in the darkness. ---He sat by the phone for the next two days, but Talon didn't call to say please come back or I made a mistake or I love you, never leave me, stay with me forever. That last one was more wishful thinking than anything on Flit's part, but at this point he'd take Talon calling up to say Fuck you just so he could hear his voice again. He sighed and pillowed his head on his arms, sitting at the kitchen table. The phone sat propped up in front of him. He wondered if he could will it to ring by staring at it. 208

He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and squinted hard. Ring, he thought. Ring, damn you. The phone rang. Flit was so startled he jerked and nearly tumbled from the chair. He scrambled back up and grabbed for the phone, jabbing the Talk button so hard he jammed his finger. "Hello?" he said. "Penny P! Darling, it's Trudy, from the office. I can't believe I got you at home! We're just wondering if we'll see you in this week." "Oh," Flit said, his heart sinking to his toes. "I – yes. I'll be in. Tomorrow, probably." "Fabulous! It feels like we haven't seen you in ages. How's your health? All recuperated? No more broken bones?" "No," Flit said. Just a broken heart. "That's great to hear! I know you haven't picked up the fanmail in a few days, so let me just warn you, there is quuuite the stack on your desk, Mr Celebrity! You'll have your work cut out for you. Okay, must run, ta!" "Ta," Flit said weakly. He hung up. He stared at the phone for a few more hours. Robin tried to call, once, but Flit hung up on him. The phone rang again, and he let the answering machine pick it up. "Flit," came Robin's annoyed voice. "I know I'm in the birdhouse or whatever, but stop being an idiot and pick up your phone. I need to talk to you about Talon. 209

Okay? Flit, I know you're there listening, you retard, pick up the phone. C'mon. Pick up. Pick uuuup. Pickuppickuppickup. All right, fine. If you want to die alone, that's your business." Flit didn't think he had any more tears left, but he was very, very wrong. ---Flit perched his horn-rimmed glasses on the end of his nose and sat down at his desk with a heavy sigh to go through the stack of new mail his secretary had just delivered. He‘d been working nonstop for the last few days, shutting himself away in his office, eating lunch by himself. He didn't bother to wander into the break room anymore. People just kept asking him what was wrong. On the positive side, he'd accomplished an enormous amount of work. He'd felt guilty for neglecting his readers while he was preoccupied with Talon, but that was all over now, they were through. He didn‘t have Talon to worry about anymore, demanding his attention and driving him crazy. And good riddance. Who needed Talon, anyway? He had an awful temper and an irritating sense of humor. He was better off without him, better off without Talon's stubborn pride, and overprotective macho posturing, and vulnerable grey-green eyes, and gruff smile, and the way he wrapped his arm around Flit and nuzzled him after sex when he thought Flit was already asleep, and how much Flit loved him – He choked back a sound and put his face in his hands, slumped over his desk. He could feel tears and snot sliding against his palm, and he tried to tell himself it was allergy season, and there was dust in his office, and no wonder his eyes were tearing up and his nose was running. He knew it was a lie, but maybe if he lied to himself often enough, if he repeated, I do not love Talon, I am not miserable and alone, my heart is not a dead lump in my chest, I do not cry before I fall asleep every night he could make it come true. 210

After a few minutes spent snuffling quietly, he grabbed a tissue from his desk and wiped his nose. Then he tossed it into the trash bin and opened the letter at the top of his stack of mail, noticing that for some reason the envelope didn‘t have a return address. When he unfolded the paper he immediately recognized the impatient chicken scratch writing, and his throat constricted. Dear Penny, read the letter. I’m an asshole. I had this fucking great guy and I blew it, fucking blew it so bad. This guy, he put up with all my shit and gave it right back to me, and he was frustrating, and he annoyed the hell out of me on a daily basis, and there’s nobody else like him. He knew how to talk to me in a way that made me listen. Except I didn’t listen like I should have, and he left. I’m not good at being romantic or any of that other bullshit. But I love him. I love him a lot. I know I’m an asshole, but do you think there’s anything I can do to convince him to come back? I told him once that I didn't believe in second chances and he told me he did. I hope he still does. Sincerely, Clueless in the Clouds Flit put the paper down with trembling hands and closed his eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. Tears streamed down his cheeks and a soft, watery smile crept over his face. Talon really was such an idiot. Such a perfect, beautiful idiot. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, snatching up the letter and the envelope it had arrived in, and raced from his office to find his secretary. He found her at her desk flirting with the head sportswriter. "When did this come in?" he demanded, slamming the paper down. He knew he 211

looked awful: blotchy from crying, his nose swollen, his face damp and shiny. "A few minutes ago," his secretary stammered with wide eyes, clearly surprised to see him emerge from what had become his self-imposed exile. She studied the envelope. "It was hand delivered by a really big guy. He looked kinda sad. Left pretty fast." Flit looked wildly around the office and bolted from the room, not caring about the startled exclamations of other birds as he barreled past, taking the stairs two and three at a time until he burst through the newspaper office's front doors into sunshine and the traffic noise of flying carriages honking as they roared by. He saw a familiar beat-up leather jacket encasing wide, muscled shoulders. Talon was sitting on the steps with his back hunched over and his head in his hands. Flit caught his breath, ran a casual hand over his hair, and strolled to him. He stopped next to Talon, his black wingtips just peeking into Talon's peripheral vision. "You are, I think, emotionally and socially retarded," he said coolly, looking down. Talon‘s head shot up. There were dark circles under his eyes and his face looked wretched, grooves of sleeplessness and sadness etched around his eyes and mouth. "Okay," he said. He stood slowly, unfolding himself from the pavement as though he were in pain. The line of his body screamed misery. "Okay, sorry. I‘ll get out of your feathers." "You‘re stupid," Flit continued as though Talon hadn‘t spoken. "And deliberately cruel and violent." Talon‘s face fell, slowly, like a brick wall crumbling to nothing but bits of rock and dust. He nodded and swallowed hard, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets. "Yeah, okay. I get it." He started to walk away. "I‘m not done yet," Flit said sharply. Talon turned around, his face a picture of despair. He couldn‘t have looked more 212

defeated if he‘d tried, like he knew he‘d lost and that he deserved this. "You‘re thoughtless and unpleasant, you‘re selfish, you‘re rude, and you‘re a complete bastard." "Anything else?" Talon said, his eyes downcast. "You also have no fashion sense." Talon laughed hollowly. It was an awful, bleak sound. "Right. Well, thanks for answering my letter." "I didn‘t answer your letter," Flit corrected him. "I just thought those were things you should know." Talon went very still, and his searching gaze locked on Flit‘s face. His eyes were filled with such painful hope that Flit felt like the biggest crow‘s ass for making him suffer this long. "The answer‘s yes," Flit said softly. "I think you can get the man you love back. In my professional opinion, I'd advise you to kiss him. Maybe even outside on the steps of his office building. Right now would be good, in fact." He thought the jagged noise Talon made sounded closer to a sob than a laugh but he couldn‘t be sure because Talon was smiling as he swept him up in his big arms and sealed their lips together. "Love you, love you," Talon muttered between kisses. "Feather‘s sake, you are so fucking annoying, I love you." Warmth blossomed under Flit's skin, like a spark had been lit inside his heart and it had exploded in his chest, messy and wet and wonderful. "You love me?" "It's that or indigestion," Talon replied gruffly. He peppered Flit's forehead and cheeks with kisses. "Stupid griffin," Flit said fondly, linking his fingers together at the nape of Talon's neck and tugging him down so he could bring their faces closer together. 213

"I love you, too." "Shut up, sparrow." Then, very quietly: " . . . yeah?" "Yeah," Flit murmured against Talon's mouth, kissing both corners before returning to the center to press his lips gently to Talon's. "Are you going to take me home and beat me up now?" he asked playfully, nipping at Talon's lower lip. "No," Talon said, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion. "I‘m going to take you home, tie you down in my bed, and fuck you crazy." Flit hummed in pleasure and deepened the kiss. Physical exertion was often a good way of dealing with aggression issues. ----

THE END.

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EPILOGUE Six Months Later . . . "I was thinking," Flit said over breakfast, propping his chin in his hands. "Is Stone single?" Talon looked up from his newspaper and took a sip of coffee. "I can see someone wants to be gagged and tied up again," he said mildly. "Oh, shut up," Flit said, blushing. "Not for me, you idiot. I was thinking of setting him up with someone. Maybe Robin. What do you think?" 214

"I think you clearly have too much time on your devious little claws." "Please," Flit scoffed. "My plans are wonderful. Anyway, what can you tell me about Stone's preferences?" Talon sighed and folded his paper in half, setting it down on the kitchen table. He stood up and stretched his arms over his head. "And here I thought I was going to have a relaxing Sunday morning. Now I'll have to distract you from your own craziness. C'mon." Flit raised an eyebrow. "Come on where?" "Don't worry," Talon leered. "I'll show you where you can come." He bent down and kissed Flit, hearing Flit groan with pleasure as well as annoyance at the terrible joke. He licked lightly at Flit's bottom lip until Flit opened his mouth and he could slip his tongue inside. He bit softly at Flit's lip before he pulled away and looked down into Flit's flushed face. "Can't believe you gave me an opening like that." Flit looked up coyly through his lashes and licked his reddened lips. "But I always give you my openings." It was Talon's turn to groan. "Fine, you win." Flit smiled and rose from his chair, wrapping his arms around Talon's middle. Talon bent and kissed his head. They stayed like that quietly for a few minutes, just breathing each other in. Talon could hold Flit like this forever. "We really are disgustingly sweet," Flit said, breaking the silence first, like usual. "I think that's why our friends don't visit anymore." "Nah. I think it's just 'cause the whole house smells like spunk." Flit scrunched up his cute little nose. "You are disgusting." "You love it," Talon replied, and made sure to kiss Flit extra sloppy, despite 215

Flit's protests. Then he grabbed Flit around the waist, threw him over his shoulder, and loped down the hall to their bedroom. ---Two hours later, Flit was naked in their bed, staring up at the ceiling, his breathing just coming back to normal. Talon kissed lazily over Flit's chest, feeling warm and heavy. Making love with Flit always left him sappy and extra goofy, and if he wasn't careful, it was usually the time when Flit got him to agree to stupid things. Crafty damn sparrow. "But seriously," Flit said, running a hand absently over Talon's broad, naked shoulders. "Stone's single, isn't he?" Talon groaned and rolled away, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Fucking hate you." "No, you don't," Flit said smugly, turning on his side so he faced Talon. "You love me." Talon grunted. "Only, like, forty percent of the time." "Yes, well, the same here." "Fuck you, you love me at least forty-two percent." "Hm," Flit said. He moved to straddle Talon's stomach, looking down with his hands braced on Talon's bare chest. "Do you want to try convincing me to love you the other fifty-eight percent?" "Baby, when I'm done with you, you're gonna love me two-hundred-and-fiftyeight percent." "Only two-hundred-and-fifty-eight?" Flit teased, his eyes sparkling. "How disappointing." 216

"Bitch, c'mere," Talon said, tugging him down. Flit went, laughing. ----

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