Page 21 of Doran

They didn't even bother to sit down, reminding me so much of Caleb in that moment that I felt a stab to my heart. They quickly guzzled their juice.

“Brush your teeth and get your shoes on,” Varek told them as they dashed out of the kitchen. “And no running in the house!”

I laughed. “Kids are all the same.”

I went over to the stove. They’d put in a human style electric stove and one of Grammie’s cast iron skillets sat on a burner, ready to be used. I heated it up, asking the replicator for some oil to put in it to fry the eggs. I smiled as I fetched it, seeing how much of a mess Laura was making eating her banana.

Doran was watching her with fascination, and I found myself wondering if he’d like us to have a baby together. It was something we definitely needed to discuss, as I was thirty-eight and not getting any younger. I wanted all my baby days behind me before I turned forty, thank you very much. I paused in the middle of cracking the eggs, surprised at myself. Did I want another baby? I snuck another peek at little Laura.

Yes. Yes, I did. At least one more.

“Okay, that’s the boys gone,” Darren said, returning.

“Oh, good. Now, how would you like your eggs? I’m doing scrambled, but you can have onions or cheese or whatever added to it.”

“Just with salt and pepper, please,” Darren asked, and the other two decided to go along with the same, which made things easier for me.

I wonder what a baby with Doran would look like. I’m sure the info packet said genetics would make the kid Dragonii, but their hair and eye color could lean towards either of us. Would it have my hair or his? I’d love to see a baby with his eyes…

13

DORAN

Watching her with the kits was driving me crazy, especially after the sheriff and his deputy mate left for work, leaving us alone with the infant.

After cleaning her up, Sarah bounced Laura on her hip, singing a song about a small monetary unit and a pocketful of grain, which, along with live birds, was baked into a pie. The birds miraculously survived somehow to sing for a king when he cut his pie. Thankfully, the macabre song ended before he consumed the still living creatures. Laura did not seem to understand the words, thankfully, but loved the cooing tone of Sarah’s singing voice and all the jiggles. My gums throbbed, and a quick press from the tip of my tongue revealed the sacs were now starting to swell, the first of the venom beginning to trickle in.

I imagined claiming her, giving her my bite, and someday perhaps seeing her swell with our own kit. I shuddered, hoping she would not sing such horrible things again, especially to one of our own. Was this a normal human thing? Did they need to desensitize their young for high feast days where they consumed living animals? It seemed unlikely, given their blunt teeth, that they would eat in such a manner, so perhaps it was done as a twisted form of amusement.

I made an excuse to duck into the bathroom before we went to the store as promised, and asked Bob.

“Ah, yes, well, nursery rhymes! Many of these songs and poems were made up by the kits themselves, to share observations about historical things they witnessed. Some even became games - Ring Around the Rosies is one such, with the song being about the stench of death from a terrible plague and people dropping dead. Another one has two kits holding hands facing each other, arched to resemble an overhead bridge. The other children file beneath, all while singing about an unfortunate female of importance who was locked away in one of the towers of the bridge or some such thing.”

I swallowed. “That sounds morbid.”

“Kits can be rather morbid, unintentionally,” he agreed. “But the rhymes are harmless and most today think they are merely fun nonsense.”

That relieved my mind somewhat, but I still thought that later, once we’d completed her mating, I would convey my distress over that particular song she’d been singing. Cruelty to animals was never right, and subjecting live animals to an oven to be baked was torture. Something that, as my perfect match, I knew she probably hadn’t thought about, if the song had been presented as fun nonsense to her since her birth.

I came out to find she’d strapped Laura into the stroller.

“It’s such a short walk, and it’s a lovely day, so I thought we could hoof it,” she said by way of explanation.

“I do not own a horse,” I replied. “Would you like me to ask about obtaining one for you to use as a pack animal? Jesse Wilson has contacts back on Earth who are helping him import his own horses as well as a herd of wild mustangs. I am certain they could acquire a suitable one and arrange for it to be brought here.”

She stared at me blankly.

“Horse?” A look of understanding crossed her face, and she giggled. “Oh! Horse, hoof, I get it! Um, no,” she giggled. “Hoofing it means using our own two feet. Though Emma always used to ask Santa for a pony when she was younger.” She sighed. “I had Santa leave her a note saying he couldn’t give live animals as they required a family commitment of several years, and that caring for them was expensive. A few months later, a co-worker’s mother had a leftover puppy that was the runt of a litter, and she asked around for her to see if anyone at work wanted a free puppy. And that’s how we got Sweetie. She came with her first shots and microchipped even, as she’d been done with the rest. She was nearly five months old already when we got her, and her mom figured chances were slim to none that anyone would buy her. I got her fixed two months later at a free spay/neuter clinic the city ran.” She licked her lips. “Anyhoo, um, I just meant we could enjoy a nice walk to the store.”

I beamed at her. Her nervousness was adorable, and I felt relief that I was not the only one feeling nervous. Family meant everything to Dragonii culturally, but my parents were not the model Dragonii they professed to be. From the outside, our home life had looked normal. But both of our parents were collectors of rare things. The most exclusive memberships, the limited edition upholstery and trim for their personal vehicles, original art with few to no print reproductions. You name it; if it was uncommon and they thought it gave them something for others to admire, they coveted it. This was especially true when it came to their offspring. Once they’d had our sister, they’d only had eyes for her. Oh, they still brought up our accomplishments when asked and feigned interest publicly, but at home, my older brother and I found ourselves shoved aside.

I wanted to be better than that, and part of me was terrified that I would fail. That we would mate, and if we had a kit together, a switch would flip, and I’d no longer see our other three human offspring. No! I would guard against it. Their biological male parent had already hurt them in a similar manner. I resolved to speak with Khaelor. If he ever saw me do such a thing, he was to rip my wings off. I would rather be wingless than make a kit feel as trivial as I’d been made to feel.

But you’re getting ahead of yourself. You’ve not completed the mating, and she’s not agreed to have a kit with you. Perhaps she is content with the three she has already, and feels she will be too busy with Dragon’s Rest.

“If you’ll just grab the bottom of the stroller by the front wheels and lift it, we can carry the stroller down the steps,” she said.

“Of course,” I replied, doing so.