Page 7 of The Hornet’s Hucow Pet

I kneel and offer her my hand. “Let me help you up.”

Her eyes glide over my tattoos, distracted, then return to my face. “It’s alright. I can manage.”

“I’d rather you didn’t have to.”

She hesitates, then places her little hand in mine. The warmth and softness…

I need to focus. I pull her to her feet, noting the pause in her breath, then scoop her into my arms. She’s average size for a human, which is to say, quite small.

A scent like fresh rain fills my senses, and my skin tingles wherever we touch.

I calm myself with measured, even breaths.

Nova goes stiff, hands bracing against my chest, holding me back. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to my office.”

“I can walk,” she snaps.

I tilt my head. “Yes, but can you fly?”

“…No.” A subtle, delicious blush spreads across her cheeks as she glances aside. Her arms slowly relax, and she allows her weight to settle against my chest.

I like how it feels. Irrelevant, I remind myself.

“Can I make you more comfortable? I can assure you it’s a short flight.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine.”

I scan her face—the tiredness behind her eyes, the tension in her brow. “You don’t seem very comfortable.”

Her lips twist in a wry smile. “This is as good as it gets.”

I nod, and my wings spring to life behind me, driving us into the air.

She gasps and slips her arms around my neck, clinging tight. She smells like spring—herbal and sweet.

I hold her tighter than is necessary, telling myself it’s to secure her and not because I suddenly find myself not entirely in control of my strength.

Despite the racing of her heart, she looks forward and down as we fly, as if tormenting herself with the height.

I weave through traffic and cut over a wide thoroughfare, then arrive at a balcony ringing a building made of wood pulp. The paper-like texture is an even, soothing tone of grey.

I use my foreleg to push aside the heavy velvet curtain across the doorway as I carry Nova inside. The circular room is lined with hexagonal cubbies on one side and a broad open-air window on the other. Woven rugs in beige and pale green divide the floor into three areas—a workbench near the cubbies, an exam table, and a multi-species sitting area by the window.

Dried herbs and flowers hang from the ceiling in neatly organized clusters, and I keep the more purified chemical compounds in tiny glass jars in the cubbies, all tidily labeled with brown paper labels and handwritten ink.

I set Nova on an elevated chair by the window, and releasing her makes my chest go tight.

I cast the bothersome sensation aside and step over to the workbench. “Can I get you anything to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

She laughs and runs a hand through her hair.

I glance back at her. “Yes?”

“Tea and coffee? That’s really your standard offer?”

“If you had about four more limbs, I do confess I’d have a different first offer. But you’re neither my first nor only human patient.”