Admitting Fangs

Candles burned, the scent of the wax like vanilla and autumn weaving together in elegant fragrance. Three place settings were put out on a neat, white tablecloth. Every plate, knife, spoon, and fork was perfectly aligned, and tall glasses were set beside each. Drifting from the kitchen was the scent of food of magnificent quality, made more appetizing by the golden light of the waning day.

Almost ready. Has to be ready. Has to be perfect. What’s the time-

Pyrren had just taken the roast out of the oven when he heard a knock at the door. Rushing with inhuman speed, combed back his dark hair to better hide the feathers of anxiety among it and to also hide the points to his ears. He put on a visor of tinted glass to hide his eyes and pulled up the collar of his linen shirt. Satisfied he looked normal, though he could not confirm with a mirror, Pyrren stepped to the door and opened it with a slight bow.

“You can skip the formalities Py.”

A woman stood with her teenaged son on the threshold, eyeing Pyrren with a careful gaze. It held no anger or hatred, but trust had been long vacated. Hair like bronze ran twisted in wavy length down her back, a rare time it was not tied up in some manner. She stood almost as tall as Pyrren, and her muscular frame moved with stern grace. Her son had a similar look, less muscular but still refined, though his eyes were brown unlike her black.

“I know,” Pyrren said, “but I wished to welcome you to my home in the best way I know how, Furna. It’s been so long, I—"

Furna eyed him with a frown. “What’s wrong with your voice? I don’t remember you having a lisp.”

Pyrren stifled a flinch, straightening up and careful with how he spoke. “I’ll explain later. Come in, please, I just finished making dinner.”

 Furna nodded and stepped into the small cabin. “Come along Ravin.”

Her son followed, glancing at Pyrren. Pyrren felt the wariness of the boy’s gaze, and his heart cracked in sorrow at it.

Bringing his guests to the table, Pyrren stepped away to bring back the food. Mashed potatoes, stuffing, roasted ham, steamed vegetables were all in plenty. It warmed Pyrren’s hope to see the two dig in. A good start.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” Ravin said, putting a heap of potatoes on his plate.

“It’s a hobby I enjoy,” Pyrren said with a nod. He too loaded his plate, but did not take a single bite.

“Why have you invited us here, Pyrren?” Furna asked, cutting her portion of the roast into smaller pieces.

Feathers prickled the back of Pyrren’s neck as he faced her. The high collar of his shirt his only defense.

“We don’t have to jump right to that, Furna,” Pyrren said. “I’d love to hear more about how you two are doing first. It’s been too long.” He smiled slightly at Ravin, careful to keep his lips pressed together, not showing his teeth. “You’ve grown.”

“Yeah, that tends to still happen even when your dad isn’t around.”

Pyrren would have preferred a slap to the face. “I know my decision was a painful one, but—”

“Painful for us. I’m sure you love being a soldier still.” The teen’s sour tone overcame his appreciation of the food on his plate, and he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

Pyrren glanced down. “I… have been honorably discharged. I am no longer a soldier.”

“What about the great ‘family legacy’ you insisted on?”

“Could we change the subject, please?” Pyrren glanced at Furna. “I do want to know how you both have been. I don’t want to fight during dinner. I’ll discuss these things afterward, if you insist but right now… can we please have a peaceful meal?”

Furna nodded and glanced to Ravin.

Ravin scoffed. “Yeah, sure.”

“Thank you.” Pyrren sighed, clasping his hands and resting them on the table in front of him. “How have you two been?”

“Well enough,” Furna said. “My forge still thrives and Ravin has found some success as an artist.”

“You aren’t joining the military?” Pyrren asked, glancing at Ravin.

“Why would I want to when it made you ditch us?”

“It’s a noble cause.”

“I don’t want to fight for a living, Dad.”

“It’s not just fighting that’s—”

“Pyrren.” Furna’s voice cut through his words, her hands against the table. “Let the matter be. We are not getting into that debate tonight.”

Conceding, Pyrren nodded before looking back to Ravin. “So, you still draw?”

“Obviously.”

“May I see your work?”

“I didn’t bring any with me, sorry. Didn’t think you’d care.”

Pyrren sighed, massaging his temples. “I know I haven’t been supportive of your interests, and I regret that. I would love to see it sometime, if that’s alright.”

Ravin’s glare softened. “I could drop by later this week, or, you could visit my studio.”

Pyrren felt some feathers recede. “I would like that, thank you.”

Furna eyed Pyrren. “You’ve changed.”

“For the better, I hope?”

“Not sure yet,” Furna said. “I can’t quite place it but something’s strange with you. The visor is new.”

“My eyes were damaged on a mission.” It wasn’t a total lie.

“I see, but, when did you decide you wanted us in your life again? You made it clear you didn’t value us last time we spoke.”

“I have always valued you both,” Pyrren said, feeling discomfort as his clothes tugged on some returning feathers. He still preferred it to the anxiety rising in a burning twister of embers waiting to ignite and char his hopes.

“Less than you valued your family legacy, or impressing your father. Do not expect me to fall for you again. A burned hand knows not to touch the stove a second time.”

Regret seized Pyrren’s heart, and he lowered his gaze again. Her dark eyes scalded him, but she held no flame in her. The passion of Furna had burnt out well before tonight.

“I… understand,” Pyrren said, “and I do not expect you to do so. I made a poor choice and must accept the consequences. All I ask is for a second chance to be in our son’s life, and yours. Friends, if we cannot be anything more. Is that a goal we can both agree on?”

Furna nodded, but then held up a finger to cut off Pyrren’s thanks. “It is, but only if Ravin wishes to have you in his life again. No negotiation. You hurt him when you chose the military over your family, more than you hurt me. Years you cannot get back have come and gone. I will not force him to have a relationship with you. He is old enough to decide for himself.”

“I agree,” Pyrren said, looking to Ravin. He felt a pang of nostalgic regret as he saw the boy had once more returned to his food. The teen refused to use a knife, just as he had as a child, and instead used pressure to cut his roast with a fork and determination. It was a strange habit that once drove Pyrren crazy but now reassured his soul; his son was still his son. Pyrren reminisced on the days they once spent together, so long ago that the memory was worn into his mind, beloved. Cooking together for Furna, chases with screaming laughter and fun, stories Pyrren told where Ravin got to be the hero.

When had those days been lost?

Ravin shrugged. “I… guess I could give it a try but if you come at me about my art again, that ends. Deal?”

“I accept your terms,” Pyrren said. “What do you usually enjoy drawing?”

Ravin managed to sever a chunk of roast from the main slab, stabbing it with the same fork he’d cut it with. “I like doing funny, small things. Stories, ideas, concepts, stuff like that.”

“Do you just use ink for those?”

Ravin shook his head. “Nah, I use watercolors often, but sometimes oil or acrylic paint for bigger projects. Though most of the time I just do as the clients want since they’re paying for the art.”

“He’s made quite a bit of money off of it too,” Furna added, resting her elbows on the table with her hands clasped by her face. “He’ll be moving out soon.”

“Already?” Pyrren looked to Ravin, struggling to equate him to the boy he’d left behind years ago. Ravin returned the look. “I… am glad for you. You must have worked hard to get here. Well done.”

“Every kid moves out eventually,” Ravin said with a shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

Silence crept into the conversation, save for the sounds of silverware against plates. It was constricting, a pressure that continued to grip and squeeze Pyrren as he felt its endless strangle. He tugged at the cuffs of his jacket, making sure nothing he was hiding could be seen.

“Is something wrong, Py?”

Pyrren almost jumped at the sudden question Furna asked him.

“Why do you ask?”

Furna gestured to his plate. “You haven’t eaten a single bite.”

Ravin glanced up from his nearly finished plate. “Huh, you’re right. What gives?”

Pyrren tensed a bit, the silence having worn down his resolve, anxiety creeping across his skin. Dark red feathers poked out of his sleeve and he quickly covered them with his other hand as he focused on taking a deep breath.

“Nothing, just, not very hungry.”

Furna’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something you’re not telling us? You have always been of the mind to eat when the opportunity arises, as you never know when your next meal might be on the battlefield. Your logic, of course.”

Pyrren shifted in his chair, not just due to the scrutiny, but because his anxiety worsened with each feather he couldn’t snuff out, hidden under his clothes. They could not know. Not yet. Not while he still had a chance to be a part of their lives.

“I am not in the military anymore.”

“How do you support yourself then?”

“Bounty hunting, mostly. Only legal jobs, of course. Besides, it’s been years. I could have changed my philosophy.”

“And was it during those years you developed that lisp? Or grew your hair out? I’ve never seen you without a buzz cut until today.”

“Well, um—”

“What’s wrong with your teeth?”

Pyrren’s gaze snapped over to look at his son. “My… teeth?”

The fear was twisting his innards as the feathers continued to spread. Pyrren tucked his hands under the table, out of sight.

“They look wrong,” Ravin said. “I only caught glimpses but, did you break them or something?”

“What is that?” Furna frowned, reaching and pulling something from Pyrren’s hair. He closed his eyes, defeated.

Ravin moved to take it from his mother. “Is that a feather? What is going on with you, Dad?”

“I would like to know that myself, Pyrren,” Furna said, her dark eyes cold as jet.

“I… made a mistake during an assignment,” Pyrren said, withdrawn but not trembling.

“What sort of mistake?”

Pyrren sought words but they eluded him in his stress. It was going to show any moment now. Either he revealed it with words, or his shapeshifting would do it for him, leaving Pyrren little choice. He took off his jacket, listening to their gasps as the two saw the feathers lining his arms. Holding up the right one, he showed them the vampire bite scar that was pale against his skin.

Ravin scooted back, away from his father. “You- you’re a—”

Furna stood and backed up a step before moving between Pyrren and her son. “Impossible… you couldn’t be… are you?”

Pyrren nodded, shame burning his cheeks. “I am. I have it under control, I wouldn’t have invited you here if I feared you would be in danger from me.”

“That explains the lisp,” Ravin said, quiet. Disgusted. “The fangs?”

“They catch on my teeth and lip sometimes. It makes it hard not to lisp.”

“How could you keep this a secret?” Furna asked.

This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. Pyrren dragged himself back to human best he could. Shapeshifting all the way would be humiliating, and he didn’t want this to go any more wrong than it had already. Maybe he could salvage this. They didn’t run yet, after all.

Maybe he could have his family back.

“I didn’t want to lose you both the way I lost everything else,” Pyrren said.

“So, you reconnected with us just so you wouldn’t be alone?” Riven asked, a snap to his words.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.”

“Do you care about us at all? Did you ever care about us?”

“Of course I do, Ravin!”

“Quit that, both of you!” Furna sighed, glaring at her ex-husband. “You should have told me. I wouldn’t have been bothered. But you didn’t and now you could have put my son at risk.”

“Neither of you are in danger, I promise.”

“And when you need to feed, what then?”

“I get it from the town butcher, never a person. Cow or pig usually.”

“Does that even matter?” Ravin said. “You told me as a kid that supernaturals were horrible monsters! And, what, I’m just supposed to make an exception for you just cause you don’t drink people?”

“Ravin, please—”

Ravin scoffed and walked out. Pyrren restrained himself from stopping him, though he longed to set things right. Turning to Furna, Pyrren tried to read her expression. “Please…”

Furna sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Py, this has to stop. I know you mean well, and I’ll talk to Ravin, but this was too much to keep hidden.”

“I’m sorry, I just, it’s why I was discharged. I can’t just… I didn’t want to lose you too.”

“You already left us behind. Crawling back is not a good look for you.”

“That’s not it—”

“Then what is it? Why do this? Why lie to us?”

“Because I missed you!”

He felt the feathers spread with the shout, leaving him with wings more than hands. Withdrawing with shame, he covered his face with them.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine—” Pyrren winced at the croak in his voice as it was more raven than human. “Still learning to control this part, stress and anxiety can trigger it.”

He didn’t dare look at her, not wanting to see the revulsion on her face at his half-morphed form. Leaning on the table, Pyrren kept his head down.

Furna walked over to Pyrren and put a hand on his shoulder. It was not a romantic gesture, but a supportive one. Her rough palm against his feathers brought him to look at her.

"Can you talk fully shifted?”

Pyrren nodded.

“Then stop fighting it. You look ridiculous with that beak on your face.” A smile almost twitched on her lips.

Pyrren relented. Some magic he didn’t understand allowed his clothing to shift with him as feathers spread and a fan-like tail formed. Feet became talons, and any indication of his human arms faded entirely. His eyes did not change, still yellow and slitted like a cat’s, but the rest of him was indistinguishable from an unusually large raven -closer to a bald eagle in size- with dark red feathers. Hopping onto the table, he ruffled them and kept his head down.

“Better?” Furna asked, crossing her arms and looking down at him.

“Not exactly the word I would use…” Pyrren sighed, the sound a croaky caw. “At least ravens are good at mimicking humans.”

“It’s difficult to see how you’ve fallen so far Py. I never thought you would end up…” Furna sighed. “Did you do all this for us, or for yourself?”

Pyrren looked at the table. The place settings. The home he longed for.

“I don’t know…” he admitted, looking up at her. “I just know I made a mistake leaving you behind. I missed you both every day in the barracks. You were the greatest sacrifice that I wished I could take back… and I know I hurt you both when I left and chose the army over you. I’m sorry.”

“I would have once said it was more impossible than you leaving the army.” Furna smiled, though her eyes were sad.

Pyrren shared the look. “Maybe so. Does this mean we can work through this?”

Furna sighed, glancing at the door. “I don’t know. I meant what I said. It’s Ravin’s choice now, and I wouldn’t get my hopes up. If this is farewell, then, I hope you choose better if you get another chance.”

“Furna, look at me- what other chance will I have?” Pyrren spread his wings, his voice wounded.

“Sometimes, an apology cannot mend what the act had broken, Py,” Furna said. “You chose, and you can’t take it back.”

“I know, but… I care about you, about our son. I made a mistake. I just… it doesn’t have to be like it was, I just want…” He sighed, tail drooping.

Furna regarded him, her tone kind yet as unyielding as cold steel. “Good night, Pyrren.”

“Furna…”

Pyrren watched as she went to the door and opened it. For a moment, he saw her hesitate, her heart quickening, but then she went through and shut it behind her.

Hopping to the window with a flap of his wings, Pyrren watched the two talk. A hug was shared, and he rested his beak on the glass, heart aching. Fragile threads of hope remained of the line of rescue he’d held when the night began. They were still there, there was still time. Things could change.

He waited.

They walked away.

Look back.

They kept walking.

Just look back. Please.

Furna and Ravin disappeared around the corner.

A tear slid down Pyrren’s feathered cheek.