Chapter 5 #3
Birds and bird shifters didn’t experience heats or ruts.
Instead, their hormonal cycles followed seasonal changes, such as shifts in daylight hours and temperature.
When he was a kid, Rowan hadn’t picked up on the fact that at the beginning of every spring, he and his siblings would get shipped off for a weekend to go visit one of their sets of grandparents.
It wasn’t until he was fifteen and began experiencing his own hormonal shifts that he worked up the courage to ask his moms why his hawk kept bobbing his head in erratic ways.
His moms had given each other that look they did every time he said something that showed just how different he was from his siblings.
“Your sisters and brother haven’t had this talk with you yet?” his omega mom had asked.
“Aunt Gloria talked to me about it when I was way too young,” his alpha ma said with a derisive snort.
Rowan shook his head, ready to take back the question and never ask again, when his omega mom placed her hand right next to Rowan’s, the warmth of her pinky just barely reaching his thumb.
She was a very tactile person, often placing a hand on Ma’s back or his sibling’s shoulders.
This hand placement was as close as they could get, but it was special in its own way because it was just for them.
“That’s okay, sweetie,” she had said. “We’ll show you.”
They invited him into the backyard and warned him they were going to shift.
He’d averted his eyes as they stripped and shifted, and by the time he looked back, his ma was doing some sort of dance, rocking her body and her wings as her head bobbed up and down.
His omega mom started doing the same dance, mirroring her much larger mate.
When Ma launched into the sky, his mom followed, and they flew around each other in huge circles and glorious arcs.
He’d only stayed to watch for a few minutes before he’d seen all he needed to see.
This was their mating dance, and they must have done it for each other every year right around that time, sending their kids away so they could have some privacy for it and whatever came afterward that even as an adult Rowan preferred not to acknowledge.
As Milo began to hum a very out-of-tune melody, their head continuing to swivel and sway, Rowan’s hawk matched the movement almost exactly.
Rowan tipped his face up to the sky, catching the rays from the late spring sun, and reminded himself—and his hawk—that he had already gone through his hormonal spike that year.
He’d gone to the cabin he owned an hour outside of town and spent the weekend flying around in his shifted form and taking care of himself in his human form with a few toys and some of his favorite steamy books.
His hawk steadfastly ignored him, continuing to bob his head, adding a few flaps of his wings for good measure.
Was Rowan finally going to see the mating dance his hawk supposedly knew innately?
Rowan was an atrocious dancer as a human, but his moms had assured him that when the time was right, and he met the right person, his hawk would know what to do.
Milo let out a happy-sounding squeal as they set down the raspberry muffin with only a small bite taken out of it and pulled out the next muffin that smelled distinctly of apples and cinnamon.
They turned to smile up at Rowan, and just like in the coffee shop, they both leaned in towards each other.
Once again, Rowan wasn’t sure if the specks of green in Milo’s eyes were a reflection of the grass below them or just a quirky feature of a quirky shifter.
Either way, Rowan thought they were gorgeous, just like the smile Milo was giving him.
It wasn’t as wide as usual, but there was something private in it. A promise, or a secret, or—
Milo’s leg shifted, or maybe Rowan’s did, but suddenly their pants legs brushed, and Rowan’s hawk startled out of his head bobbing. He fluttered his wings uncertainly, and reality crashed back in around Rowan.
He tried to cover up his flinch by reaching for the bag and pulling out the final muffin, but when he sat back up, Milo had pulled several inches away.
They didn’t look bothered by the adjustment.
In fact, they looked pleased as can be as they crammed half the apple muffin in their mouth, but Rowan was unsettled.
He shook his head firmly, as if he could dispel the image of his hawk and put an end to thoughts of dances and mates.
That sort of thing wasn’t meant for someone like him.
Milo had explicitly said they were a cuddly person, and Rowan had seen proof of that in the way they were with Ray.
On top of that, they were so loud and vibrant, full of joy and excitement that Rowan had never come anywhere near close to experiencing.
No. Silly thoughts of fated mates and courtship dances were best left for his eldest sister and mothers. He would just try to enjoy a nice evening in the park, filled with muffins and the brief, understanding looks Milo kept giving him.