tagRomanceChosen Mate Ch. 05

Chosen Mate Ch. 05


Harry's notes, Chapter 5: Harry returns home after a benchmark night of emotions. He will not see Sandra until Saturday morning, instead he will question his sanity in alcohol, dreams, and apprehension of the truth. At the end of this chapter he is inundated by the waters of Fay culture. The action begins to accelerate all through this chapter and speed into chapter 6. I still get misty at the end of the chapter. (smiles)

Chosen Mate

Chapter 5

Revelations of Love and P.M.S.

Harry slowed the truck by the kitchen window, waving to Maddie sitting behind the glass, then drove on to the shop, accompanied by Max. The hill stood in emerald timeless beauty across the fields, as he drove to the door and parked; it was like a neon sign advertising the impossible presence of the Green Warrior discovered high on its terraced slopes. He glanced at it, then turned his gaze inward, and found the Green Warrior unchanged in his waiting posture. He could feel the owl visored creature looking down from the hill. Hell, he could see him!

--It is not considered polite to stare buddy, Oldman commented, wondering if he would get the same response as Harry received yesterday. There was no acknowledgement.

--Watch him, he told Oldman, who wondered what it was like to laugh hysterically. He replied.

--What else can we do but return the favor Harry? When are you going back up there?

--Soon I think. I've got to go back to see where it happened. Sandra will keep me busy tomorrow, and I'm not ready to deal with customers yet. I'll just take it day by day. He sighed. Time to go to work.

He began preparing for tomorrow's sales by moving the stage and mirror near a wooden screen, covered in oil paintings done from sketches at the koi pond; it separated the pool table from the main shop. He carefully swept the floor and cleaned the restroom. He put his benches in order then worked on a matching underwear top to go with Sandra's thong.

Oldman continued the carefully planned construction when Harry drifted away to study the Green Man. He enjoyed the chance to use Harry's hands. He thanked the Creator silently for the invention of hands and wished he had his own pair. Glancing at the image of the garment that floated in Harry's imagination for reference, he bent once more over his cherished task. When he led Harry away to the house, a long padded back lace, a similarly padded neck strap, two triangles of creamy suede, joined by a copper ring latch, a beaten copper broach with a wide slot at the bottom and copper catches attached to the top corners, waited for its final assembly.


Harry rubbed his tired eyes late that night. His inspection of the photographs confirmed his earlier observations. It appeared that he had not been mistaken. The longer an unbroken inspection of them, the more details they revealed. A blink of the eye or instant of distraction, returned them to their original condition.

That simple fact alone would have been enough to render one to be confused and unbelieving. However, the images they contained were so fantastic, so amazing that they left you stunned. The fish, birds, and insects gathered near her form became visible; they changed with an uninterrupted gaze to become magical creatures of grace and wonder. He had lost his place there many times. But they were only pale shadows of her image. Beginning the long stressful process once again, he was at last able to see her true form in the photographs.

Already glowing in sun or shafts of light and the dappled spots of illumination and shade that covered her like graceful garments, she slowly changed. Wispy thin tendrils of feather-like filaments of light or energy crept from her body and elongated slowly until they formed wings that waved and shimmered about her elfin appearance.

He was beginning to believe that he was going insane, seeing things that were not there as he had over this past year. Daily, sudden movements plagued him from the corner of his eye. The fast moving scurrying shadow-like forms that were not there when he turned in their direction, The blackouts, always in some spot that was filled with special feelings of peace, contentment, or wonder that were hidden from his mom by omission. The trance-like moments where he completed tasks without a remembrance of labor haunted him.

Then there was the Green Warrior saying nothing, doing nothing, waiting. His intrusion into Harry's thoughts confused as well as interested him. Now this exhausting conformation of his innuendos and wild, half-joking declarations had come to rest. He brought his sketchbook out and began to draw the hidden images of the photographs from memory. If madness was the price of such beauty...so be it.


Saturday morning, Sandra and the Caddy slunk up the pre-dawn driveway and cat-footed to the already lit shop; light spilled from the open doors. She carried the medicine-bag used to transport her gifted treasures home on Thursday; it was filled with breakfast and lunch. She walked in. Inside, Harry was sipping coffee and working at his usual spot at the bench. She looked at him and realized that he knew.

"Hey!" she chirped, pausing to let her eyes capture the sight of him intent on his labors.

"Lady," he answered, saluting with his cup and a worried smile. She gave him a dimpled curtsy and then walked over, giving him a kiss on the brow before making a spot on the bench to lay out the morning meal. Max sat at her feet, tail thumping, drool hanging from his jowls, at the fragrant scent of fried bacon, waiting patiently. She gave him the extra biscuit that she had made for him; He carried it away in his mouth.

"What are you doing?" She asked, pulling out the thermos and biscuits. He held up a bikini top that would match her thong perfectly.

"This needs to be fitted." She glanced at her watch.

"Do we have time?" She wondered.

"Max will bark as soon as a strange car starts up the hill. Harry took a sip of coffee and a bite of biscuit while she freed her upper body for the fitting. "How would you like a pair of shorts?" he asked.

"What style of shorts?" she asked.

"Hiking, short shorts, loose, tight, mid-thigh, it's your choice. I've never made any before. It should be an interesting project. She answered immediately.

"Tight short shorts." She said, at last finding her smile.

--Somehow I knew that. Oldman said.

Harry began to assemble the top on her. The neck-strap tied to the clasps of the broach; it looked like a necklace. The padded back-strap connected the bottoms of the triangles comfortably under her breasts. The laces attached to the top of the triangles joined loosely to the slot at the bottom of the broach until the fit could be adjusted correctly and comfortably.

"How much cleavage do you want?" He thought about it, then sent her to tie it herself.

Max began to bark. Harry called out to her but she would not give up the top. Instead, she merely drew her denim on over it and let the lightly tied laces hang.

Harry showed her the cash-box containing ample change to conduct business and the tax card that showed the amount held for the state and county, the sales slips, and the leather brief case and where they were to be stored. People showed at the door and began spilling into the room in ever swelling numbers. Harry drew back, relinquishing the hostess and cashier duties to Sandra, which she pursued with consummate skill.

He watched her effortless smile as she attended the shoppers. She spoke to everyone, keeping a running conversation going.

Oldman watched Harry watching Sandra. He felt the deep concern felt for his sanity. Giving a mental sigh, he sent a thought.

--She's real Harry; believe your eyes.

--The real question is can I believe my ears.

As the day progressed, Sandra kept him busy answering technical questions and making simple alterations until the press of customers lessened around noon.

She fed him thin sliced roast beef and slices of Swiss on brown bread for lunch while he finished her top with a simple angler's blood knot and cut the excess cleanly off. She had time to finish her own sandwich and put her t-shirt on before the next customer showed. It was Donna. She ran to meet her sister.


They met at the entrance. Donna looked in her hurting eyes and knew the time was near. She searched Sandra's eyes and face then looked to where Harry watched.

"He knows?" Sandra nodded and attempted to explain.

"He hasn't said anything yet, but yes, he knows." Yes, Donna thought. It had to happen, but she was surprised by the speed that it had occurred and curious as to how it taken place.

"How did he find out?" Donna asked.

"Probably from the photographs he took." Sandra answered solemnly.

"You let him take images of you?" Donna asked shocked.

"What should I have done? Run away? Slap the camera out of his hand? They were protected; any normal human would never notice them." She looked in the shop door.

"Besides," she said, moving on to other events. "I can't hide myself from him much longer. Just look at me. I shine like a full moon; and that's not far off either!" Donna smiled, nodding.

"Good Fay and men can do that." She said gently. Sandra was silent for a deep breath, and then went on.

"Just being near him does it. I have been spilling my charge as fast as I can to keep it lower, but it increases faster than I can use it. The hedges under my apartment will soon over grow the fence with all that I give it. You saw what I used on the crowd last night. Just-look-at-him." She said with agitated force, while gesturing wildly to where he stood talking with Gerry.

Donna looked to where Harry chatted easily with her mate. The glow of human emotions were a physical force seen easily by the Fay. The roil of his feelings swirled around him.

"His charge seems as high as I've ever seen in a human that wasn't fighting." Donna halted, as her little sister flew to another subject.

"There's more." Sandra said seriously, and turned to the hill. "I think he went through up there; although he acted like it was just a fall." Donna slowly turned from watching Harry's flickering camp-fire-like glow that flared, as if in a sudden gust of wind, when Sandra's attention shifted to the hill. Donna let her eyes move, pausing on her sister, then continuing upward as she spoke.

"He hides something." She affirmed, then continued. "I know there have been several reports him acting strangely near pass points in town." Sandra lowered her head, turned away and spoke to the ground.

"He watches it, dream-like, lost to this world at times." Their eyes met in a quick flash of shared suspicion and uncertainty, and then moved away as Sandra continued speaking "Yesterday morning I had to hold him on this side. I wrapped my wings tightly about him and held him under the shower until he began to help me bathe. You should have seen my charge before that!" Sandra shook her head in disbelief. "It would never do for him to fall through there." Donna smiled at that.

"Yes. Whatever would Father say at an unexpected and uninvited guest bursting into his house out of his daughter's bedroom?" Sandra's frightened face answered the question well. Donna laughed until Sandra continued.

"We had a fight last night after he pointed his finger in my face. I lashed out at him." Donna's eyebrows raised and her eyes widened. "He apologized, and among the all the sweet words, he said that he, 'Lays his love tenderly at my feet in offering.' Thankfully we were under a light in a dark room or my flare would have been visible when it leapt out at his words." Donna's reply raced from her mouth in excited triumph.

"That's a contract! This greatly accelerates our timetable. Did you declare yours?" Sandra answered miserably.

"You know I could not. There would be no hiding myself from him once I did. Besides, he may withdraw his words when he finds out everything that follows our quickly approaching confrontation." Donna reached out; holding Sandra's head in her hands, she spoke tenderly and earnestly.

"No, he will not retract them; look where he watches your every move." Sandra's eyes examined Harry; when he saw her moment of attention, his aura appeared as flames burning with increased intensity around his hair and beard. She slowly looked away again, confessing with lowered head.

"I began nesting Thursday." Donna gathered her up as Sandra sobbed out, "Bob soured the water with an untimely appearance. I held my eggs. I held them." She sobbed uncontrollably. Donna held her, pouring her love and shared sorrow into her sister and said with sudden understanding.

"So that's why Bob's eyes are black." Sandra sobbed out her answer.

"Yes" and started crying harder. "Bob's been a pain in my aura since I became thrice quickened. When I left Harry that afternoon, I went straight to his station. He saw me and flew away through the middle world. I pursued over half this valley, until I brought him to bay and beat him with righteous anger. I allowed him to heal his injuries except for his blackened eyes to show his mark of shame." She bawled again uncontrollably. Her sobbing sentences, punctuated by strident strained periods ended. Donna led her away to the restroom inside to let her wash her face and compose herself.


Harry had been aware of the emotional conversation between the two women for some time now, but was distracted by Donna's husband, Gerry, who chatted away companionably.

"Tell me how long it take to make one of these bags Harry.

"Not long, I've made patterns of everything except my most recent creations.

The women began moving toward the shop. Donna was consoling an obviously distressed Sandra, as she walked beside her friend, heaving sobs and sniffles about the room. He started to rush over; but Donna's eyes stopped him as she led the sobbing Sandra to the restroom. Somehow he had hurt her again. He watched them until they closed the door tightly behind them; he jumped at the echoing sound and then again as Gerry clapped him on the shoulder unexpectedly and asked.

"Do you have any beer here?" They sat at the bench, drank, and talked about the leather business.


Donna got her in the small restroom and helped her wash her face, thankful that there were clean cloths and towels. Sandra blew her nose and drew deep shuddering breaths that quieted eventually.

"Do you know what your problem is?" Donna asked her.

"Which one; they are legend." Sandra replied unhappily, collapsing into her arms. Donna embraced her.

"You have PMS." Sandra laughed, then cried again.

"Right," she sobbed against Donna's shoulder.

"No, really. But its Pre Mating Syndrome." She explained, saying each word with a pause. "Hopefully Harry will live through it. Thankfully, we usually only get it once." Donna paused, and then explained. "It amplifies our feelings much the same way that the monthly cycles of human women of child bearing age are affected." Sandra began bawling again.

"I don't want it. I don't." Donna tried tact. Placing Sandra on the toilet seat, she handed her more tissues to wipe her eyes.

"You got here early?" Sandra nodded up and down, and answered in a small voice that sounded like 4:30.

"And you got off work at...?"

"2:30" The small voice answered once again.

"Well you're obviously exhausted; you can't have PMS and hope to function without rest." Sandra stood up from her seat on the toilet and angrily declared.

"What do I need sleep for when-I-have-this!" She dropped her illusions, letting her uncovered aura spring forth in all its glorious and frightening intensity. Donna fell back in alarm; never had she seen such extreme ability, except, she thought, when Father was very, very, angry. The small room did not help either; she felt like she was inside of a light bulb.

"Put a cover on that before you burn the building down." She jokingly said aloud. Or blow us up, she said silently to herself, worried that she would do something in her unbalanced condition that was beyond Donna's experience to understand or anticipate. "I am going to take you home, feed you, and put you to bed. Are you ready?" Sandra nodded. "You can loose some of your charge on the way home; grow some flowers on the roadside maybe?" Donna marched out of the restroom with Sandra in tow and moved purposely toward the door, spouting commands, as a silent and subdued Sandra meekly followed.

"Gerry, drive Sandra's car home. Sandra will ride with me." Harry snatched up Sandra's denim, following to where Donna was helping her into a truck with 'Gerry Faison General Contractor' painted on the door.

"We need to talk. Are you alright?" Harry said in a rush as he handed her jacket through the window. Donna interrupted.

"She's tired. She's only had a few hours rest between closing the bar last night, then making you breakfast and lunch before she got here at 4:30 to help you." She would have said more but Sandra put a hand on her arm halting her. She looked out of the window into Harry's face.

"Yes, we need to talk; but not here, not now." Tears would have fallen from her eyes if she had blinked. His own were alarmingly near escaping.

"If I've hurt you again..." He began, searching her eyes.

"No." she shook her head side to side rapidly. "It's not you." Donna started the truck and began driving away, yelling out the window.

"Bye Harry." Max ran behind barking about the tires. Harry's blurred eyes seemed to see butterflies fluttering behind the car as it disappeared down the drive.

"They are a fine pair." Gerry said at Harry's side. "I've seen them talk for hours at Mildred's, drinking coffee and playing with their food." Harry looked blankly as he met Gerry's eyes, filled with merry amusement, as he walked away to the Caddy and got in. Harry followed along with him, standing by the open window and then speaking.

"Yes, they seem to be fast friends. I'm glad she has one like Donna. Have you been married long?" Again, Gerry's amused eyes met his.

"More years than I care to count Harry, It's been good to meet you." They shook hands through the window. "And, just so you know, they're not friends, they're sisters." His knowing eyes met Harry's shocked ones, which were busy crossing T's and dotting, I's. Gerry's parting comment nearly shut down all of Harry's thought process. "Just wait till you meet their Father." His hearty laugh of amusement was followed by "See you Harry." He didn't wave as Gerry drove away. Instead, he stood there for a long time, trying to put it all together in his head. Oldman led him back to the shop.

Harry hesitated in the middle of the shop; his empty eyes surveyed his depleted stock. He went to the cash-box and removed sheaves of large denomination bills, stuffing them in the leather brief that held the day's sales slips. He looked about with no plan or destination; then, he sat at the bench, hopelessly trying to discover one, or the other.


Sandra was trying to formulate her own plan while consuming the food that Donna kept pressing on her. They sat around the cozy kitchen table, windows open to the evening breeze. They were over protected from casual observation by Sandra's abundant use of energy in an attempt to draw down her ample supply. Their auras blazed forth with no inhibition. Gerry's bright blue, Donna's neon pink and shading to a bright red at the very edges and Sandra's bright, wavy, red and gold streaked one, pulsating with power, and filled with sparkling flashes of random light. Gerry wore sunglasses. Sandra had stopped crying; she looked as if it were only temporary. Suddenly she exclaimed.

"I'm hot," then stripped her t-shirt over her head, revealing her new intimate top.

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