# Chapter 15: The Coop

Amelia stood at the fence, her talons sinking into the soft dirt. The morning sun was warm on her feather-covered arms, but she felt cold inside. Numb. Empty.

Behind her, she heard John's footsteps in the gravel.

"Amelia."

She didn't turn around.

"Listen," he said, his voice rough. "About last night. I'm sorry. I was... I was scared. Disgusted. But that was my problem, not yours. I should have said yes."

She finally turned to face him. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground like a guilty child.

"I thought about it all night," he continued. "If I'd just done it, you'd be human right now. We'd be driving home. Instead, I left you alone in that motel room, and now..." He gestured at the farm, the coop, the whole miserable situation. "I'm sorry. I should have accepted your offer."

Amelia shook her head. "It's okay. My ass looks messy. I disgust myself too." She let out a hollow laugh. "You saw the dried shit. You saw everything. I can't blame you for not wanting to fuck that."

"Amelia—"

"It's fine." She turned back to the fence. "Good luck. Wait for me in the car."

"Amelia..."

"In the car, John."

She heard him hesitate, then walk away. The car door opened and closed.

Amelia grabbed the wooden fence and pulled herself over, her talons scraping against the weathered boards. She landed in the yard with a soft thud, dust puffing up around her feet.

The yard was a mess. Mud, droppings, scattered feed. A dozen hens pecked and scratched near the coop, their brown and white feathers ruffled by the morning breeze. They clucked softly, ignoring her.

Amelia's breath hitched.

She was already getting wet. Her cloaca pulsed, a slow, rhythmic squeezing that sent shivers up her spine. She could feel moisture pooling between her thighs, slick and warm. The rooster seed John had seen her produce in the cabin—it was leaking out of her now, dripping down her leg in clear, sticky strands.

Where's the rooster?

She scanned the yard. No rooster. Just hens. Dozens of them.

Maybe... maybe it didn't matter? The scroll said "share a bed with one unaffected." A hen was unaffected. Maybe that was close enough?

Her cloaca convulsed again. She couldn't think straight. The need was so strong, so primal, that …