Page 29

He shakes his head. Humans die in forest. Water takes them… cold takes them. Fall, fear, and foolishness takes them. I have killed threats… not hunted your kind for meat.

Something in the way he says ‘threats’ makes me freeze. “You’ve killed humans?”

His eyes hold mine when he nods. My stomach tightens, but honesty matters more than the answer. “Because they came after you?”

He considers that, and I can feel him sorting through human words with effort, shaping them around instincts that aren’t built like mine.

They… came with fire. Iron teeth. Poison. Guns. Took more than the earth gave. They hurt forest and living things with… noise and pride and over-hunting. Some saw me and chose attack. Some I… chased away. Some would not leave.

I am a little horrified, I won’t lie. I also live and work in these woods, and I know exactly how cruel people can be when they think wilderness is theirs to use up. Still, knowing a thing in theory and hearing him admit he’s ended human lives are two different things.

“But you didn’t take the missing ones?” I ask again.

No.

I nod, not because the matter is settled, but because I need somewhere to put the answer for now. “Is there another one like you?”

He shakes his head, and I only realize now how close he’s standing. Not anymore. I am the last one.

“Uh, huh,” I mumble, because standing this close to him is frying my restraint.

He’s a wall of heat and muscle and all those strange, impossible details forced into a shape I don’t know what to do with. My eyes keep catching on bits of him: those tree-ring markings disappearing into his hairline near his neck, the crazy width of his shoulders, and the slow rise of his chest. The shape of his hands, still a little too large. His long fingers with the nails dark but human enough in this form that my body stops trying to file them under danger and starts wondering how they would really feel braced on my hips.

What the fuck, Lucas?

I drag my gaze back up to his face before I can embarrass myself even more. “Do you have a name?” I ask.

The silence after that question feels different. He’s watching me with an expression I can’t read, flexing his fingers once at his side.

Not for human mouth.

I raise my eyebrow. “You have a name, though.”

He shakes his head. Not name. Earth-mark. First calling. You cannot hold it.

Oookay, I guess that means it’s in some cryptid language I can’t pronounce. Alright. “Then what do I call you?”

He steps closer. Only one step, but my pulse reacts wildly. You give name.

I stare at him, flustered and stunned. “You want me to name you?”

Yes.

“That feels… bigger than you’re making it sound.”

It is.

Of course naming the ancient skull-faced forest predator from my dreams is a huge deal. Why would anything in my life be normal now?

I rub my thumb against my palm, suddenly remembering the stone I placed on the step this evening. The little offering I left because I didn’t know how else to say I was sorry.

“Onyx,” I say softly.

He inhales, and the whole dream seems to breathe with him. The bond opens wide and warmth flows through my chest in a rush so pure it almost hurts. Happiness. Contentment. A deep, settling pleasure without human awkwardness attached.

He accepts the name with his whole body, shoulders lowering, eyes brightening even more, and one hand pressing over the center of his chest.

Onyx. Yes. From your mouth, I keep it, he says, and looks at me with a kind of devotion that should send me running again.