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Apparently, I’m in my clingy era, which is something I will be taking up with the universe at a later date.
The bond is full of his satisfaction. It’s warm and smug and pleased in that bone-deep way of his. He carries me through the root-hung entrance of his den with his arms locked carefully around me, and the whole time I can feel him enjoying my need like sunlight on old stone.
“You’re very pleased with yourself,” I mutter against his shoulder, because hiding my face feels entirely mature and necessary.
His answer moves through the bond at once, smooth and dry, far better than it had been even a few days ago. Little Ember came looking for me in the dark, wearing clothes badly and smelling of panic. I am allowed to be pleased.
I lift my head enough to glare at him. “That is a wildly ungenerous summary of events.”
Accurate summary.
“I was emotionally compromised.”
Yes. And badly dressed.
The laugh catches me off guard, rough from crying and exhaustion. I hate that he can do that. I hate that he’s figured out where the humor sits and keeps pressing it with one clawed little thought whenever I’m trying to be tragic. “You’re gettin’ too good at this,” I tell him as he lowers me into the nest.
At comforting?
“At being an asshole.”
His head tilts, and he gives me that adorable, puppy-eyed look again. Soft insult?
I groan and drop back into the moss and furs. “I regret teachin’ you anythin’.”
No. You like when I learn you.
Heat climbs my neck so fast I have to look away. The bastard is right, which makes it worse. I do like it. I like that he remembers my words, my jokes, the small stupid things I say to keep from feeling too much all at once.
I like that an ancient creature born out of earth and night has decided my sarcasm is worth studying. I like that he knows when I need steadiness and when I need teasing to breathe again.
I’m in hell. Specifically, fond hell.
The den wraps around us with warmth, cedar, and the deep mineral scent of stone. My cabin felt wrong tonight, hollow, and too square, all its familiar comforts turned strange by his absence. Here, everything in me settles so quickly it scares me a little. The panic that drove me out into the woods has quieted, but the need underneath remains, though it’s softer now, less frantic.
I don’t want sex. Not right now. My body still feels tender and changed from the sealing, and my mind is too bruised from scaring the hell out of myself. What I want is worse, because it sounds needier.
I want to be held.
Onyx doesn’t make me say it. He settles beside me in human form, but before he can lie down fully, I catch his wrist. He stills immediately, gaze dropping to my hand, then lifting to my face with his careful patience that has started to undo me every time.
“Can you change back?” I ask, voice quieter than I intended. “Your real form. I mean, if that’s okay.”
He goes still for the tiniest beat. His eyes search my face, maybe checking for uncertainty, for nerves, for any sign that I’m asking out of obligation instead of want.
“I want you,” I say before he can answer, and then I realize how that sounds and clear my throat. “I mean, all of you. Not just the version that fits better in human doorways.”
His expression softens in a way that almost hurts to look at. Warmth moves through the bond; a pleased, almost disbelieving satisfaction of being asked for something he once worried would drive me away.
You want to sleep with my true shape.
“Sleep near it,” I correct. “Probably not literally on top of it, because I do still value my spine.”
His amusement rolls through me in a deep wave that makes the corners of my mouth twitch up before I can stop them.
He steps back from the nest.
I sit up a little to watch, because I don’t want to miss it. The change is still impossible no matter how many times I see it. His human shape seems to loosen, then expand. Dark markings rise beneath pale skin, bark texture pushing through like the forest claiming him back. His shoulders broaden, his spine lengthens, and his height stretches until the den itself seems to make more room for him.
