Chapter 18 #3
When night finally settles and we curl up together again—me tucked against his side, his arm a solid, warm presence around me—I feel the question hovering in my chest.
Mates.
Is that a thing? With sasquatch? With Boone?
The idea makes my stomach flip.
I could ask. I should ask. Communication is healthy. This is how adults navigate relationships.
But what if it is a thing—and it’s not me?
Or worse, what if it isn’t a thing at all, and I sound needy and foolish and far too invested far too fast?
So I don’t ask.
Instead, I press closer, fitting myself against him like I belong there, and listen to his steady breathing as he looks up at the cloudless sky.
Night settles in layers.
First the obvious dark, the sky dimming from deep blue to velvet-black, stars pricking through in careless abundance. Then the subtler kind—the way sound softens, how the forest exhales as day-creatures retreat and night-things take their place.
Boone builds the fire without speaking, movements efficient and unshowy. I watch him from where I’ve spread my sleeping gear, my chin propped in my hands, the rune warm against my chest where I’ve tucked it beneath my shirt.
It hums faintly, like it’s pleased.
That thought should bother me more than it does.
Instead, my brain keeps circling back to Christopher’s smile. To the way he leaned against Bob like gravity worked differently around him. To eighty years lived and worn lightly, like a well-loved coat.
To choice.
Boone lowers himself beside me once the fire is settled, his bulk easing down with care so he doesn’t jostle me. He’s in his cryptid form again. I’ve come to recognize it as his default when he’s tired, or when he’s thinking. Or when he trusts the space enough to be himself without apology.
That last realization sends a thrill through me.
“You’re quiet,” he rumbles.
I smile into the fur at his shoulder. “Processing.”
“Dangerous,” he says mildly.
“Extremely.”
I roll onto my side, propping myself up on an elbow so I can look at him properly. Firelight dances through his fur, picking out warm reds and deep browns, catching in the planes of his face and the glow of his eyes. He looks… settled. Grounded. Like we make sense to him.
The realization leaves my chest warm enough to ache. “Boone?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Do you ever…” I hesitate, then laugh softly at myself. “Never mind.”
He turns his head slowly, fixing me with a look that says he’s already clocked the emotional evasiveness. “You don’t ask questions lightly.”
I wince. “You’re learning my tells, huh?”
“I’m observant.”
“I’m aware.” I inhale, then exhale, choosing my words with care. “Do you ever think about… after?”
“After what?”
“After the Solstice. After the road. After… this.”
His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t pull away. “Yes,” he says simply.
The ease of the answer startles me.
“Oh,” I manage.
He studies my face, reading far more than I’m saying aloud. “You’re worried.”
“I’m realistic,” I counter weakly.
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
I snort, then sigh. “I know. It’s just—if I were watching someone else do this, get this tangled up this fast, I’d want to shake them. Tell them to slow down. To breathe.”
He considers that. “And do you want to slow down?”
The question lands squarely.
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. “No,” I admit. “I don’t.”
His eyes soften, relief flickering there before he reins it in. “You’re allowed to feel what you feel,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to justify it to me.”
That shouldn’t undo me as much as it does.
I shift closer, leaning into his side, my cheek resting against the thick fur of his shoulder. He adjusts immediately, angling his body to give me more support, one arm curving around me in a way that feels instinctive.
Protective.
Comforting.
Too easy.
My thoughts, traitorous things, keep wandering back to gaining. To time bending around a human body. To the way Christopher had looked at me—not warning, not coaxing, just… understanding.
If Boone and I stayed together—really together—could that be a path?
And do I want it?
The question scares me enough that I shove it firmly back into the dark corner of my mind where all the other future questions are currently sulking.
Not tonight. Tonight, I want this.
I snuggle closer, fitting myself against Boone’s chest, listening to the deep, steady rhythm of his breathing. The rune presses warm against my sternum, a quiet reminder that I am—somehow—marked. Known.
Boone’s chin dips, resting lightly against the top of my head.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs, like it’s a fact of the universe rather than a reassurance.
I smile, eyes drifting closed. “I know.”
And that’s the thing that finally gets me. I don’t think I’m safe. I know it.
Wrapped in ancient strength, under a sky that feels suddenly bigger and kinder than it ever has before, I let myself rest.
Questions can wait.
The future can wait.
For now, I have Boone’s warmth, the steady hum of the rune, and the quiet certainty that whatever this is—it matters.
That’s what sticks with me as Boone’s steady breathing lulls me into sleep.