Chapter 26 Krystal
Krystal
We spent twenty minutes repacking Bryce’s duffel for the third time.
I ran through every worst-case scenario in my head, even as I lectured myself to get a grip.
He was just going to a sleepover, not a dragon’s den or an open-air witch market.
He'd be with wolves, friends who understood he was going through something unusual.
Still, the urge to pack myself into his duffel was strong.
Zaden tried to play it cool, sprawled on the living room rug, tossing a foam ball back and forth with Bryce while pretending not to check the time every two minutes.
The mate bond let me feel the way he cranked his own anxiety down with each toss, showing Bryce that this was just another Friday, nothing to worry about.
"You got your toothbrush?" I called, holding the bag up for review.
Bryce looked at me over his shoulder, the ball snug in his fist. "You put in two," he said. "One is electric, and one is normal. You’re crazy."
Zaden grinned, all teeth. "It runs in the family, bud."
I gave him a look but couldn’t help smiling.
Bryce zipped up the duffel and pulled on his sneakers, then hesitated by the door.
He eyed his wolf plush, sitting high on his pillow, then the duffel, then the plush again.
The internal debate played out on his face.
embarrassment versus comfort. In the end, he jammed it deep into the bag and tried to play it off like he was just checking the zipper.
When we got to the truck, the sky was already darkening into the early night. Zaden threw Bryce’s bag into the bed, then helped him climb into the backseat, which still smelled faintly of French fries from after yesterday's baseball game. I squeezed in next to Bryce, and Zaden drove.
The house wasn’t far, just across pack land on the far edges of our reach. Two stories of painted brick, wind chimes, and a front yard thick with the toys and detritus of a three-kid household. The porch light burned bright, and the scent of grilled meat drifted down the walk.
"Can I ring the bell?" Bryce asked, already half out of the door before we’d even parked.
"Go for it," I said, but he was gone.
Zaden caught my hand as we walked up the driveway. His grip was rough and warm, a silent offer to soak up whatever nerves I’d brought with me. "He’s fine," he whispered.
"I know," I said. "But if anything goes wrong—"
"We’ll be here in five minutes flat," he said.
The door swung open, and Bryce’s friend Ethan barreled out, followed by a dog, then two more kids. The inside of the house was loud with running feet, the television barking out scores from a baseball game, and a mom's "shoes off in the foyer!" warning that didn’t slow any of them.
The dad, a man built like a linebacker but dressed in an apron and plaid slippers, emerged with a spatula in hand. His beard was flecked with gray and barbecue sauce. The mom, sharp-eyed and quick with a smile, shook my hand before ushering us inside.
"We’re so glad he could make it," she said, giving Zaden a pointed look. The subtext, "We know who you are, and we know why you’re worried", came through loud and clear. "He’s already got a spot picked out for his sleeping bag."
Zaden set the duffel in the corner, then crouched to Bryce’s level. "Last check. You got your phone?"
Bryce patted his pocket, like a reflex. "Charged," he said.
I knelt, brushing the hair from his brow. "You remember what we said, about headaches, or feeling off?"
He nodded, face already flushing at the public reminder. "I’ll tell an adult. Or I’ll text you. Or Zaden. Or Nathan. Or anyone."
Ethan's mom, Veronica, cut in, "We’ve got a lightning-witch cousin. Believe me, we know the drill." She smiled, then put a hand on my arm, her grip unexpectedly strong. "He’s got friends here. He’ll be okay."
Ethan tugged Bryce's sleeve, and the two vanished into the kitchen, their laughter bouncing off the high ceilings. I watched the hallway for a beat too long, waiting for the inevitable call for help, but none came.
Ethan's dad, Jack, led Zaden out back, muttering something about a new grill and the "inferior gas models." I could hear them one-upping each other with stories of sports injuries, then shifter injuries, then the kind of pack stories that weren’t for the PTA.
The mom poured me a seltzer and gestured toward the breakfast nook, where the boys were setting up a card game. "They’ve been planning this all week. My middle son's been counting down the days."
I sat, letting the comfort of an ordinary kitchen, sticky counters, school calendars, and fridge magnets shaped like baseball gloves, soothe the last of my panic. "We just want him to have a normal weekend," I said.
"Nobody here is normal," she said, keeping her tone light. "The only thing that matters is that he has a good time."
The mate bond pulsed as Zaden came up behind me, sliding a big hand over my shoulder. "Ready to go?" he asked, not rushing, just offering an exit.
I stood, giving Veronica a grateful look. "Call or text, anytime."
She waved me off. "I have your number starred, bolded, and on speed dial. Go enjoy your night."
We made it as far as the car before I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Zaden took my hand. "You didn’t have to tell him everything," I said, eyes still on the porch, where Bryce’s head appeared briefly at the window, then vanished again. I'd heard Zaden filling the dad in on as much as he could.
"He’s their kid tonight," Zaden said. "They should know what’s up."
I leaned into him, letting his heat settle my bones. "We made it a week," I said. "No explosions, no broken glass. He even finished his math homework early."
Zaden grinned, his teeth flashing in the dusk. "That’s because you’re a menace with a lesson plan. I’d have flunked out by Wednesday."
I elbowed him, but he pulled me closer. We stood there, in the glow of the streetlights, feeling for all the world like parents with nothing to fear.
"Come on," I said. "I've got a shift at your bar."
He unlocked the truck, then stopped, turning me to face him. "You’re doing amazing, Krystal," he said. "I’ve never seen anyone fight this hard for their family."
The words burned in the best way, melting every scrap of doubt. "I’m just trying to keep up with my dragon."
He kissed me then, right there in the street, not caring who saw.
When we finally pulled apart, I glanced back at the porch. The light was still on, and in the window, Bryce waved, face pressed to the glass. Safe. Happy.
I waved back, then let Zaden drive us into the night, both of us holding tight to the feeling that maybe we could make this last.
By seven, Z's place had reached cruising altitude, every table occupied, every corner humming. Even the neon was working for once, buzzing against the windows, advertising the same four beer brands to people who already knew their poison.
I wore the same uniform as always, black jeans, white shirt, branded apron with a dragon patch sewn on. My section ran the length of the east wall, five tables and a banquette that always seemed to seat at least one birthday or divorce party.
The night moved fast, orders scribbled on pads, drinks slung from the service station with practiced speed.
But every so often, I’d catch Zaden’s gaze, gold and bright through the crowd, and the world would slow a notch.
He worked the front tonight, moving between the bar and the floor, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up.
The regulars loved him, especially the older women, who called him sugar and left lipstick on his knuckles during last call.
But his attention never strayed from me for more than a minute or two.
At the register, Kenneth kept things moving, tapping out orders with two fingers and a minimum of patience.
His hair was more gray than brown now, but he wore it long, held back by the same battered scrunchie he’d used since before I started here.
He bantered with every guest, rolling his eyes at the craft cocktail requests and occasionally shooting Zaden a look that said, "You deal with this. "
The whole night, I stayed locked in that rhythm, mind barely on the work. My thoughts spun around the way Bryce had hugged me at the door, how normal he’d looked in a mass of wolf children, how his magic hadn’t so much as flickered when he joined the kickball game in Ethan's backyard.
At eight-thirty, there was a lull. Half the tables had cleared out to smoke or to gossip on the patio, the other half were eating slowly, content to let their drinks carry them to closing. I was restocking straws at the service station when Zaden appeared at my elbow.
"You want to split a shot?" he asked daringly.
I grinned, still holding the box of straws. "You know I’m working."
He shrugged, the easy confidence making him seem both older and younger at the same time. "We make our own rules here."
He poured two, quick and clean, then clinked his glass to mine. "To surviving another Friday."
I downed it, the whiskey burning off the edge of a day spent in my own head. "You got a minute?" he asked.
"Let me check the floor." I did a quick scan. Kenneth had the main bar under control, and Angel was refilling the ranch dressing at the salad station, which meant she’d be out of commission for at least five minutes.
I nodded to Zaden, and we ducked into the supply room, which doubled as the employee lounge.
He perched on a crate of lime seltzer and patted the spot next to him. "I’ve been thinking."
"Always dangerous," I said, but the nerves in my belly had already started up.
He turned serious, just a shade. "You know, you don’t have to do this anymore."
It took a second to process. "Do what? Work here?"
He nodded. "I mean, if you want to, that’s great. But you don’t have to. You could do whatever you want. Stay home, go back to school, take up art, run for mayor—"
I snorted. "What are you talking about?"