Rianne #2
He kisses me then, different from the desperate kiss that sealed our bond. This is slower, exploratory, like we have all the time in the world now.
My hands find the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly. “Why do you have so many buttons?”
“Why do you have so many layers?” He’s discovered my tank top under my sweater and seems personally offended by its existence.
We solve both problems with more haste than grace. The cool air hits my skin, but I don’t feel cold. I haven’t felt properly cold in days, and now with his hands on me, warm seems like an understatement.
“Rianne,” he says my name like a question and answer combined.
“Yes,” I say, to whatever he’s asking, to all of it.
What follows is awkward at first. We bump noses trying to kiss, I accidentally elbow him, he apologizes every time he thinks he’s being too eager.
But then we find our rhythm, the same way we found synchronization in the ceremony.
The bond hums between us, not controlling but enhancing, letting me feel his wonder, his want, the careful reverence in every touch.
“You’re still being too careful,” I gasp against his mouth.
“Habit,” he admits, then does something with his fingers that makes me see stars. “But I’m learning.”
“Fast learner,” I manage, then lose all words as he demonstrates exactly how fast.
The bond makes everything more intense. When he kisses that spot below my ear, I feel his satisfaction at my response.
When I trace the ice patterns that still linger faintly on his chest, he feels my fascination.
It’s overwhelming and perfect and when we finally come together completely, the magic between us sings.
“Look at me,” he says, and I do. His eyes are more gold than blue now, burning with something that makes my chest tight.
We move together, finding rhythm, finding each other. The awkwardness is gone, replaced by desperate need and something deeper. When the peak hits, the bond ensures we fall together, magic spiraling out from us in fractals of ice and light that’ll definitely need explaining to Martha.
After, we lie tangled in the cushions, both thoroughly disheveled, both completely solid. The library is warmer. I’m pretty sure there are frost flowers permanently etched into the ceiling now.
“So,” I say when I can form words again. “That happened.”
“Several times,” he agrees, sounding as wrecked as I feel.
“The bond made us.”
“The bond didn’t make us do anything after the first time.”
I laugh, tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “Fair point.”
We doze for a while, tangled together in the cushions. When I wake, morning light is streaming through the windows.
From somewhere in the library, Keith’s voice rises: “KEITH REQUIRES GUIDANCE ON MORNING PROTOCOLS!”
“Keith has the worst timing,” I mutter.
“Keith is Keith,” Stenrik says philosophically.
We dress slowly, reluctantly. My clothes are wrinkled, his shirt is missing at least three buttons, and we both look exactly like what we are: two people who just permanently bonded and then celebrated that fact enthusiastically.
Morning light streams through the windows. The world outside looks normal, the storm gone, life returning to regular rhythm. Except for the shadow creatures visible through the glass, apparently forming an orderly line on the sidewalk.
“Are they queuing?” I ask.
“Keith appears to be organizing them. With a clipboard.”
“Of course he is.”
My phone buzzes. It’s been buzzing for hours, I realize. Forty-seven missed calls from my mother, twelve from work, and... one text from Martin.
“Engaged to Karen! You leaving was the wake-up call I needed. Best thing that could’ve happened. No hard feelings?”
I show Stenrik. He reads it, and his tension evaporates. “He’s thanking you for the wake-up call.”
“Apparently I did him a favor.” I delete the text, feeling nothing but mild amusement. “CrossFit Karen got her man.”
“And you got yours.”
“Did I? Because last I check, you’re Vetrfolk. Completely different species.”
“Still not elves,” he says firmly.
“Still not admitting the similarities.”
Martha’s voice cuts through our banter: “Rianne Martinez! What happened to my library?”
She stands in the doorway, surveying the damage. Ice patterns on windows and ceiling, books scattered everywhere, suspicious frost flowers that definitely weren’t there before, and us, obviously disheveled, standing too close together.
“Shadow creature integration event?” I try.
“Corporate merger,” Keith adds helpfully, appearing with his clipboard. “Keith has documentation!”
Martha looks at the destruction, at Keith in his shadow business suit, at Carl (now partially solid) organizing shadow creatures into neat rows outside, at my massive glowing cat prowling past with something unfortunate in his mouth, at me in my wrinkled clothes, and at Stenrik standing protective and possessive beside me.
“I don’t get paid enough for this,” she decides. “Insurance can handle it. Rianne, you’re taking vacation days.”
“But...”
“All of them. Immediately. Starting now.” She looks at Stenrik. “You. Tall one. You’re responsible for her now.”
“Permanently, actually,” he says.
“Good. She needs supervision. She alphabetized the fiction section by character names last month.”
“It made sense at the time!” I protest.
Martha leaves, carefully stepping over shadow creatures preparing what appear to be resumes. Carl waves at her with his partially solid hand.
“So,” Stenrik says. “Breakfast?”
“Is anything open?”
“The diner’s always open.”
“Even after an interdimensional integration event?”
“Especially then. They have a special menu.”
We walk out together into the morning sun. The town looks normal, the storm gone, the boundary dissolved. People are already out shoveling snow like nothing happened. Except for the shadow creatures following Keith down Main Street in a professional single-file line.
“This is our life now,” I observe. “Shadow creatures, evolved cats, permanent magical bonds.”
“Having second thoughts?”
I look at him, at the way the morning light catches the new gold flecks in his eyes, at how his hand finds mine without thinking. “Never. Though you still owe me a real date.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight. Somewhere normal. With food that isn’t expired.”
“Carl says the Italian place is excellent. Four and a half stars.”
We reach the diner. Through the windows, I can see it’s packed, half humans, half shadow creatures reading menus with great concentration.
“Rianne?”
“Yeah?”
“What now?”
It’s a bigger question than it seems. What do you do after you save your town from transformation? After you permanently bond with someone you’ve known for four days? After your cat becomes a supernatural apex predator and your coworker becomes a shadow corporation CEO?
“Now we figure it out as we go,” I say.
“You and me?”
“That’s the only way I know how to do it now.”
We walk into the diner, permanently bonded, covered in library dust and other evidence of our celebration, ready for breakfast and whatever comes next.
Behind us, Mister Poofypants the Third follows, dragging what appears to be an entire shadow creature in his mouth.
“Poof, no! We don’t eat shadows at breakfast!”
He drops it reluctantly.
“Your cat is a menace,” Stenrik says.
“Our cat,” I correct, smiling. “Our menace. Our life.”
“Our perfectly imperfect disaster,” he agrees, and kisses me right there in the diner doorway, not caring who sees.
Carl applauds from booth three. His Yelp review of this moment will probably be five stars.
Keith announces from booth five: “KEITH HAS PREPARED A POWERPOINT ABOUT ADAPTING TO POST-CRISIS NORMALCY!”
Some things are already becoming tradition.
And honestly? That’s exactly how it should be.