Chapter 18
Knox
Thursday. Story hour.
Toby's already in the children's section when we arrive, setting up chairs and arranging books. He's wearing a cardigan today—soft blue with little clouds on it.
It feels like a good sign.
He looks up when we walk in, and something in his expression shifts. He becomes softer. Almost warm.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey."
We stand there for a second, just looking at each other, until Jason clears his throat behind me.
"We'll go set up the craft table," he says, herding the rest of the pack away with zero subtlety. "You two... talk."
Toby's mouth quirks. "Subtle."
"They're trying."
"I know." He fidgets with his sleeve, then seems to make a decision. "I was thinking, after story hour, if you're not busy... maybe we could get coffee? Just the two of us?"
"Yeah. I'd like that."
"Okay." He smiles—small but real. "Okay, good."
Story hour is different this time. I still sit in the back, still help with crafts, still let the kids climb on me. But I catch Toby watching me more than once. And when our eyes meet across the room, he doesn't look away.
When it's over and the parents have collected their kids and Miss Glitterbomb has swept out in a cloud of glitter and sequins, Toby finds me by the craft table.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
We head to the coffee shop, order at the counter and find a table in the corner, away from the window.
Toby wraps his hands around his mug, not drinking, just holding. I wait. I've learned to wait.
"I've been thinking," he says finally. "About everything."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He takes a breath. "I owe you—"
"You don't owe me anything."
"Let me finish." He looks up, meets my eyes. "I don't owe you an apology for having feelings. I was hurt, and that was real. But I do owe you... an explanation, maybe. For why I reacted the way I did."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." He sets his mug down, and I can see him gathering himself. "I told you about the guy who left me on the side of the road."
"I remember."
"What I didn't tell you is that he's not the only one.
He's just the worst one." Toby's voice is steady, but I can smell the old hurt underneath.
"There's been a pattern, Knox. Guys who seem interested, who make me feel special, and then.
.. aren't. And don't. I'm the one people settle for when they can't get someone better. The forgettable one."
"Toby—"
"So when I found out about the drawer, about all the people before me, my brain just..
." He makes a gesture like something exploding.
"Went to the worst place. Because that's what I'm used to.
I thought I was just the latest in a long line.
Another warm body. Another name you wouldn't remember in a month. "
"That's not—"
"I know." He reaches across the table, and his fingers brush mine.
"I know that now. You've shown me. The groceries, the story hours, the way you've just..
. been there. Consistently. Without pushing.
" His thumb traces across my knuckles. "You've been proving it this whole time. And I believe you now."
I turn my hand over, lace our fingers together. "You were always special. From the second you walked into my bar, soaking wet and blind. My lion knew. I should have made sure you knew too."
"Your lion knew," he repeats. "But what about you?"
"Me too." I squeeze his hand. "It just took me a minute to catch up. I'm not... I'm not good at this, Toby. Relationships. Feelings. Talking about feelings. I've spent years keeping people at arm's length. It was easier that way. Safer."
"What changed?"
"You." The word comes out simple, honest. "You changed everything. And I know I fucked up by not explaining before we—before that night. I should have told you what claiming meant. What you meant. I just assumed you'd know, and that was stupid of me."
"Not stupid." His voice is soft. "Just... shifter. You forgot I don't have lion instincts telling me what a bite means."
"I won't forget again."
We sit there for a while, hands linked across the table, coffee going cold. It's easy in a way it hasn't been since before everything fell apart.
"I missed you," Toby admits. "Even when I was angry and hurt. I still missed you."
"I sat outside your apartment at 2 AM like a stalker. Didn't go in. Just sat there staring at your window like a lovesick idiot."
He laughs—surprised, genuine. "That's either creepy or romantic. I can't decide."
"Probably both."
"Probably." His smile fades into something more serious. "I don't want to be scared anymore, Knox. I'm tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of assuming the worst."
"What do you want?"
"I want to try. For real this time. Not just the heat and the claiming and the intensity. I want the boring stuff too. Dinners and story hours and falling asleep watching bad TV."
"I want that too."
"And I want..." He hesitates. "I want to see you. The real you. All of you."
"You are seeing me."
"I mean the lion." His eyes hold mine. "I've never actually seen you shift. I've seen your eyes change, felt you growl, but I've never seen... him."
The request catches me off guard. It's intimate in a way I wasn't expecting—more intimate than sex, in some ways. Letting someone see your animal form is vulnerable. It's trusting them with the part of yourself you can't control, can't hide, can't make more palatable.
"Okay," I say. "But not here."
"Obviously not here, or in the library." He's smiling again. "Think Miss Glitterbomb would have a heart attack if a lion showed up in the children's section."
"The kids would probably love it."
"The parents would not."
I finish my coffee, set the mug down. "I know a place. If you want."
We leave the coffee shop and walk back to the library where my bike is parked. The sun is starting to dip toward the horizon, painting everything gold.
Toby takes the helmet when I offer it, but this time he doesn't fumble with the straps. Just puts it on, climbs on behind me, and wraps his arms around my waist like he belongs there.
Because he does.
The ride to the overlook is quiet. Just the rumble of the engine, the wind, Toby pressed warm against my back. His arms tighten when I take corners, relax when we straighten out. By the time we reach the overlook, the sun is setting properly, the sky streaked with orange and pink.
I kill the engine. The silence is sudden.
Toby climbs off first, pulling off the helmet and shaking out his hair. He walks to the railing, looking out over the city.
"It's beautiful up here."
"Yeah." I'm not looking at the city. "It is."
He turns, catches me staring. His mouth curves. "Subtle."
"I'm not trying to be subtle."
The air between us changes. Charges.
"So," Toby says. "You were going to show me something."
Right. The shift.
I take a breath. "Just... don't freak out. I'm bigger than you're probably expecting."
"I've seen pictures of lions, Knox. I know they're big."
"Shifter lions are bigger."
His eyebrows go up. "How much bigger?"
"You'll see."
I step back, giving myself room. The shift is easy—it always has been. I don't fight it, don't force it. I just... let go.
It happens fast. One second I'm standing there in jeans and a t-shirt, and the next I'm not. My bones reshape, my muscles redistribute, my skin splits into fur. It hurts, but it's a familiar hurt. Like stretching after a long sleep.
When it's done, I'm looking at Toby from a different angle. Lower to the ground. The world is sharper now—more smells, more sounds, everything heightened.
Toby hasn't moved. He's staring at me with wide eyes, lips parted.
I wait. Let him look.
"Holy shit," he breathes.
I'm used to fear. Most humans, when they see a shifter's animal form, have a fear response. It's instinct. We're predators, and their brain knows it.
But Toby doesn't smell like fear. He smells like wonder.
He takes a step toward me. Then another.
"Can I...?" He holds out a hand, hesitant.
I close the distance between us, pressing my head into his palm.
His fingers sink into my mane, and I can't help the rumble that builds in my chest. It's not a growl—it's something softer. A purr, almost. My lion is embarrassingly pleased.
"You're so soft," Toby says, wonder in his voice. "I thought you'd be coarse, but you're..." His fingers scratch behind my ear and my back leg twitches involuntarily. "Oh my god, you're like a giant housecat."
I huff, offended.
"A very dignified, very scary housecat," he amends, grinning. "Don't pout. It's not a good look on a lion."
I'm not pouting. Lions don't pout.
He crouches down so we're eye level—or closer to it, anyway. I'm still huge, my head level with his chest even when I'm sitting.
"Your eyes are the same," he says softly, reaching up to touch the fur around my face. "Gold. Pretty."
I shift back.
It's faster than the initial shift—my body remembers human shape better than animal. One blink and I'm kneeling in front of him, naked, breathing hard.
Toby's eyes drop. Then snap back up, cheeks flushing.
"Warn a guy," he says, but his voice is unsteady.
"Clothes don't survive the shift."
"That's convenient."
"It's actually really inconvenient. Do you know how many shirts I've ruined?"
He laughs, and the tension breaks—but not completely. There's still heat in his eyes when he looks at me. Still want.
I reach for my jeans, pull them on. Leave the shirt. It's a warm night anyway.
When I stand, Toby stands with me. We're close now. Close enough that I can feel his breath, see the flutter of his pulse in his throat.
"That was incredible," he says. "You're incredible."
"I'm just me."
"Yeah." He reaches up, touches my jaw. "That's the point."
I lean into his hand. Can't help it. My lion is still close to the surface, still rumbling with satisfaction at our mate's touch.
"Toby."
"Yeah?"
"Can I kiss you?"
He answers by closing the distance himself.
The kiss is soft at first. Gentle. A question and an answer all at once. His lips are warm, a little chapped, perfect. My hands find his waist, steadying him, pulling him closer.
He sighs against my mouth and opens for me, and then it's not so gentle anymore. His fingers slide into my hair, gripping. I press him back against the railing, caging him in with my body.
"Knox," he breathes between kisses. "God, I missed this."
"Missed you." I kiss down his jaw, his neck, find the spot where his pulse is racing. "Missed touching you."
"Then touch me."
Permission. Finally.
My hands slip under his cardigan, under his shirt, finding warm skin. He shivers, arches into me. I can smell his arousal, sharp and sweet, and it makes my head spin.
"We should stop," I manage. "If you want to stop."
"I don't want to stop." He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark. "I want to go home with you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He kisses me again, soft this time. "Take me home, Knox."
I don't need to be told twice.