Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MILO
For one frozen second, neither of us moved.
My pulse slammed so hard it hurt. It wasn’t because I thought Calder would turn that body on me, or because I suddenly believed every horror story people told about the woods, but because I had never seen him like this before—crouched low to the ground and built for pursuit, muscles taut and teeth visible beneath a rough breath that hadn’t fully settled yet.
Predator.
The word arrived fast and instinctive, carrying every warning buried deep inside human bones, and somehow that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was that even standing there with dirt torn open beneath his claws, Calder still looked like Calder.
The same creature who had guided me across roots without making a sound and freed an injured deer simply because it was suffering. The same one who had laughed in the hollow.
Only now I could see the rest of him too—the dangerous part.
The part built to survive this forest long before roads or cabins or cameras existed—and long after they were gone.
My camera hung useless against my chest.
A few days ago, that sight probably would’ve sent me sprinting back toward the cabin and every safe, easy story humans liked telling themselves about monsters in the woods.
Instead, all I could think about was the young deer tangled in thorns.
The careful way Calder had loosened the vines instead of tearing through them.
The patience in his voice while the animal panicked.
The way he’d crouched there beside something smaller and frightened, careful to keep from hurting it.
That mattered because this—his claws in the dirt, his body still wired from the chase—was real.
But so was that.
Calder stayed completely motionless, watching and waiting.
And suddenly, I understood exactly what he expected to happen next. He thought I was going to leave. Understanding hit so cleanly that it made my chest ache for an entirely different reason.
I had come looking for him. Not the easier version or the careful version he showed me inside the hollow.
Him.
All of him.
My throat felt dry when I finally said his name. “Calder.”
His ears twitched.
That was it, but the tension in his body eased slightly, like he’d been bracing for something worse.
I took one careful step forward. Not close enough to crowd him, just enough that he’d know I wasn’t backing away.
Calder’s breathing slowed gradually. “You should not have followed me here,” he growled. His voice came rougher than usual, like the hunt still lingered beneath the words.
“I know.”
His gaze narrowed slightly. “You could have been hurt.”
“By you?” The question slipped out before I could overthink it.
Calder looked away first. “That depends.”
Something about the answer felt painfully honest.
His words weren’t threatening or cruel. They were simply true.
He could hurt me. Of course he could.
He was bigger than me—faster and strong enough to bring down a deer with his bare hands if he wanted to.
But standing there now, watching him struggle not with hunger but with what I thought of him? That scared me a lot less than it probably should have.
I glanced toward the shredded ground beneath his claws. “You were hunting.”
“Yes.”
“You were hungry.”
Another pause. “Yes.”
The words stayed between us for a second.
Simple. Direct.
Calder still hadn’t moved from where he landed. Some instinctive part of him seemed reluctant to come closer until he understood whether I was staying or leaving.
That realization struck me hard. “You know humans kill things for reasons way worse than hunger, right?”
Calder’s attention snapped back to me.
I shrugged one shoulder lightly and continued. “People kill for money. Pride. Entertainment. Fear.” I gestured vaguely toward the forest around us. “You were trying to catch breakfast.”
A flicker crossed his expression.
It was fleeting and subtle, but I saw it.
It wasn’t relief, exactly, but more like he wondered why I was still standing here having this conversation at all.
“You saw something suffering and helped it,” I continued quietly. “And you hunted because you needed food. Those aren’t the same thing.”
Calder stared at me for a long moment. The defensive tension in his posture eased a fraction. Not completely, but enough that I noticed.
“You should fear me,” he said finally.
The words weren’t angry, nor threatening.
If anything, they sounded resigned, like he’d spent so long believing that fear was the inevitable ending to this kind of moment that he didn’t know what to do with anything else.
I let out a slow breath. “I was scared… for a second,” I admitted.
His gaze sharpened immediately.
“A second being the important words there.”
A faint crease appeared between his brows.
Honestly, that almost made me smile.
“You looked terrifying,” I said. “Congratulations on being extremely effective at the whole giant forest predator thing.”
That earned the faintest flick of his ears.
Encouraged, I kept going. “But you know what I saw after that?”
Calder stayed silent.
“You stopped the second you saw me.”
The words hung heavily between us.
Calder’s claws loosened slowly from the dirt.
I took another small step forward.
“You were more worried about what I thought of you than the hunt.”
His chest rose with a deeper breath this time. “I frightened you.”
“Yeah,” I said honestly. “For about five seconds.”
Calder’s gaze held mine. “And then?”
I looked at him fully then, really looked at him.
The rough shape of him crouched low among the trees.
The power still lingering beneath his skin.
The restraint holding every part of that strength carefully in place.
And underneath all of it—the same creature who’d laughed at my terrible raccoon impression inside the hollow.
“You’re still you,” I murmured.
Something in his face softened so briefly I almost missed it.
It wasn’t weakness.
No, it was something much more vulnerable than that.
Like he hadn’t expected those words either.
I should’ve stopped there.
Probably.
I didn’t.
“Also, for the record, disappearing into the woods for three days after almost kissing someone is objectively terrible communication.”
Calder went completely still, and my cheeks set on fire.
I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“Well,” I muttered, suddenly fascinated by a nearby tree trunk, “glad we’re all being honest now.”
For one horrifying second, I thought I might actually die from embarrassment.
Then Calder drawled, “I did not know what to do.”
I looked back at him.
The honesty in his voice hit harder than anything polished or carefully worded ever could have. It wasn’t because the line was romantic, but because it wasn’t.
It was awkward and uncertain and painfully sincere.
And somehow that made it worse.
Better?
Definitely worse.
A laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it. “That obviously went really well for you.”
Calder frowned slightly. I watched the confusion cross his face before understanding followed a second later. “You are mocking me.”
“A little.”
His ears angled back. “I disliked it.”
“You survived.”
Barely there, but unmistakable, something twitched around his mouth, the ghost of a smile.
My heart chose that moment to become completely unhelpful. I pointed at him before my brain could catch up. “There. That.”
Calder blinked once.
“That expression.”
“What expression?”
“That one.”
He looked genuinely perplexed now, which absolutely did not help my situation.
“You keep almost smiling and then acting like you didn’t.”
Silence.
Then, carefully, “I am unfamiliar with it.”
The answer hit somewhere deep and tender inside me before I could defend against it.
God, I was in trouble.
Real trouble.
“Okay,” I whispered. “That might actually be the most unfair thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Calder’s head tilted slightly. “I do not understand.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “That’s kind of the problem.”
For a second neither of us moved.
Then I lifted one shoulder. “Anyway, don’t disappear again.”
Calder’s attention locked onto me.
“If you need space, fine. Take space.” I gestured toward the forest around us. “You literally live in infinite space, but don’t vanish on me like that.”
His gaze stayed fixed on me. “You came looking for me.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Why?”
The question was so quiet I almost missed it.
“Because I wanted to see you.”
Calder stared at me like the words had physically stunned him.
Good and honestly, fair.
I took another careful step closer.
Not enough to touch him, but enough that leaving would’ve felt ridiculous now.
“You don’t have to figure everything out today,” I assured him. “Just eat. Come find me later.”
For a second, Calder looked completely lost, like he was deeply unused to someone asking him to come back.
“You would want that?” he asked.
There was something painfully careful in the question, as if he genuinely didn’t know what my answer would be.
I smiled before I could help it. “Calder,” I breathed, “I came into the woods looking for a seven-foot cryptid while carrying enough camera equipment to die in a very stupid way. At this point I feel like my intentions are pretty clear.”
A rough sound escaped him then.
Not quite a laugh, but close enough that warmth spread through me anyway.
I shook my head. “Seriously, though. Next time, you can come find me.”
His gaze held mine for a moment, then he nodded. Somehow that tiny movement affected me more than it had any right to, because seeing Calder like this should have changed everything.
Instead, it left me with one undeniable truth: I wanted Calder exactly as he was.