Chapter Eight
“The sun goddess Enrama closed her golden eyes and fell into a deep sleep. Daylight faded from the land. The sky bled to night until nothing more than shadows danced in the cold, damp black.
Only Mother Darkness remained.
“My clever children,” she whispered from the deep, “you saved yourselves with the truth.”
The kids sitting cross-legged around me stare up, wide-eyed and quiet for the first time since we started class. We’ve reached the end of a traditional story most of them have heard countless times around the winter holidays. The Advent of the Honest, otherwise known as New Year’s Eve, is the night most demons believe Mother Darkness stopped the death of the world. Demonkind upheld an important bargain with her, and she promised that the darkest day would not be the end and that every year the light would return. Like many myths across time, it coincides with natural phenomena, this one being winter solstice and the new year.
“Her black claws stretched over the land. With molten drops from each sharp tip, she placed the mountains where she willed. Fires from the deepest earth surged forth. Light and heat flooded the land once more. It was the longest night before a new beginning, and Mother Darkness left them with her last words.”
I raise my hands like a conductor and play-act my deepest, spookiest voice.
“Fair is fair and . . .”
I pause. They all know the last words.
“A deal is a deal!” the kids shout.
I clap for them. This is why I love my job. These kids. All the community programs that bring people together. I skate around the room to clean up the last of the supplies and shepherd them to their parents. By the time they’re out the door, I realize what I’m missing.
Rom.
He left?
I swallow down the emotion in my throat, looking toward the front window. Suddenly, I’m fourteen years old again and my best friend disappeared without a word. It took weeks for my uncle to figure out they’d moved out of state. No one knew how to contact them. That was a dark winter break, the first time I’d ever felt truly alone. My best friend was just . . . gone. It was my first heartbreak, really — one that led me to guard my heart with thicker walls than most.
My phone rings.
Ugh, another contractor. With a frown, I answer and listen to the breakdown of how much it will cost to get the foundation repaired and the roof replaced. Their quote is more than the entire fundraising goal I had for a move and still doesn’t address a few other repairs needed or the increased rent. I head back to the circulation desk, deflated.
“A handsomely dressed demon was asking after you,” my uncle teases, peeking over the book he’s reading. His statement tells me he doesn’t remember who Rom is like last time.
I play it cool and shrug.
“He picked up a flier.” My uncle raises and lowers his eyebrows. “Maybe he needs a book delivery.”
“Oh. Maybe,” I say. He grabbed a flier? My belly flutters. I check my texts and sure enough, there’s a message. Rom’s $100 donation puts the fundraiser goal over the $1,000 mark. He mentions how he had to leave early. I imagine opening a store means there’s plenty keeping him busy. But still, he wants more books, and not just any books, books from me. A story about magic and friendship. Gah, why is he just the best?
“It’s nice to see you smile like that, Noey.” My uncle pokes me with a long ruler. “Who is this guy?”
I grab a sharpie and color in the fundraiser chart near the front door, debating how to answer the question. He’s the best friend that broke my heart when he left town. I don’t want to probe old memories that could confuse Uncle Darren and only bring down the holiday cheer.
“He’s opening a coffee shop next door.” It sounds so nice and quaint. A small-town romance novel. But life is messier than that, at least mine is.
I dart around the library, getting things finished so we can close early and send everyone home by lunch. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and we’ll be closed for three days, not that I’ll have much of a break. I need to hunker down and do research on other contractors to call, as well as prep a million things for the festival coming up. Once I get a handle on the cost of all the repairs, I have to update the fundraiser page to increase the goal amount.
But first, book deliveries. I have two local drop offs, then it’s up Last Hour Road to Rom’s cabin. It’ll be a nice drive. We had a couple days of heavy snow followed by wet flurries, but now the sun is shining and the weather’s pleasant.
“Eat this.” A PBJ slides in front of me. Uncle Darren’s cure-all combination of protein, carbs, and fat.
“Thanks,” I mumble as I dig in.
I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head cut off the last few days. There’s not a single other rental in town that would work for the library since the smaller building next door is already leased. I’ll just have to try to make this old building work.
My mind races. It’s so overwhelming, I don’t even know where to start.
The fundraiser is the only thing that can save us now. We’re lucky, in a way, because New Year’s Eve is the biggest, busiest day in town. In eight days, demons from all over the region will flock to Winter Bliss for the day-long Truthfire Festival. With so many tourists in town, I know if I can get a handle on the monetary goal and make our fundraiser table great, I can raise what the library needs to get back on its feet.
After checking our emails, rather than do the 200 things on my scattered to-do lists, I casually cyberstalk Rom. Sometimes I embrace mental distraction over mental disaster. Sue me.
BeastlyandBookish.Adorable, misguided demon.
His social media feed is so aesthetically pleasing. Warm tones with hot drinks, showing off his eyeglasses and beautiful books. Just an hour ago, he uploaded a glowing review of the books I leant him. The politics of power extend from leadership to the bedroom in this engrossing read. I bite back a smile at his intellectual assessment of the spicy scenes.
I keep scrolling. Every time a book comes into frame, I barely notice the cover. All I see are his hands — strong, thick fingers, veins for days. It’s practically pornographic. No wonder he has over twenty thousand followers and dozens of thirsty comments on each post. I scroll and scroll but never see his face. When I search his real name on the internet, only a few photos pop up, mostly with his family for business events. He’s usually in the back, doing his best to hide away.
“What else do you need from us?” My uncle looms over my shoulder, joined by Fran and Than, my two student workers who work full-time over the holidays and part-time during high school semesters. The orc supervisor of the memory care facility is also a few steps away, and they’re all staring.
I click off the screen and clear my throat.
“Oh, not much else to do.” It’s a white lie. Ten things drift into my mind of little chores around the library, but I hate to bother them. “You guys take off.”
They look at each other.
“I’ll usher everybody out,” Uncle Darren says.
“That’s a great idea. I’ll help.” The lady from the facility loops her arm through his with a reassuring squeeze. “Our group is loading up in the van now.”
“I’ll sweep and close down the second floor.” Fran says. Talk about someone who would love Rare Books. I bet I’d have to tear my introverted demon assistant out of there if I reopened the section.
“I’ll shelve that last cart before locking up,” Than says. He’s a super responsible kid. They both are. I gave them keys to the place for times like this when I’m in and out and everywhere all at once.
“You head out early.” Fran glares at me. Her facial piercings and dark red eyes should be fearsome, but she’s just adorable when she’s serious, which is basically all the time.
“We’ve got this.” Than smiles at me.
I give them a sheepish smile and grab my coat. “Thanks, guys.”
In a blur, my two in-town deliveries are done, and I’m up Last Hour Road and standing at Rom’s front door.
“He’s only here for another week and a half,” I whisper under my breath, remembering how I impulsively kissed him, how his hug felt better than anything I’ve felt from a man in years, and how being alone with him is like catnip for me. “You’re busy. It’s a bad idea to get too close. Friends. We can be friends.”
The door creaks open a sliver. Rom’s face and the darkened arch of his broken horn comes into view.
“You okay?” he asks.
Why does his voice have to be so sexy? Ah, I’m being a complete headcase standing here whispering to myself. I heave out a huge exhale. “Sorry. Yes. It’s just been such a long week, if I’m honest.”
“Let’s talk about it.” He opens the door, dressed smartly in an argyle sweater, gray slacks, and his signature eyeglasses. Gosh, he’s a librarian’s wet dream, I swear.
I sit on a cozy little loveseat in the living area while Rom makes us herbal tea. He peppers me with questions about the fundraiser, and I start to explain all the repairs that need to be made. I know I’m rambling. My chest gets tight when I talk too fast, going down a new rabbit hole about the plumbing issues in the downstairs bathroom.
A teacup slides into my hands, stilling them and reminding me to breathe.
“Thanks.” My thumb finds a small crack in the lip, not a sharp or recent accident. The edges are smooth, the colors a little faded. I bet it’s Miss Ethel’s favorite cup. “Cute.”
He settles beside me, a thick-necked giant of a demon circling a tiny spoon in his teacup. “Oh, it’s broken? I can get you another one.”
I wrap both hands around it. “No. He’s mine, and I love him. The chip adds character.”
His mouth curves in the tiniest smile as he passes me the honey in silence. He must remember my sweet tooth. I feel a blush heat my cheeks. This is so weird. We were the best of friends as kids, but now we’re adults who live across the country from each other. Perfect strangers who know how the other likes their tea.
I can’t let my mind run away with fantasies of him staying in Winter Bliss. He’s a successful businessman from a big city who’s only here to open a coffee shop. He has much bigger fish to fry in life.
At the same time, I won’t deny that sitting here with a friend in a cute little cabin high above the town that’s been running me ragged isn’t a nice break. It is. It’s nice to have someone ask about my problems and really listen.
“Have you spoken to a bank about a business loan?” he asks, sipping his tea. “You could pay it back over time.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know where to start with that.”
“I’m happy to help.”
I make a farting sound with my lips and wave him off. I don’t want to be a bother. It’s the holidays, and he’s got his own business to get up and running.
“The increase in rent is a cost you could negotiate.” He sets his tea on the table and turns more toward me, his knee brushing along the length of my leg. Oh, he smells nice, like herbs and soap. “They aren’t paying for repairs of a historic building, so there might be a way to press them on the issue.”
“I don’t know.” I trace the gilded curve of the tea plate back and forth. “It seems fair to have me pay for repairs since we’ve rented this building for decades.”
“Exactly my point. You’ve paid your fair share of rent. It seems fair to me that the owner of the building maintains it and that money should go toward repairs.”
“I’ll just, uh . . .” I imagine trying to convince my landlord to do the repairs again over the phone and remember how quickly they dismissed the last request I made. “I’ll focus on the fundraiser.”
He’s trying to help, I know. I just hate rocking the boat.
“Onward and upward.” I give him a smile that must not be convincing, judging by the concerned slant of his mouth. “The fundraiser is going great thanks to your support! Speaking of, let me get you those books.”
I pull out the young adult duology I picked up for him and hold both covers up with a waggle.
He grins. “That series is one of my favorites.”
My face falls. “You’ve already read it?”
“And her other trilogy in that same world. I collect all the special editions that pop up. I probably have six different versions of these two books.”
“Oh.” I frown.
“But . . .” He leans forward and plucks them from my grasp, tracing the edge of the hardcover. “It’s been a few years since they came out, and I’ve never re-read them back-to-back. No time like the present. This was an excellent choice.”
“Oh.” I grin, feeling light and happy at the compliment. “Thanks. Good.”
He twists the first book around, reading the summary on the back. “You know, I’ve always loved the heist and plot twists of these books, but I never really considered how at their heart, the stories are about friendship.”
A book about magic and friendship is what he asked for. I realize all of a sudden how most of the friends later become love interests. Welp.
“And found family,” I croak. “One of my favorite tropes.”
“It’s kind of crazy how even though we haven’t talked in years, you pick one of my favorite books.” He leans his beefy arm against the back of the couch and rests his head on his fist, staring at me with disarming warmth. “You always had a knack for that. Your special talent.”
My cheeks flame. I pluck the bookmark I tucked into the book out and hand it to him. “I made you this in the Little Critters class today.”
I hold my breath, wondering if he remembers the friendship bookmark I gave him when we were kids. His lips part, eyes dancing over the simple design of braided threads. He clutches it to his chest and looks at me with bright eyes before turning to pick up a book from a side table behind him.
It has a pretty gold foiled cover of vines and thorns, but it’s what’s poking out of the middle that catches my eye. He pulls it out and hands it to me.
Tears cloud my vision.
“You still have it?” The years between when I made the bookmark and now seem obvious in the frayed ends and faded color, but the design is just like I remember.
Mountains and snow and Rom and Noelle.
“I’m not even sure I could do this design again. I lost the instructional book shortly after you uh . . .” I look up at him, my breaths short. “. . . you left.”
A moment stretches between us, full of so many things unsaid.
There are no words that could make our friendship whole again, cross the space of time and distance between who we were and who we are now. Yet here we are, close enough I can smell his aftershave and feel the heat of him.
A siren blares outside somewhere. Familiar. I don’t hear it often, but it’s a loud, distinctive sound you never forget. My skin prickles with alarm.
“Avalanche,” I whisper.
Rom”s hands grip my arms.
“We’re high up,” I say. “But this cabin is right on a cliff. If we’re in its path, we could be crushed. We could be pushed right off.” I’m talking a mile a minute as my mind races. An avalanche?! The only thing grounding me is where his skin meets mine. “Does the cabin have a basement?”
A strange creaking sound comes from outside. The rush of snow.
“No.” His eyes swirl orange, sparkling with a golden emotion I can”t read.
“It’s not safe outside. We shouldn”t move,” I choke out.
“Okay.” He draws me onto his lap, eyes flaring solid gold. It feels so natural, so right, and I cling to him, burrowing in. He curls over me, leaning his face and horns between me and the ceiling, caging me with his body. “I”ll keep you safe.”
I believe him. It’s illogical, completely crazy. He can’t save me or himself if an avalanche comes down on top of us, but his fierce gaze tells me how much he’d try. I try to breathe, but it’s like getting air into someone else’s body. Every inhale is labored, heavy and measured.
The sirens sing out, and each passing note, each breath, each moment, could be my last.
Is this it, the end? Is this how I go? If it is, this is how I’d want to go, held fast in the arms of someone who looks at me like I”m the only thing that matters even when the world is ending.
I shouldn’t feel safe with him, but I do. He’s here. The first boy who stole my heart. The first man who’s made me feel alive in years.
The house shakes. There’s a rumbling outside, but the blood roaring in my ears is louder.
We’re alive. Right now, we’re alive, but for how much longer?
This is all we have.
I arch back. My nose rubs against his, and I inhale. His scent is driving me crazy. Our lips are so close, our breaths shared in this sweet, sacred space. I don”t know who closes the distance, only that we crash together. His arms band around me, one hand cradling my head as he groans and shifts. He’s everywhere all at once, a force of nature seizing me tight. Keeping me safe.
His mouth claims mine. The kiss is like a fight where we’re both on the same side. Our tongues slide, teeth bite at lips, desperate for more of the other. More and more. Nothing’s ever felt like this. Hot and soft and needy and hard all at the same time. My fingers trace over his scarred cheek, delighting in each textured inch. He groans and sucks at my bottom lip. Gasping for air, his mouth slides over my heated skin, my ear, and down my neck. I trace up his spine all the way to his silky hair, feeling him shiver. His horns are in my hands. My fingers feel the smooth edges of the broken one, trailing down to the scars from his temple to his lip; the scars he’s lived with since this mountain nearly killed him as a kid.
An irrational thought hits me. If anyone could survive the dangers of this mountain, it’s Rom. He’s done it once before. Perhaps fate or his gods or whatever he believes in is with him today.
Greedy for more of his mouth, I grip the base of one horn and scratch my nails along his scalp to lead his face back to mine. He’s hard beneath me, an insistent, hot presence between my aching thighs. Just right. A perfect fit. I can’t help but rock and slide, a wet mess already, and it makes his exhales shudder. Between softer kisses, I marvel at his face. Each dash of my lips makes him softer somehow. He’s no one else’s picture of ideal male beauty, but he’s mine. Every misaligned bone and scar. Those kiss-bitten lips and glittering eyes.
Mine.
He blinks in surprise. Oh dear, I said that out loud.
I pant, the sound of my breaths overloud in my ears. His grip on me is ironclad and as hard as the cock underneath me. When he shifts, the couch groans. That’s when I realize what’s changed. It’s so quiet.
The sirens have stopped.
The avalanche is over.
We’re alive.