Chapter 14 #3
I reach up, sliding my hands up his chest, into the thick fur over his shoulders. It’s like leaning against a moving hillside—solid, warm, grounding.
“Besides,” I add, softer, “I ran straight to you, didn’t I?”
His jaw flexes. “You did,” he says.
“Because you’re the one I wanted to see,” I say. “Because that ridiculous roar made my whole chest flip, and I had to come find you before my brain talked me out of it.”
The careful restraint in his expression simply... disappears.
Without warning, I launch myself up.
I’ve given him a little warning in the past. A “catch me,” a countdown. This time my body moves faster than my mouth. I jump, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist in one fluid, extremely trusting motion.
He might grumble about humans being fragile, but his reflexes don’t get the memo. His arms snap around me, one hand bracing under my thighs, the other at my back, holding me securely against him.
I laugh, breathless, delighted. “See?” I say. “Perfect.”
He makes a sound halfway between a growl and a groan. “You’re going to stop my heart,” he says.
“Pretty sure you started it again,” I counter. I pepper quick kisses along his jaw, his cheek, the side of his face. The fur tickles my lips; his skin is hot underneath.
He huffs. “What are you doing?”
“Marking my territory,” I say.
It’s a joke. Mostly. Kind of.
His chest rumbles. “That’s not how that works.”
“Then consider it a down payment,” I say.
I find his mouth and kiss him properly.
The forest falls away for a moment. There’s just us, suspended in that strange, wild space where the rules of my old life don’t quite apply and the new ones are still being written.
When we finally break apart, he’s breathing hard, his grip on me firm but gentle. “You really are okay with this?” he asks quietly. “All of it. The leaving, the lying to the rangers, the… me?”
“Yes,” I say. “And yes. And especially yes.”
He searches my face, as if expecting to see some hidden flinch, some quiet regret.
I let him look. Whatever he finds seems to ease the last of his uncertainty.
His arms loosen just enough that I can shift, unhooking my legs and sliding down until my boots hit the ground again.
I keep one hand fisted in the fur at his chest, though, because letting go feels wrong.
“So,” I say, forcing my brain back toward logistics for a moment, “I told Gladys I’m leaving in about a week and a half. Maybe two. I gave her a very plausible scientific justification. She bought it. Mostly.”
“Good,” Boone says.
“She wants check-ins,” I add. “Location pings. Proof of life. I told her I’d keep the satellite phone on. Which I will. As much as I can without broadcasting you to every tower on the grid.”
“We can route some of it through the Network,” he says. “Piggyback signals. Make it look like you’re… more boring than you are.”
“That sounds ideal,” I say. “The more boring I seem, the better for everyone.”
“Hard to make you boring,” he says absentmindedly, then looks startled at himself.
I grin. “Aw. Was that a compliment?”
“Don’t get used to it,” he mutters.
“I intend to,” I say serenely.
We start walking together, not quite in the direction of my station and not quite toward his cave, skirting along a path that’s become ours by habit. The underbrush parts easier where we’ve walked it before. The forest feels more familiar. More like home.
“I was thinking,” I say, “once we’re on the road—well, trail—you could show me some of the places you stop. The old spots. The nodes you check. Not the secret ones, obviously, but the… scenic ones.”
“That would defeat the purpose of ‘secret,’ yes,” he says dryly. “But there are places I can share. If you promise not to lick any enchanted stones.”
I snort. “My curiosity is a valuable asset.”
“It’s a hazard,” he counters.
“Agree to disagree,” I say.
He shakes his head, but I can see the smile trying to break free.
We walk in comfortable silence for a while.
The knowledge that he was jealous still sits in my chest, but not as a weapon. As a strange, sweet thing—a little raw, a little tender, but proof of something I’m not sure he’ll say out loud yet.
The knowledge that I ran to him sits next to it, equally bright.
Whatever this is, it’s not symmetrical. He has centuries of caution and solitude wrapped around his heart like bark. I have a messier, shorter history filled with people and places and leaving. We’re coming at this from different angles.
But our trajectories have aligned.
I reach for his hand. He looks down at me, surprised, then lets his fingers curl around mine, dwarfing them.
“Just so you know,” I say, “the next time you jealous-roar in earshot of rangers, I’m telling them it’s a lovesick moose.”
He snorts. “They will never believe you.”
“Gladys might,” I say. “She’s seen weirder.”
He squeezes my hand once. “You are trouble,” he says.
“Right back at you,” I reply.
We keep walking, fingers twined, the echo of his jealousy and my joy weaving together into what feels suspiciously like the beginning of a shared life—messy, complicated, and absolutely, gloriously worth it.