Chapter 15 #3
He blinks at the sharpness of my voice.
I force myself to soften it. A little. “You don’t know what it means to travel with me. To see my world. To be part of this. I can’t protect you from everything.” Even though I would die trying.
He considers me for a long moment.
“I don’t want you to,” he says gently. “I just want you.”
The words hit me like a blow. I look away sharply, pretending to straighten the map.
He stands and walks toward me. “I don’t mean it like—” He clears his throat. “I’m not saying I expect anything. I just… I want to be here. With you. Not because it’s safe. Or exciting. Or because it’s magical. But because being around you feels right.”
My breath catches. A dangerous, uncontrollable warmth floods my chest. “Elias,” I warn.
“I know you don’t believe this,” he says softly, “but you’re not hard to want.”
I go still. Utterly still.
He steps closer, one slow foot at a time, giving me every chance to stop him.
I don’t.
“Boone,” he murmurs, almost touching my arm, “look at me.”
I do. Of course I do.
His eyes are warm and open, steady in a way that makes my chest ache. There’s no fear there. No hesitation. He’s just… here. With me. Choosing me without flinching.
“You’re not alone anymore,” he whispers.
The words slide under my ribs and loosen a restraint I’d held for far too long. My breath shakes before I can stop it, a low, involuntary thing that I immediately resent myself for.
He sees it. Of course he does. His smile softens, all gentle reassurance and quiet certainty, and for a heartbeat, I think he’s going to say another devastatingly earnest thing that might actually finish undoing me.
Instead, his gaze drops.
Just… drops.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
His brows knit, lips parting slightly, like he’s been struck by a sudden and deeply important scientific revelation. “Wow,” he breathes.
I tense immediately. “What?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes flick back up to mine, bright with poorly concealed delight. “I just—okay, I know this is not the moment, but—”
“Elias.”
“—you have,” he continues, gesturing vaguely behind me, “an incredible ass.”
I turn that over in my mind. The silence stretches, broken only by the distant sounds of the forest and the faint hum of the wards.
“I’m sorry,” I say flatly. “What?”
He grins, wide and unapologetic now, clearly pleased with himself. “I mean, I’ve noticed before, obviously. I have eyes. But right now? With the lighting? And the whole… stoic cryptid guardian thing you’ve got going on?”
His hands twitch like he wants to grab me and knows better. “Boone. That is a bootylicious situation.”
My face goes hot. “No,” I say immediately. “Absolutely not.”
He laughs, full and delighted, completely unrepentant. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me no one’s ever told you that before.”
“I live in the woods,” I snap. “Alone. With rocks.”
“That doesn’t disprove anything.”
“I am not,” I continue firmly, “bootylicious.”
He hums, clearly unconvinced. “Agree to disagree.”
I cross my arms, scowling, and absolutely do not enjoy the way his eyes linger when I do it.
Inside, though… inside, I preen. Just a little. Traitorously and absolutely annoyingly.
He watches my reaction with fond amusement, then—mercifully—clears his throat and visibly reins himself in, shifting gears the way he does when he senses I’m nearing my limit.
“Okay,” he says, all professionalism again, though his smile still curves with mischief. “Serious mode. What’s next on the planning agenda?”
I frown, thrown by the change in topic. “Next?”
He nods eagerly. “Routes, supplies, contingency plans. Possibly arguing about whether you need three knives or five.”
“Four,” I mutter automatically.
He beams. “See? Teamwork.”
I shake my head, exasperated, warmth still buzzing under my skin despite myself.
Bootylicious.
Absolutely ridiculous.
“Okay, four,” he says cheerfully. “We’ve got transportation, approximate route, cryptids we need to avoid or greet politely, and safety rules. What about supplies? Weather? Food? Sleeping arrangements?”
Sleeping arrangements.
Heat slams through me so hard I nearly choke.
But Elias just beams. Happy. Oblivious. Or maybe not oblivious at all.
“I can sleep in a tent,” he says. “Or the truck bed. Or under the stars. It doesn’t matter. I’ve done dozens of trips like this.”
“You will not be sleeping under the stars,” I mutter. “No way.”
He grins like I’ve given him an early birthday present. “Okay,” he says, “then where will you be sleeping?”
Air stalls in my lungs.
He leans in, eyes sparkling. “Near me?” he asks softly.
My blood turns molten. I have no idea what face I’m making, but his answering smile suggests it’s the right one.
“We’ll work that out,” I say roughly.
He nods. “Good,” he whispers.
We finish the agenda—or pretend to. Most of the time is spent with him asking questions and me pretending not to melt every time he calls the trip ours.
Eventually, he gathers his notebook and steps toward the exit. “Same time tomorrow?” he asks. “For planning continuation?”
“Yes,” I say before I can think of a reason to refuse.
He smiles brightly and disappears into the trees. The silence he leaves behind feels too big for my chest.
I let out a shaky breath. This journey was supposed to be simple. Routine. Predictable. Now? I’m not sure what it is.