Chapter 16 #2
The werewolf’s gaze tracked to Sam, still floating placidly in the darkness. Some unspoken communication passed between them—the easy shorthand of longtime residents—before Eric turned back to Ben.
“So. The teacher.”
“Does everyone in this town know my business?”
“You carried her home from your own bar in front of sixty witnesses. You shoveled her driveway four times in two weeks. You handed out candy to her kindergarten class. And last Saturday you were spotted buying throw pillows at the general store.” Eric’s mouth quirked. “So yes. Everyone knows.”
He groaned. “The pillows were for—”
“The nest?”
“I don’t… How do you—” He stopped, staring at Eric with dawning horror. “Flora.”
“Flora tells everyone everything. You know this.” The werewolf seemed deeply amused by Ben’s distress. “Relax. It’s not like mating behavior is shameful. It’s natural. Expected, even.”
“I spent six years making sure I didn’t have any mating behavior.”
“And now you’ve got a nice human lady bringing you cookies and smiling at you like you’re the answer to her prayers.” Eric shrugged. “Things change.”
“I’m aware.”
Footsteps on the dock drew all three of their attention.
A tall figure emerged from the shadows—broad-shouldered and imposing, moving with the deliberate grace of someone who’d spent years learning to control his strength.
In the dim light, his skin had a faint grey cast, and his features were sharp and chiseled, like they’d been carved from granite.
Because they had been.
“Garrick.” Eric nodded in greeting. “Didn’t expect to see you out tonight.”
“I had business in town.” Garrick’s voice was deep and resonant, the kind that seemed to vibrate in your chest. He stepped onto the porch, eyes sweeping over the assembled group with a gargoyle’s characteristic assessment. “Ben. Sam.”
“I thought you were hibernating,” Ben said.
“Something woke me up.” Garrick’s expression gave nothing away. “Then I heard there was drama at the tavern so I thought I’d investigate.”
“There’s no drama.” His words didn’t even sound convincing to himself.
“He’s nesting,” Eric supplied helpfully, and Ben shot him a murderous look.
“I’m going to poison your next drink.”
“Worth it.”
Garrick’s stone-grey eyes fixed on Ben with new interest. “Nesting. For the human schoolteacher?”
He groaned. “Does everyone know about Sara?”
“Small town.” Garrick settled his massive frame against the porch post, arms crossed. “Also, Flora distributed a newsletter.”
“She did what?”
“A monthly matchmaking update. You’re featured prominently.” The gargoyle almost smiled. “There are odds being placed.”
His claws extended involuntarily, scoring fresh marks in the wooden railing. “I’m going to kill her.”
“Many have tried.” Eric took another sip of his beer. “None have succeeded.”
Before he could fully process the horror of Flora’s matchmaking newsletter, she appeared at the back door like some kind of inevitable force of nature. She was wearing a bright red tracksuit tonight, the words “HOT TO TROT” bedazzled across the back, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Oh good,” she said brightly. “Everyone’s here.”
He briefly considered diving into the river to escape. Sam would probably hide him, but then again Sam hadn’t been able to avoid Flora’s efforts either.
“Flora,” he said flatly. “What are you doing here?”
“Supporting a local business.” She elbowed past Eric and settled into the single porch chair like she owned it. “Also, I heard you were having some sort of emotional crisis and I didn’t want to miss it.”
“I’m not having a crisis.”
“You’re building a nest for a woman you haven’t officially courted, you nearly exploded when she mentioned leaving, and you’re about to rip a hole in your railing,” she retorted. “That, my boy, is a crisis.”
He glared at her. She gave him a wide innocent smile that fooled no one.
“The fact that I’m nesting doesn’t mean—”
“It means exactly what you think it means.” Flora’s voice lost some of its playfulness, turning unusually serious.
“Rabbit Others don’t nest casually. You know that better than anyone.
When your instincts decide to build a home for someone, it’s because your body recognizes what your mind is too stubborn to admit. ”
“And what’s that?”
“That she’s yours.” Flora’s dark eyes pinned him in place. “That she was always going to be yours. And that all your careful control was just you waiting until she came along.”
The words resonated through his chest, settling into the space where his heart was pounding too fast.
“It’s not that simple,” he managed.
“Why not?”
“Because—” He gestured helplessly. “Because I spent six years rebuilding myself. Because I walked away from everything I was before. Because I don’t know if I can be what she needs without losing myself in the process.”
“Oh, honey.” Flora’s voice softened. “You didn’t rebuild yourself. You just… put yourself on a shelf for a while. All those instincts, all that intensity—it didn’t go anywhere. It was just waiting.”
“For what?”
“For someone worth taking it down for.”
Silence fell over the porch. Even the river seemed to still, Sam’s tentacles frozen mid-motion. Eric was watching Ben with something like understanding, and Garrick—who Ben had never seen express any emotion more complex than mild annoyance—looked almost thoughtful.
“She trusts me,” he said finally. “Sara. She trusts me completely.”
“And?”
“And I’m terrified of proving her wrong.”
Flora hopped up from her chair like a woman half her age and crossed to where he stood. She reached up to pat his cheek with one weathered green hand, her touch surprisingly gentle.
“The fact that you’re worried about that,” she said quietly, “is exactly why you won’t.
The Others who hurt people, the ones who let their instincts control them, they never stop to ask if they should.
They take without thinking. But you, Benjamin Holloway…
you’ve done nothing but think for six years. ”
“Thinking hasn’t stopped me from building her a nest.”
“No. But it’ll stop you from claiming her before she’s ready.
It’ll stop you from overwhelming her with what you need before you’ve shown her what you can give.
” Flora’s eyes were serious now, all traces of mischief gone.
“Your instincts chose her. But she gets to decide if she chooses you back. She needs to understand what she’d be getting into. ”
“And if she decides she doesn’t want it?”
“Then you let her go.” The words were gentle but firm. “That’s the difference between mating and taking. She has to choose, Benjamin. Freely and completely. And if she doesn’t…” Flora shook her head. “Well. Then you’ll survive. You’ve survived worse.”
Had he? He wasn’t sure anymore. The thought of Sara walking away—choosing to leave, choosing someone else, choosing anything that wasn’t him—made his lungs constrict and his claws ache.
But Flora was right. She usually was, damn her.
“Of course I am,” Flora said complacently. “So get off your ass and talk to her about all of it—the nesting, the possessiveness, the instincts screaming at you to claim her.” She shrugged. “And if she runs screaming, at least you’ll know.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“I’m not here to comfort you. I’m here to make sure you don’t screw this up.” She patted his cheek again, a lot harder this time. “Now go back inside, stop terrorizing your kitchen staff, and have an honest conversation with that sweet girl before you do something stupid.”
She turned and marched back inside, bright red tracksuit glowing faintly in the light from the windows.
Silence descended again.
“She’s terrifying,” Eric said finally. “But she was right about me and Robin.”
“And about Nina and me,” Sam agreed.
“I find her refreshing,” Garrick offered. “Gargoyles appreciate directness.”
He said nothing. He was staring at the river and the faint reflection of stars on the water’s surface. His mind was full of Sara—her laugh, her scent, the way she fit against him like she’d been made for his arms.
Talk to her. Tell her everything.
He’d been so focused on controlling himself, on proving he could handle the intensity of what he felt, that he’d never stopped to consider whether honesty might be better than restraint.
She deserved to know what she was dealing with. She deserved to understand what it meant that he’d built her a nest, that his instincts had claimed her, that every fiber of his being was screaming that she was his in a way he’d never experienced before.
And then…
Then she could decide for herself.
“I need to go,” he said abruptly.
Eric raised an eyebrow. “Kitchen’s still—”
“Nina can handle it.”
“You’re going to her now?” Garrick sounded faintly surprised. “It’s nearly midnight.”
“I know.” He was already moving towards the door. “But if I wait until tomorrow, I’ll lose my nerve. And I’ve wasted enough time on being careful already.”
He paused at the threshold, looking back at the odd assembly on his porch—the werewolf sheriff with his knowing eyes, the reclusive kraken floating silent in the darkness, the gargoyle who’d traveled the world and still came back to this strange little town.
His friends. His community. His chosen family, as complicated and unlikely as they were.
“Thank you,” he said. “For… whatever this was.”
“Emotional support group for monsters with feelings?” Eric suggested.
“Support group is generous,” Sam murmured. “I mostly provided atmospheric presence.”
“I came for the drama,” Garrick said flatly. “I was not disappointed.”
He snorted, surprising himself with the sound. Something had loosened in his chest—not the tension, not the wanting, but the fear underneath it. Flora’s words echoed in his mind. She has to choose.
Time to give her the choice.
“Tell Sara the town’s rooting for her,” Eric called as he pushed through the door. “Not you. Her. You’re a grumpy bastard and we’re all hoping she can fix that.”
“Asshole,” he threw back, but he was almost smiling as he said it.
The tavern noise swallowed him up—voices and music and the clatter of glasses—but he moved through it without stopping. He grabbed his jacket from the office, told Nina he was leaving early, ignoring her shocked expression, and slipped out the kitchen door.
Sara’s cottage was a fifteen-minute walk. He could run it in five.
He chose to run.