Chapter Thirty-One-Donny
I woke up to the most forking divine smell to ever exist.
Like the Goddess herself had turned my house into a five-star bakery.
Cherry pie filling.
White chocolate ganache.
Devil’s food cookies.
Blueberry scones.
Buttery croissants.
And—oh sweet cauldrons of caffeine—coffee.
Fresh, strong, sinful coffee.
I sat bolt upright, my senses on high alert.
What sorcery was this?
One deep inhale and I practically levitated out of bed. I didn’t even care about my hair.
For the first time since that rotten little Domovyk turned me into a magical Barbie, I didn’t curse the sight of my golden locks in the mirror.
In fact, with the leftover pink flush from beard burn and that post-mating glow, I looked kinda cute.
“Hot damn,” I whispered to myself, fluffing my curls. “Maybe being mated to a Bear Shifter with pastry fingers is the key to eternal beauty.”
I slipped into a pleated Marina Rinaldi dress—flowy, flattering, and kind to my very recently well-used thighs—and padded downstairs, bare feet light on the wood floors.
Then I froze.
My jaw dropped.
My entire house was perfect.
Like, forking magazine-spread-level perfect.
Not a single broken vase.
Not one stuffing-stripped cushion.
The walls had been patched, the floors mopped, the picture frames re-hung. It was like Gryn had never had a furniture-destroying temper tantrum.
Or pooped in my Uggs.
I crept toward the kitchen and stopped in my tracks again.
There he was.
The devil himself.
Gryn, my furry, foul-mouthed, chaos-gremlin of a familiar, perched on a barstool like he hadn’t wrecked my home just twelve hours earlier.
He was polishing off what looked like a tray of scones the size of dinner plates and sipping from a comically large coffee mug that read World’s Grumpiest HouseGod.
“Good morning, Vesterka,” he said with a buttery grin, licking crumbs off his stubby fingers. “Sleep well?”
“Are you—did you—what?” I spluttered as if my brain had short-circuited.
“What? Is my beard on backwards?” Gryn quirked a brow. “Maybe you give me a trim later? I will call the blue-haired one. She books fast.”
Before I could gather a single coherent thought, the back door creaked open and in walked my Bear.
My big, beautiful Bear.
Ryan, dressed in a clingy tee and sweatpants, holding sprigs of rosemary like he’d just returned from a sexy woodland forage.
His hair was tousled, his eyes soft, and that kiss he dropped on me?
Good Goddess, it shorted my circuits for a whole different reason.
“Move in with me?” I blurted.
His brows lifted slightly.
“I wasn’t going to assume, but are you sure, Honey?”
I nodded, heart racing.
“Yep.”
“Because I recall having to wait weeks for you to even notice me,” he teased, lifting a cherry turnover to my lips.
I held out, just barely.
“I won’t eat it until you answer.”
Ryan grinned, all cocky and smug in the way that made my ovaries throw confetti.
“Also, the longer you make me wait now, the more revenge I’m taking later in the bedroom,” I warned. “And I do mean revenge.”
He leaned closer, lips brushing mine.
“Yes, you silly Witch. Of course I’m moving in. You’re mine now.”
Cherry filling be damned, I melted right there in his arms.
We kissed like lovers with all the time in the world, and I tasted sugar and heat and something that felt an awful lot like forever.
The kitchen faded away as I ended up on Ryan’s lap, alternating between coffee sips and pastry bites while he fed me like I was the queen of the freaking forest.
We talked about everything and nothing, easy as breathing. It felt good.
Grounded.
Like maybe, just maybe, this wild life of mine was finally starting to settle in the right direction.
Until the Bear had to open his big, beautiful mouth.
“One thing,” Ryan said, brushing crumbs from my cheek.
I stilled. “What?”
“Well, Honey, about Gryn. See, Domovyks used to be gods.”
“Come again?”
“Minor household gods. But yeah. Worshiped, powerful, demanding. You know how it is.”
“No, I do not know how it is, Ryan. Because I did not get a how-to manual on handling magical household Gremlins.”
He chuckled, unbothered by my rising tone. “Basically, Gryn expects tribute.”
“Tribute,” I echoed, blinking.
“Yeah. Like food. Trinkets. Milk.”
“Milk?! He dumped in my vintage Guccis, and now he wants MILK?”
Ryan was smiling like a man in love and also slightly afraid for his life.
“I’ll take care of it, Honey. I’ll do the cooking. I’ll leave him his offerings. No need to stress. I just wanted you to know why he’s been behaving like—um.”
“Like he was raised by evil Trolls?”
“Right. Anyway, would that be okay with you?”
“Would what be okay? Oh, you mean you cooking and providing him with his milk? Heck yeah! Thank the fu-forking Goddess,” I breathed, slumping against him.
“You almost said it,” he whispered, licking my ear.
“Said what?”
“Fork. You almost dropped a real F-bomb.”
“I am trying, okay? The pink lightning stings like heck.”
Ryan kissed the top of my head.
“Well, try harder, because the last time you said it, we both got zapped. And I’m not looking to run out of pants.”
He grinned. I giggled. But I promised.
Then, we made out on the kitchen chair like teenagers until I glanced at the clock.
“Thirty-three minutes till my first client,” I muttered.
“Hmm,” Ryan hummed, lifting me by the waist and adjusting the hem of my dress.
He slipped a hand under the fabric, fingers trailing along my inner thigh until they found what they were looking for.
I gasped. “Ryan!”
“Plenty of time, Honey.”
I couldn’t argue.
Not with that grin.
Not with those hands.
Not when he was mine—and I was his.
And as he kissed me senseless right there in the kitchen, the smell of coffee and sugar lingering in the air, I realized something.
This?
This was home.
Forking finally.