Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Once Mrs. Wilson was out of earshot, I tugged Rion deeper into the stacks where we were less likely to be overheard.
“You can’t seriously be okay with this,” I hissed.
“I’m not okay with it,” he replied, his voice low. “But I’m not surprised by it either.”
“It’s wrong!”
“It is,” he agreed. “But it’s also the way things have always been for people like me.”
The resignation in his voice gutted me. I stepped closer, placing my hand on his chest where I could feel his heart beating steadily beneath my palm. “It doesn’t have to be that way. We could change things.”
His expression softened as he looked down at me. “You’re remarkable, you know that? Most people would be running for the hills after finding out their boyfriend isn’t human, let alone contemplating social revolution on his behalf.”
Boyfriend. The casual label made something warm unfurl in my chest despite the circumstances. “I’m not most people.”
“No,” he agreed, covering my hand with his much larger one. “You’re not.”
We stood like that for a moment, connected and quiet in the hushed library stacks. Then Rion sighed, a rumbling sound that I felt as much as heard.
“Mrs. Wilson isn’t wrong about the risks,” he said finally. “There are people who wouldn’t take kindly to seeing us together.”
“I don’t care what people think.”
“You say that now,” he said, his eyes searching mine. “But it’s different when you’re living it. The stares. The whispers. Sometimes worse.”
A chill ran through me at the implication. “Has someone hurt you before? Because of what you are?”
His hesitation was answer enough.
“Rion,” I whispered, horrified.
“It was a long time ago,” he said, dismissing it with a small shake of his head. “But I learned to be careful. To stay out of sight when possible.”
“That’s no way to live,” I protested.
“It’s the way I’ve survived,” he countered. “And it’s not so bad. I have my work. My home.” His thumb traced a gentle circle on the back of my hand. “And now, I have you.”
My eyes stung with unshed tears. “So what are you saying? We can only see each other in private? I have to pretend you don’t exist when we’re in public?”
“No,” he said firmly. “I would never ask you to deny us. But perhaps… we could be more discreet. No more drop-offs at work. No unnecessary public outings.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, but even as I protested, I knew he was being pragmatic.
“Is it?” He raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather risk confrontation every time we’re seen together? Would you rather deal with people’s judgment and fear?”
“I’d rather fight for what’s right,” I insisted.
His expression softened with something like pride. “And that’s one of the many reasons I’m falling for you.” He cupped my cheek in his palm. “But this isn’t a battle that can be won overnight, Clara. Or maybe at all.”
The words ‘falling for you’ echoed in my mind, momentarily distracting me from our argument. I leaned into his touch, torn between the warmth his confession ignited and the anger at the injustice of our situation.
“There has to be a middle ground,” I said finally. “I refuse to hide you away like some shameful secret.”
He considered this. “What if we compromise? We’ll be careful in very public places, especially around strangers. But with people you trust—your friends, for instance—we don’t hide.”
It wasn’t ideal, but it was something. “And you’ll still come to my place? We can still go on dates?”
“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “Just perhaps not to the busiest restaurant in town during the dinner rush.”
I managed a small smile at that. “So no Valentine’s Day dinner at Luigi’s, then?”
“I think we’d cause a riot,” he agreed, returning my smile with a tentative one of his own. “But I make a mean carbonara, if you’d like to celebrate at home instead.”
Home. The word hung between us, full of promise and complication.
“Okay,” I said finally. “We’ll be discreet. But not invisible. I won’t hide you, Rion.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine, careful of his horns. “I just want to keep you safe. Keep both of us safe.”
I closed my eyes, breathing him in. “I hate this. I hate that we have to think about this at all.”
“I know.” His breath was warm against my face. “But it won’t be forever. Things change. People change.”
“Not fast enough,” I murmured.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through me. “Patience isn’t your strong suit, is it?”
“Not really, no.” I pulled back slightly to look up at him. “Are you really okay with this? With… stepping back?”
A shadow crossed his face. “I’ve spent most of my life stepping back, Clara. It’s what I know.”
The admission hurt to hear. “That’s not an answer.”
He sighed. “No, I’m not okay with it. But I’m not willing to put you at risk, either. So for now, stepping back is the pragmatic choice.”
“I don’t like pragmatic,” I muttered.
That earned me a genuine laugh. “I’ve noticed.” His expression sobered. “But promise me you won’t confront Mrs. Wilson about this further. She’s not the enemy here.”
I wanted to argue, but deep down, I knew he was right. Mrs. Wilson was a product of her generation and position. She wasn’t actively trying to hurt us—she genuinely believed she was protecting both the library and us from potential backlash.
“Fine,” I conceded reluctantly. “But I’m not happy about it.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to be.” He glanced at his watch. “You should eat your lunch before your break is over.”
The practical reminder brought me back to reality—we were still standing in the library stacks, and I had a job to return to. “Will I see you tonight?”
“If you want to,” he said, his eyes searching mine.
“I always want to,” I admitted.
His smile was worth the vulnerability. “Then yes. But I’ll pick you up here after work instead of driving you directly.”
The compromise stung, but I nodded. “Okay.”
He leaned down and kissed me softly, briefly. “Eat your lunch, librarian. I’ll see you at five-thirty.”
With that, he turned and walked away, his large frame moving with surprising grace through the narrow aisles.
I watched him go, emotions warring inside me—anger at the unfairness of our situation, warmth at his obvious care for me, and a deep, unsettling uncertainty about what our future might hold.
I opened the lunch bag he’d brought and found not only the sandwich I’d made that morning but also a brownie that hadn’t been there before, wrapped neatly in wax paper. A small note was tucked alongside it:
For later, when you need something sweet.—R
Tears pricked at my eyes again. Such a small gesture, but so thoughtful. It was exactly the kind of quiet consideration that had drawn me to him from the beginning.
I ate my lunch at a small table tucked away in the library’s staff room, my mind still churning over the morning’s revelations.
Mrs. Wilson’s knowledge about Willowbrook’s non-human residents raised more questions than it answered.
How many others were there? Did everyone in positions of authority know?
Was there some sort of secret council making decisions about how they should live?
The questions piled up, but I had no answers. By the time I returned to the inventory project, Mrs. Wilson was already back at work, meticulously checking each book against the master list.
“Feeling better?” she asked, not looking up from her clipboard.
“Not really,” I admitted. “But I understand your position.”
She nodded, finally meeting my eyes. “I truly am sorry, Clara. If it were solely up to me…” She trailed off, then shook her head. “Well, it isn’t. And that’s that.”
“Is there some sort of rule?” I asked, unable to help myself. “Some agreement about how non-humans are supposed to behave in Willowbrook?”
She hesitated, clearly debating how much to reveal. “Not officially, no. But there is… an understanding. Keep a low profile. Blend in when possible. Don’t draw attention.”
“That seems incredibly unfair to them.”
“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But it’s kept the peace for generations.”
“What peace?” I challenged. “The peace of inequality? Of forced invisibility?”
Mrs. Wilson sighed, removing her glasses again.
Without them, her eyes looked tired, the lines around them more pronounced.
“Clara, I understand your frustration. Truly, I do. But these arrangements weren’t made arbitrarily.
There have been… incidents. Not here, but in other communities where the boundaries weren’t respected. ”
A chill ran down my spine. “What kind of incidents?”
“Violence,” she said simply. “On both sides. Fear is a powerful motivator, and people fear what they don’t understand.”
I thought of Rion, of his quiet strength and gentle hands. Of how carefully he moved through the world, conscious of his size and power. The idea that anyone could look at him and see a threat rather than the thoughtful, brilliant man he was made my chest ache.
“So the solution is to keep them hidden away? To pretend they don’t exist?”
“The solution,” Mrs. Wilson said firmly, “is to move slowly. To build understanding gradually. Rome wasn’t built in a day, Clara, and neither is acceptance.”
I wanted to argue further, but what was the point? She wasn’t going to change her mind, and I had work to do. We spent the rest of the afternoon in a professional but slightly strained silence, cataloging reference books and updating the inventory system.
Throughout the day, I caught glimpses of the changes in Mrs. Wilson’s behavior towards me.
Nothing obvious—she was too professional for that—but little things.
The way she no longer lingered to chat during breaks.
How she assigned me tasks that kept me in the back office, away from patrons.
The careful distance she maintained even when we were working side by side.
It hurt more than I wanted to admit. Mrs. Wilson had been a mentor to me since I was a teenager, someone I looked up to and respected. Her subtle withdrawal felt like a betrayal, even though I understood her reasoning.
By the time five-thirty rolled around, I was emotionally exhausted. I packed up my things quickly, eager to escape the library’s suddenly stifling atmosphere.
“Have a good evening, Clara,” Mrs. Wilson called as I headed for the door.
“You too,” I replied automatically, not looking back.
Outside, the late afternoon sun was slipping towards the horizon, painting Willowbrook’s main street in golden light.
Rion’s truck was parked across the street, not directly in front of the library as it had been that morning.
He sat in the driver’s seat, waiting patiently, his large frame unmistakable even at a distance.
I crossed the street quickly, suddenly desperate to be with someone who saw me—really saw me—without judgment or reservation. As I approached, he leaned over to open the passenger door for me, his expression brightening when our eyes met.
“Bad day?” he asked as I climbed in.
“The worst,” I confirmed, letting my bag drop to the floor with a thud.
Without a word, he reached over and pulled me into a hug, his strong arms enveloping me in warmth and comfort. I buried my face against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured against my hair as a sob I hadn’t realized was building escaped me. He held me tighter, one large hand moving in slow, comforting circles on my back, until I finally relaxed against him. “Now let’s go home.”