Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The days that followed settled into a new pattern—one that chafed at me even as I reluctantly adapted to it.
Rion no longer drove me to work, instead picking me up a block away from the library at the end of each day.
We spent our evenings together, either at his labyrinthine home or my apartment, cooking dinner and talking for hours, our physical relationship deepening alongside our emotional connection.
But in public, things were different. Rion kept his distance, his usual reserved demeanor amplified to the point of near-invisibility.
He declined invitations to join me for coffee at the local café or browse the farmer’s market on Saturday morning.
When we did go out together, he chose quiet, out-of-the-way places where we were less likely to be seen.
The worst part was that I could see how much it cost him, this careful stepping back.
Though he never complained, I noticed the way his shoulders tensed when we were in public spaces, how his eyes constantly scanned for potential threats or judgment.
He’d lived this way for so long that it had become second nature—a fact that broke my heart a little more each time I witnessed it.
On Thursday evening, a week after Mrs. Wilson’s return, I finally reached my breaking point.
We were at Rion’s house, seated on the comfortable couch in his living room, a documentary about ancient architecture playing on the television.
Rion was engrossed, occasionally pointing out inaccuracies in the narrator’s explanation of structural principles, while I was lost in my own thoughts.
“We should go to the Spring Festival this weekend,” I said suddenly.
Rion glanced at me, his attention shifting immediately from the TV to my face. “The Spring Festival?”
“It’s this annual thing Willowbrook does,” I explained. “Craft booths, food vendors, live music. It’s actually fun, in a small-town kind of way.”
He was already shaking his head before I finished speaking. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea, Clara.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.” He sighed, reaching for the remote to pause the documentary. “It’s exactly the kind of crowded public event we’ve been avoiding.”
“That’s precisely why we should go,” I argued. “I’m tired of hiding, Rion. Tired of pretending we’re not together when we’re in public.”
“We’re not hiding,” he countered. “We’re being discreet.”
“It feels like hiding to me.” I pulled away slightly, frustration bubbling up. “And I hate it.”
His expression softened. “I know you do. But we agreed—”
“No, you and Mrs. Wilson agreed,” I cut in. “I just went along with it because I didn’t want to upset you.”
Hurt flashed across his face. “Is that really what you think? That I’m doing this because I want to?”
“No,” I admitted, immediately regretting my sharp tone. “I know you’re not. But it doesn’t make it any easier to accept.”
He reached for my hand, his large fingers curling gently around mine. “What would you have me do, Clara? Walk into a crowded festival and pretend that people aren’t staring? That they aren’t whispering behind their hands? That some of them aren’t outright hostile?”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “Because you have every right to be there. And so do we, together.”
He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes troubled. “It’s not that simple.”
“It could be,” I insisted. “If we make it that way.”
“You’re being naive,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.
The accusation stung. “Maybe I am. But at least I’m willing to try.”
Rion released my hand and stood up, pacing to the window that overlooked his carefully designed garden. The setting sun cast his profile in sharp relief, highlighting the proud curve of his horns and the strong line of his jaw.
“I’ve tried before,” he said finally, his voice so low I had to strain to hear it. “It didn’t end well.”
I rose and went to him, laying a hand on his tense back. “Tell me.”
He was silent for so long I thought he might refuse. Then he sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to come from somewhere beneath his ribs.
“It was about ten years ago,” he began. “I’d just completed a major project—a community center in Burlington. The client wanted me at the opening ceremony.”
“That seems reasonable,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.
“I’d worked with them remotely,” he continued. “They knew what I was—I’ve never hidden it from clients—but they’d never seen me in person. The project manager convinced me it would be fine. That people were progressive, accepting.”
A knot formed in my stomach. “What happened?”
“What always happens.” His voice was flat.
“Shock. Fear. Some tried to hide it, but you can always tell. And then there was this one man—a city council member. He started talking about building codes and safety inspections, demanding to know who had approved a ‘creature’ to design a public building.”
“Rion,” I whispered, horrified.
“I left before it could get worse,” he said. “But the damage was done. The project manager was fired. The building underwent three additional safety inspections before it was allowed to open to the public.”
“That’s awful,” I said, my hand moving in small, soothing circles on his back. “But that was ten years ago, in a different town. Willowbrook is—”
“No different,” he interrupted. “People are people, Clara. Their fear doesn’t change based on geography.”
“Not everyone is afraid,” I argued. “I’m not afraid.”
He turned to face me, his expression softening as he looked down at me. “No, you’re not. But you’re exceptional.”
The compliment warmed me, but I pressed on. “I’m really not. There are plenty of open-minded people in Willowbrook. Look at Brenda—she practically pushed me towards you.”
“Brenda knows about non-humans,” he pointed out. “She grew up here, in a family that’s aware. That’s different from the average person encountering someone like me for the first time.”
I wanted to argue further, but I could see the toll this conversation was taking on him. The last thing I wanted was to cause him more pain.
“Okay,” I conceded. “No Spring Festival. But we can’t hide forever, Rion. At some point, we have to decide what kind of life we want to build together. And I can’t imagine a future where we’re always looking over our shoulders, always worried about who might see us.”
Something flickered in his eyes—hope, perhaps. “You think about our future?”
The vulnerability in his question made my heart squeeze. “Of course I do. Don’t you?”
“Constantly,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want to presume…”
I rose on tiptoe and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Presume away. I’m not going anywhere.”
He gathered me closer, his arms encircling me with careful strength. “Even if it means dealing with people’s prejudice? With complications I can’t protect you from?”
“Even then,” I said firmly. “Though for the record, I don’t need your protection. We face this together or not at all.”
He rested his chin on top of my head, a gesture that had become familiar and comforting. “You’re extraordinarily stubborn, you know that?”
“I prefer to think of it as determined,” I corrected, snuggling closer against his chest.
His chuckle rumbled through me. “Determined, then. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”
The casual declaration made my breath catch. He’d said he was falling for me before, but this was different. This was present tense. Certain.
“You love me?” I pulled back slightly to look up at him.
His eyes widened, as if he hadn’t realized what he’d said. Then his expression softened into something so tender it made my chest ache.
“Yes,” he said simply. “I love you, Clara. I think I have since you texted me about your broken ladder and your bullheaded boss.”
Tears pricked at my eyes, happiness welling up so intensely it was almost painful. “I love you too.”
He bent down and kissed me, soft and sweet at first, then with growing hunger. I melted against him, my earlier frustration transforming into a different kind of heat.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing harder, he pressed his forehead to mine. “We’ll figure this out,” he promised. “The public thing. I can’t promise I won’t be cautious, but I don’t want to hide either. Not from the people who matter.”
It wasn’t a complete victory, but it was a start. “Does this mean you’ll come to Sunday dinner at my parents’ next month?”
He stiffened slightly, then deliberately relaxed. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” I assured him. “They’ll love you.”
“You sound very confident about that.”
“I am,” I said, although in truth, I was slightly less certain than I pretended to be. My parents were good people, open-minded in theory, but they’d never been tested like this before. Still, they loved me, and I had to believe that would be enough.
“One step at a time,” Rion said, as if reading my thoughts. “We don’t have to solve everything tonight.”
He was right, of course. We had time. And for now, being here with him, secure in our feelings for each other, was enough.
“The documentary?” I suggested, nodding towards the paused TV.
“Actually,” he said, his eyes darkening as he looked down at me, “I had something else in mind.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow, pretending innocence even as my pulse quickened. “What did you have in mind?”
He answered by scooping me into his arms, holding me securely against his chest as he carried me towards the bedroom. I laughed, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing kisses to the warm skin where fur gave way to the smoothness of his jaw.
“I’ll take that as a no on the documentary,” I murmured against his ear.
“I’ve discovered a more engaging activity,” he rumbled, the vibrations traveling directly to my core.