16. Arthur
ARTHUR
With Artemis in my arms, it was like the world had finally corrected itself.
I had no doubts anymore, no curiosity about whether this was real or imagined or wishful thinking. The bond simply existed.
Artemis lay against my chest, her weight relaxed, trusting, unguarded. Her body had settled as if it recognized the place before her mind ever could.
My arm curved around her without thought. Not possessive in a way that would frighten her. Just holding her, supporting her.
I had spent decades carrying responsibility. I had learned how to stand under weight without bending. I had learned how to be calm when everything was out of control.
None of that compared to this.
The contentment of having her here reached places inside me that nothing else ever had. My mind, which usually ran through plans and contingencies even in sleep, went still. Every part of me agreed on this one thing.
She belonged here.
Should I tell her what she was to me? That we were fated mates?
The answer came immediately.
No, not yet.
I wouldn’t put that weight on her. I wouldn’t turn this into a claim before she had time to decide what she wanted. The bond was binding and permanent. Even when freely chosen, it changed the shape of a life.
Artemis deserved choice. She deserved time. She deserved to wake up and decide for herself whether what she felt was affection, attraction, comfort, or something more. She deserved to have an adventure without this hanging over her head.
Even if waiting was a constant, persistent ache all throughout my body.
I rested my hand against her back, memorizing the feel of her. Her body remained relaxed against mine, the storm outside failing to touch her now.
I had fought battles and led councils. I had flown into fire.
None of it compared to this.
And I wanted so much more.
But I stayed still. I held her. I said nothing.
For now, that was enough.
I woke before she did. It wasn’t unusual for me to wake early.
What was unusual was how little I wanted to move.
The weight of Artemis’s warm body against me made my mind go quiet.
The storm had stopped. I knew that even without looking out the window.
The world outside the cabin was as still as if the world had reset itself while we slept.
I waited several breaths before moving. When I finally did, it was slow and deliberate, so I didn’t wake her. I eased myself free inch by inch, even though I mourned the loss of her warmth. I paused long enough to confirm she stayed asleep, then pulled on my coat and stepped out onto the porch.
I looked out over the beautiful landscape.
The countryside stretched outward in raw, ancient layers of black rock and moss, the terrain rolling toward distant mountains that cut sharp lines against the paling sky.
Steam curled from somewhere far off in the valley, rising in slow white ribbons where geothermal heat broke through the earth.
The air smelled faintly of salt and mineral and something older—volcanic stone that had cooled only long enough to pretend at stillness.
Wind moved across the hillside in steady currents, brushing the grass flat and lifting the edge of my coat. Beyond the slope, the sea lay dark and immense, the horizon a thin silver seam where water met morning light.
Nothing here was delicate.
The land was unfinished, powerful. It needed no refinement. Fire slept under the soil. Mountains rose without apology. Even the quiet carried weight.
It suited me.
The air smelled clean and alive. Inhaling deeply, I took my phone out of my pocket and called my mother.
She answered on the second ring.
“Arthur,” my mother said. “You’re calling early.”
On the screen, she was framed in warm light, her blonde hair, threaded with silver, pulled back elegantly. She wore a sweater and no jewelry, her face bare, her eyes wise. Age had clarified her. She looked exactly like someone who noticed everything and forgot nothing.
I should have remembered the time difference. “Sorry. I just wanted to check in,” I said.
Her gaze sharpened slightly. “Where are you?”
“Iceland.”
A pause. Then, mild amusement. “Of course you are. And what are you doing in Iceland?”
“The conversation we had at the café was productive,” I said. “I’m pursuing a lead.”
She pursed her lips as she studied my face. “Something’s different. Are you alone?”
“No,” I said.
Her eyebrows lifted. “Then tell me the rest.”
“The librarian from New York is with me,” I said. “She’s helping me.”
“Arthur, don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.” I hesitated, then continued, “I’ve realized she is my fated mate.”
I said it plainly, as if I wasn’t sharing the most crucial news of my entire existence.
A smile broke over her face. “Oh, Arthur, that’s wonderful. You sound steadier already.”
“There will be complications,” I said. “She is human. If she accepts the bond, the clan will have concerns.”
She waved that away. “The clan will be fine. Have you seen the café lately? We’re serving vampires next to humans next to witches next to three kinds of fae.
Everyone’s getting along fine. I even made a new friend last week.
She’s a banshee. I told her she was quite late to warn me of my husband’s imminent death, then we had tea. ”
I ignored the part about the banshee, not ready to dissect that. “That’s different,” I said.
“We’re adapting, Arthur, and we’re very good at that.” She leaned closer to the screen. “Is she good to you?”
I considered the question. “We’re only friendly,” I said. “But she’s brilliant. And kind. And very funny.”
My mother’s expression softened. “Arthur, finding your mate is a gift, not a hardship. You have been given something rare. Cherish it. Do not borrow trouble from the future.”
Something in my chest eased.
“I should go,” I said.
“Yes,” she agreed. “Go back to her.”
I ended the call and stood there a moment longer, the city quiet below me, the tension I had been carrying loosening without effort.
When I returned inside, I moved just as carefully. Artemis shifted but didn’t wake as I settled back beside her. I adjusted the blanket and lay down beside her.
She stirred and went very still.
“The storm stopped,” she said softly.
“Yes.”
“I slept through it.”
“You did.”
She absorbed that for a moment, then she nodded, like it had confirmed a theory.
She sat up, the robe loosening as she moved.
The quilt slipped down to her waist, and the fabric fell open at her shoulder without her noticing.
Pale skin. The soft curve of her collarbone.
The suggestion of cleavage that made my attention lock instantly and treacherously.
I quickly looked away even as heat flared, low and sharp, immediate and unwelcome in its intensity. I went very still, every instinct reining itself in by force of habit and something deeper. Something that wanted.
She wrapped the quilt around herself a second later, oblivious, and I matched her movement, sitting up slowly, giving her space without stepping away from it.
I adjusted my breathing, failing to focus on anything but her.
My awareness of her had nothing to do with propriety and everything to do with desire.
She had no idea.
I did.
We got ready for the day, each of us careful not to rush the other.
While she gathered her things, I took the muffins Caliban had packed out of my bag. She came into the main room as I set them on the small table.
“You brought muffins?”
“Yes. Well, Caliban did.”
She smiled. “That tracks.”
We sat next to each other as we ate the blueberry muffins. She broke hers in two before biting into one half, and my gaze focused on her lips.
The air around us became charged, electrical.
When Artemis reached for her mug, her fingers brushed my wrist. She paused.
“May I?” she asked.
Her attention had landed on the mark on my wrist that summoned Caliban.
“Yes,” I said.
She touched it lightly. Just a graze of her finger. Barely any pressure at all.
My entire body reacted instantly.
Her fingers rested there, light and unassuming, and somehow that made it worse.
I lifted my gaze to her face and forgot, briefly, how to do anything else. She was watching me now, still and intent. She’d felt the shift but didn’t quite understand it.
Cold chased heat along my spine.
My hand tightened on the edge of the table without permission. I didn’t move away. I couldn’t have, even if I tried.
Her touch was curious and intimate. I had no defense against it. I leaned in before I realized I was doing it. Just enough to close the space that no longer felt neutral.
She leaned forward, too.
What was about to happen was inevitable.
In that split second before our lips met, Caliban appeared.
“Good morning,” he said calmly. “The storm has passed. It is now safe to continue your journey.”
We jerked apart, as if we were teenagers caught making out.
Caliban took us in. The closeness. The half-eaten muffins on the table.
“Oh,” he said, one eyebrow cocked. “You’re having breakfast.”
“Yes,” I said.
“And about to partake in some snogging. Should I leave and come back? Five minutes? Maybe ten? Surely that’s sufficient,” he added, tone unchanged.
Artemis choked on nothing.
“No,” I snapped.
“Are you sure? Are you out of practice, Alpha? Do you need me to explain what was about to happen?” Caliban asked.
I closed my eyes.
“I didn’t call you,” I said.
Caliban glanced at my wrist, then at Artemis’s hand, which was now deliberately not touching me.
“The mark reacted,” he said.
Artemis shifted. “I was just curious.”
“Of course,” Caliban said.
A tense silence settled in the room.
“Well then, if I am not needed, I will be going.”
“Wait!” Artemis stood. “Thank you, Caliban… for the muffins. And the coat.”
He inclined his head, and in the next breath, he vanished.