22. Traig
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
TRAIG
Iwoke before dawn with Willa curled against my chest, her breath warm on my skin.
Outside, the first hints of gray crept into the sky.
I needed to get up. Make coffee for my mate and tea for myself. Start the day like I always did. But moving meant leaving this woman. Her hair tickled my jaw, and she made a soft sound when she shifted closer, still asleep.
We hadn’t been intimate since that one time, but that didn’t matter. We were still getting to know each other. There was no rush.
I extracted myself slowly, lifting her head with one hand while sliding my arm free with the other. She mumbled, her fingers skating across my chest.
I froze.
Her breathing evened out again. I eased a pillow under her head where my chest had been, and she settled, her hand curling around the fabric like it was me.
The cold floor bit my feet as I padded to the bathroom in the dark, not turning on lights until I was far enough away that it wouldn’t wake her. I tugged on some soft pants, going to the kitchen after.
The coffee maker sat beside the kettle. Her machine. My kettle. Side by side.
I measured her grounds, filled the reservoir with water, and hit the button, listening to it hiss and gurgle to life. While it brewed, I filled the kettle and set it on the pad.
The same motions as always but with a different intent.
This wasn’t habit. Every morning, I was choosing to make her coffee before she woke. To learn the exact way she liked it. I wanted to have it ready when she needed it.
My tablet sat on the counter where I’d left it last night.
I didn’t reach for it.
Usually I’d document this or speak about it out loud—quieter now that Willa lived here with me. I’d log the time and pattern, adding it to an internal tracking system that proved I was paying attention. But my hand stayed on the counter, and the impulse to record everything didn’t come.
I didn’t need to write it down to know it mattered.
I stood with my hand on the counter, waiting for the need to document this. To prove I was doing it right. It didn’t come.
The coffee finished brewing. I poured a mug, added two portions of cream, and set it on the counter where she’d see it when she came out.
The kettle whistled. I made my tea.
And I sent the Council a message about our mating marks.
By the time Willa emerged from the bedroom, dressed and with her hair twisted up, both our drinks sat waiting.
She stopped in the kitchen doorway, taking in the scene. Her mug. My mug. The morning light coming through the window between them.
“You made coffee,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I adore you for that and many other reasons.” She crossed the room and picked up her mug, taking a sip. Her eyes closed. “Perfect.”
After eating and washing up from breakfast, we drove to the facility together, Willa in the passenger seat of my truck, our matching marks visible every time the morning light caught them. Amanda and Fred rode between us, Amanda sweeping her stick through the air.
This would be our first time arriving as a mated couple instead of coworkers who happened to be pretending. The difference felt enormous.
I parked in my usual spot. Willa gathered her bag. With Fred fluttering by my left shoulder, we walked to the front door. I held it open for her.
Fred swooped in behind Willa and flew over to the counter, settling there.
My friends had gathered in the break room, eating muffins Laina must’ve made, drinking tea.
We stepped inside, Willa going to the refrigerator to put our lunches inside.
Drogar’s eyes dropped to our wrists.
“You’re mated.” He jumped up from his chair so fast it nearly toppled and strode over to sweep Willa up in a hug. “I knew it. Right from the start, I knew this would happen.”
“Drogar.” Willa laughed, breathless. “I can’t breathe.”
He set her down and turned to me, clapping me on the back hard enough that I stumbled forward a step.
“My brother is mated,” he said, his grin showing both tusks. “This is the best day.”
“We’re still waiting for the Council to decide,” I said. “But I notified them this morning.”
“The Council will dismiss this then. They have to.” His gaze fell on Willa again. “Welcome to the family. Truly welcome.”
My skin tightened. I wasn’t sure I could hold more happiness than now.
I’d spent three years here and thought I’d found family.
But watching Drogar sweep Willa into his arms, seeing Brovish’s genuine smile, and hearing Krem’s congratulations made everything different.
They weren’t just accepting that I had a mate. They were claiming her as one of us.
She belonged because she’d chosen me, and I was theirs, so she was theirs too.
Sofia launched into the air and flew to Willa, her wings blurring. She landed on Willa’s shoulder and chirped, leaning against Willa’s neck.
My mate grinned, stroking Sofia’s spine.
“She’s chosen you,” Laina said, smiling.
Brovish studied our wrists. “This is wonderful.”
Krem strode in next, his eyes on our marks. “It’s amazing. I knew this would happen. I told Drogar weeks ago.”
“You did not,” Drogar said.
“I did. I documented it.” Krem tapped his clipboard. “It’s here somewhere. Week two, day three. Traig has begun arranging items with more care when Willa is present. This suggests—”
“You keep a file on me?” I asked.
“On everyone. It’s part of our community record-keeping.”
“We don’t have community record-keeping.”
“We do now.”
Greth paused in the doorway. His gaze moved from Willa to me, then back. He nodded and kept walking.
“Did Greth just approve of us?” Willa whispered.
“Yes,” Brovish said. “That’s the highest form of Greth approval. You must feel honored.”
Willa leaned against my side. “I do.”
A yellow-and-pink blur shot into the room.
“No,” I said.
Nix chittered and launched himself between Willa and me. His discharge cracked through the air. The static arced between our mating marks, making them glow again.
Nix landed on the counter, looking satisfied with himself.
“He knew,” I said, staring at the fizzling.
“Knew what?” Willa asked.
“That we were bonded. Before we did. He wasn’t escaping to find freedom, he was looking for us. He must’ve thought his static would help spark our bond.”
“That’s incredible.”
Nix chirped.
We stared at each other and laughed, because it was ridiculous and perfect and wonderful.
“A fizzling played matchmaker,” Willa said.
“The most persistent matchmaker in history.”
Nix leaped and did a small loop in the air, his stripes brightening to full yellow as he landed on the tile floor.
Show-off.
Fred floated into the room, Amanda riding on his back, her stick lifted. He bumped into the far wall, the one to the right, and then soared toward Willa’s other shoulder.
“Hey buddy,” Willa said, steadying him. “Come to hang out in the break room, have you?”
Fred’s grumble pitched lower.
Amanda’s crown flared pink to orange, then back to pink.
“Look at Amanda,” Drogar said. “She’s having a full conversation.”
“What’s she saying?” Willa asked.
Drogar tilted his head. “That you smell different. Like Traig. She approves.” His gaze swept across us both. “I was thinking I’d come by Traig’s cottage this weekend, if that’s—” He frowned. “Sorry. Willa and Traig’s cottage.”
“Yes,” I said. “Ours. And you’re welcome any time.”
His grin widened. “Good.”
The morning passed with intake calls, supply checks, and caring for various creatures. The usual tasks, yet everything felt different now. The mark on my wrist caught the light when I moved. Willa’s coffee mug sat on her desk, half-empty, and I refilled it for her twice.
Late afternoon, I walked the fenceline. My brothers and I took turns with this job, carrying a saw with us to cut down trees or branches that may have fallen on the line. This also gave us the opportunity to ensure our wild creatures were healthy, that none had been injured or gotten sick.
When I finished, I stopped at the bloomback enclosure, leaning against the fence.
Rue and Fern stood together near the end of their pen, their flowers full and vibrant. Rue’s coral pink bloomed brighter than I’d ever seen it. Fern’s deep lavender practically glowed.
Their adoptive family would collect them as soon as their barn was ready.
Rue shifted her weight. Fern’s flowers brightened, the deep lavender going almost luminous.
I’d documented their separation responses. Logged Fern’s decreased appetite. Checked everything against it with stress markers in three other species. I’d had all the data.
Willa had watched them for five minutes and known.
My tablet sat in my pocket. I didn’t pull it out. The bloombacks didn’t need documentation. They just needed each other.
The bloombacks shifted their feet, Rue’s flowers brightening further as Fern leaned into her.
I found Willa at her desk when I got back, Fred floating beside her head while she typed.
She looked up when I approached, smiled, and held out her hand.
I took it.
We didn’t need words for this part.
Her mark caught the light from her computer screen.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
A smile tugged free. “I’m better than okay. I’m just—”
“Waiting for the other boot to fall.”
I wasn’t sure what boots had to do with this, but the saying strangely worked.
“Go home,” she said. “I’ll be right behind you. I just need to finish this intake form.”
“I can wait.”
“I know you can.” She squeezed my hand. “But I know you have a few things you want to get done around the house. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes,” I said.
“I’ll time it.”
At home, I took care of the too-tall grass and tidied my back shed. It took longer than expected. By the time I went inside, the sun had started sinking toward the tree line.
I hung up my jacket and heeled off my boots, striding to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway.
Willa wasn’t here, but a cookie container sat on the kitchen table.
Full.
The smell hit me next. Sweet and warm. I didn’t smell chocolate chip or ginger but something new.
I walked across the room and lifted the lid.
Pale golden cookies studded with nuts and cranberries lay inside. The edges had been crisped to perfection, and the centers gave when I pressed one with my finger.
My language was systems and coffee measurements and well-timed arrival schedules. Hers was baked goods and reorganized file cabinet drawers and noticing when Fred needed company.
We’d been caring for each other in parallel without naming it.
I picked up a cookie and ate it in one bite.
Cranberry and walnut. A hint of something citrus.
Delicious.
My parents would’ve required a report, a way of measuring if what I’d done mattered.
Willa just baked cookies because she thought I’d like them.
I ate another one. Then a third.
I’d never be able to explain to my parents what this felt like. The not-needing-to-prove-it-ness of it.
I didn’t want to try.
She’d left a note beside the container. We’re on the back deck. Join us!
I grabbed a mug of tea, the cookie container, and headed outside.
The deck was small, barely big enough for two people and a grumbletoad, though he mostly floated overhead. I sat beside Willa in the second chair, placing my tea and the cookies on the low table between us.
Movement in the woods caught my eye.
A rumbleback emerged from the tree line, its stone armor catching the last light. It moved slowly across the clearing behind the cottage, heading toward the water trough I kept filled.
Fred’s grumble dropped to a lower register.
Amanda’s crown brightened, casting pink light across the deck.
Willa’s hand found mine, our fingers threading together.
The mark on my wrist caught the slanted sunlight, silver against green skin.
Only a few weeks until the Council decided. Right now, it didn’t matter. I had this. Her hand in mine. Fred grumbling. Amanda’s crown glowing. A rumbleback drinking from the trough while the sun set behind the trees.
I squeezed her hand.
She squeezed back.
We sat on the deck and watched the rumbleback lumber back into the woods.
Somewhere in the kingdom, my parents were reading the scribe’s report. Deciding whether Willa’s hand in mine, Fred’s grumbling, and the space we’d built together was good enough by their standards.
Willa traced circles on the back of my hand.
Let them send their verdict. Let them try to take this.
I wasn’t letting go.