Chapter 30
KAGE
The rain starts as a whisper against the roof, then turns into a steady hammering that shakes the thin metal panels of Bella’s ceiling.
At first, I think it’s normal storm noise—until the drip hits my snout. Cold. Persistent.
Bella groans from the couch. “Don’t tell me the roof’s giving up now.”
Another drip, this time straight onto the holo projector. Sparks hiss.
I grunt. “It’s leaking.”
“No shit, scales.” She rolls off the couch and drags a bucket under the drip, muttering, “Well, that’s one more thing the landlord won’t fix.”
Natalie appears in the doorway, hair sticking up, clutching her sword. “Monster fight?”
“No, kiddo,” Bella sighs. “Roof fight.”
Her little face lights up. “Even better.”
Fixing it turns into a disaster.
The ladder’s too small for me, creaks like it’s about to snap. The tool kit’s missing half the bits. And the roof itself? Rusted through, patched with plastic sheeting.
I try anyway. Bella hands me tools, snarking the whole time.
“You sure you’re not secretly an architect?” she says as I wedge a wrench between two bolts.
“I built a deli counter once.”
“Wow, useful.”
The wrench slips. My claws gouge the metal.
Crash.
The ladder gives. I land flat on my back, the air whooshing out of me.
Natalie claps like it’s the best show she’s ever seen. “Do it again!”
Bella howls with laughter, doubled over, tears streaking her cheeks. “Oh my god. You’re—oh—don’t ever stop being this clumsy. I can’t—”
I growl, heat rising in my frills. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s hilarious,” she gasps between fits of laughter.
I try again. Same story. Ladder shifts, I lurch sideways, crash into the wall. Natalie screams with joy. Bella falls against the counter, wheezing.
“Alright,” I mutter, dragging the ruined ladder upright, “the ceiling wins.”
By the time the leak is patched—poorly—we’re soaked through. My scales drip. Bella’s shirt clings to her, hair plastered to her face. Even Natalie’s damp from sitting too close.
The toolkit’s fried. The floor’s a mess. But Bella can’t stop smiling, even when she mutters, “We’re screwed.”
We end up eating takeout on the floor, wrapped in towels. Grease-stained cartons scattered around us, rain still pounding above.
Natalie wiggles between us, noodles hanging from her mouth like antennae. “Look, I’m a bug!”
Bella snorts into her drink. I laugh, low in my chest.
And for a moment—just one fragile moment—I let myself think: This is it. This is what it could be.
Not perfect. But real.
But reality won’t leave me alone.
The signs are piling up.
Natalie’s mannerisms—her stubborn little chin when she argues, the way she squints when she’s plotting something. Bella’s face echoes in her every grin.
But there’s more. Something in her eyes. That shimmer. The way her pupils shift when the light hits. Too familiar. Too close to mine.
I don’t want to see it. Don’t want to believe it.
Because if I ask… and I’m wrong?
I lose them both.
And if I ask, and I’m right?
I don’t know if I’m ready for that truth.
So I say nothing.
Instead, when the rain slows and the lights flicker low, I hold out my hand. “Dance with me.”
Bella blinks. “What?”
“Dance.”
“There’s no music.”
“Don’t need it.”
She stares at me a long moment. Then, slowly, she slips her hand into mine.
Her skin is warm, damp from the towel, soft against my claws.
I pull her close, careful with my strength. We sway in the kitchen, silent except for dripping water and Natalie’s soft snores from the couch.
She rests her head against my chest. My heart hammers so loud I’m sure she hears it.
I whisper, “I thought I’d never have this.”
She murmurs back, voice thick, “Me either.”
The tension builds. A string pulled tighter, tighter—until it snaps.
Our mouths meet. This kiss isn’t hesitant. It’s hungry.
She presses against me, fingers curling into my scales, pulling me closer. My hands slide down her back, memorizing every curve.
We stumble to the couch, half-laughing, half-breathless.
The rain pounds harder, like the world is pushing us together.
And then there’s nothing but us. Her taste. Her heat. Her voice whispering my name like a secret.
Not reunion. Not just heat.
It’s forgiveness.
It’s home.
After, she lies curled against me, hair tangled across my chest. My arm wraps around her automatically, like she’s always belonged there.
Her breaths are steady, but I can feel the wetness against my skin. She’s crying.
I don’t say anything. I just hold her tighter.
Because I know—she still hasn’t told me everything.
And whatever it is, it’s coming for us.
Like a storm on the horizon.
And when it breaks, nothing will be the same.