I should be scared. This is moving so fast, faster than any relationship I’ve ever had. We’ve known each other for such a short time, and most of that involved me being either professionally polite or literally tied up.
But instead of fear, I feel… settled. Like something that’s been misaligned inside me for years has finally clicked into place.
“Okay,” I say simply.
“Okay?” He sounds incredulous.
“Okay, I’ll stay. I mean, not full-time immediately. I still have a business to run, and Dad needs my help. But…” I prop myself up to look at him properly. “I want this. You. Us. Whatever this becomes.”
“You’re certain?” Those six eyes are searching my face like he’s looking for any sign of doubt. “I’m not easy to live with. I’m territorial and possessive. I will want to know where you are at all times, and I won’t react well to any perceived threats to your safety. My species bonds for life, June. There is no casual dating. If you choose this—choose me—I will never let you go.”
“Promises, promises,” I say, and kiss his cheek.
The sound he makes is somewhere between a growl and a purr, and then I’m on my back, his weight carefully distributed on the hammock around me as he demonstrates exactly how possessive he can be.
It’s a very convincing argument.
The call from my dadcomes the following morning, just as I’m teaching Riven the correct way to crack eggs without getting shell fragments everywhere.
“Too much force,” I’m saying, watching him pulverize another egg with his massive hands. “You’ve got to be gentle—”
My phone buzzes on the counter, Dad’s name flashing on the screen. I’m quick to answer. “Dad?”
“Junebug!” His voice is warm with relief when I answer. “Got good news. Road crews just cleared the main pass. You should be able to get down the mountain now.”
Instead of feeling relief, my stomach drops like I’ve missed a step in the dark.
“That’s great,” I manage, aware of Riven’s sudden stillness beside me. “What’s the damage to the route?”
“Pretty rough in spots, but your truck can handle it. I’ve got a backlog here that needs sorting, though. Mrs. Patterson’s been calling about her medication, and—”
“I’ll head down now,” I interrupt, my brain already shifting into logistics mode even as my heart protests. “Put together the priority list. I can start deliveries by noon.”
We talk for another minute about which roads are still closed, which clients need urgent deliveries, the usual operational details. Then I hang up, and the kitchen feels too quiet.
Riven is very carefully not looking at me, focused intently on the eggs in front of him. He manages to crack one shell perfectly down the middle, dropping its contents cleanly in the pan.
For a moment, the only sound is the egg frying.
“So,” I say eventually. “Roads are clear.”
“I heard.”
“I need to get back. People are waiting on their deliveries, and—”
“I understand.” His tone is perfectly neutral, which somehow makes it worse. “Your work is important.”
It is. I know it is. I have clients who rely on my deliveries, who need their medications and other essential supplies. Not to mention my dad will need help sorting the backlog that’s surely been piling up in the warehouse.
But the thought of leaving this cabin, of returning to my normal routes and schedules and carefully controlled life, makes me want to scream.
“Do you have a phone number?” I ask instead. “So I can… We can…”
I trail off, hating how uncertain I sound.
Riven finally looks at me with an unreadable expression.
“I don’t have a phone number,” he admits quietly. “I’ve never had anyone to call before.”
