Silence stretches between us.
Then his hand reaches out, cups my face. His thumb brushes my cheekbone.
"I don't want to leave you." The raw honesty in his voice cuts deeper than any promise. "I fought through hell to get back. But I won't let you die because I'm too selfish to do what's necessary."
"You said it might kill us both," I counter. "What if I lose you anyway?"
"You might." His hand slides to the back of my neck. "But I won't bond with you without your full consent. You need to choose."
The space between us charges with electricity. His breath ghosts across my lips. Those storm-gray eyes search mine, looking for something. Permission, maybe. Or certainty.
"Stop waiting for me to disappear on you." His voice drops to a rough whisper. "I'm here now. Are you brave enough to take this risk with me?"
The challenge hits like cold water.
Am I?
I spent years photographing wilderness, always drawn to certain places without understanding why. Came to Redwood Rise on assignment about the coastal redwoods. Found a man who turns into a bear and fights shadow monsters. Watched his corruption nearly consume him.
And I'm still here.
"I choose you." The words come out strong. "I choose this. I know the risks."
Satisfaction blazes across his features. "Good. Because I'm done waiting."
Then his mouth is on mine again, and this kiss is different. Still demanding, still possessive, but layered with promise. His hands slide into my hair and I open for him. Let him claim every inch, take everything he needs.
His tongue slides against mine and heat pools low in my belly. My hands press against his bare chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath my palms.
He breaks away with visible effort, resting his forehead against mine. We're both breathing hard, hearts hammering in sync.
"We need to stop." His voice is strained. "Or I won't be able to."
"Maybe I don't want you to stop."
The growl that rumbles through his chest makes my toes curl. But he pulls back, puts space between us.
"Not yet. We do this right. You need to know everything before we go further."
Frustration wars with appreciation. He's giving me time. Space to process. Even though his entire body screams mine.
"Okay." I settle back against the couch. "Tell me everything."
He does.
For hours, we talk. He excuses himself briefly to grab clothes from a dresser—jeans and a flannel shirt he pulls on quickly—then sits back down across from me. He explains his research into marine biology and ley lines, how his studies led him to dive a convergence point off the coast. How he accidentally triggered a tear in reality and got pulled through. Six months in a shadow realm fighting to find a way home. The creatures that hunted him. The corruption that seeped into his bear with every passing day.
How he never stopped trying to get back.
I tell him about my parents. The car accident that killed them both when I was eight. Learning to document everything through a camera lens because photographs don't leave. How I've always been drawn to certain places without understanding why until now.
He doesn't pity me. Doesn't try to fix anything. Just listens like every word matters.
"You survived." His voice is matter-of-fact. "You're strong. That's why you're my mate."
The validation settles into my bones.
Around midnight, he makes sandwiches. We eat sitting on his porch, watching stars through pine branches. Surreal—domestic and comfortable—like we've done this a hundred times before.
