The words settle between us, heavy with meaning. Not just the cabin we've expanded to hold both our work—his marine biology equipment mixing with my photography gear, bookshelves holding both our passions. But the family that claimed me, the clan that accepts me, the belonging I never thought I'd find.
We stay a few minutes longer, then lock up and head back to the truck.
By evening we're at the Bear Claw Tavern, the whole family crammed around tables Eli pushed together to accommodate everyone. It's become tradition—Saturday dinners where the whole clan hangs out together, trading stories and laughter over Eli, Beau and Cilla's excellent cooking.
I slide into my usual seat between Jonah and Quinn, accepting the beer Eli sets in front of me without asking. Three months, and they already know my order. Know I prefer pale ale to dark, that I'll steal fries from Jonah's plate, that I laugh hardest at Sawyer's terrible jokes.
"How was the research trip?" Eli asks, leaning back in his chair with Quinn tucked against his side.
"Productive," Jonah says. "The orcas are definitely following ley currents. Maren got some incredible shots."
"Careful not to reveal too much," Calder warns, but his tone is mild. He trusts me now, trusts that I understand the balance between documentation and exposure.
"I know how to frame a shot," I assure him. "Magic stays subtle. Just enough to make people wonder."
Cilla grins. "I want to see them when you're ready. I love how you capture the shimmer without making it obvious."
The conversation flows around me—comfortable and familiar. Sawyer tells embarrassing stories about young Jonah that make me laugh until my sides hurt. Beau makes terrible puns that somehow still land. Eli and Quinn are quietly affectionate in their corner, hands linked under the table. Calder and Cilla hold court, the alpha couple watching over their clan with satisfied contentment.
I've been part of this for three months, but it still hits me sometimes—the reality of belonging. These people are my family now. Not temporary. Not conditional.
When Beau raises his glass for a toast, everyone follows suit.
"To family," he says simply.
"To bonds," Quinn adds.
"To surviving impossible odds," Eli continues.
I lift my glass, feeling gratitude press against my chest. "To finding what you didn't know you were looking for."
The glasses clink, and we drink. Jonah's love washes over me through the bond—steady and certain.
The tavern empties slowly, families peeling off one by one. Jonah and I take the long way back, detouring to the beach. The sun is setting, painting the Pacific in shades of copper and gold. Waves crash against the shore in rhythmic patterns that echo the ley lines pulsing beneath our feet.
"I've been thinking," I say, my hand wrapped in his.
"Dangerous."
I elbow him gently. "About the future. About us."
His steps slow, attention focusing completely on me. "What about us?"
"I want children." The admission comes easier than expected. "I want to give them the stability I never had. A real family. All of it."
Love crashes through the bond so hard it steals my breath—his hope for our children, already fierce and protective.
"I've been thinking the same thing," he admits. "Imagining teaching them to shift, to respect the ley lines, to love the ocean the way I do."
"They'd have both our worlds." I lean into his side. "Science and magic. Research and art."
"Everything." His arm wraps around my waist. "When?"
"Not yet. Maybe in a year or two." I want to savor this—just us, building our life, before adding more complexity. "But soon."
We walk in comfortable silence, feet sinking into wet sand. The future stretches before us—everything I never dared hope for.
Then I see it.
