9
LINCOLN
Bronson's apartment was nothing like my place, not that I’d expected it to be and nor should it. Like me, he’d stamped his personality on his place.
It was small, but it oozed warmth and comfort. One of the differences compared to my home was the number of books. They were on the shelves, on the coffee table, stacked beside the sofa, and there was a pile on the kitchen counter.
Interestingly, there were framed images on the walls of mountains, forests, and wildlife. I puzzled over those, thinking he was jerking my chain, knowing that I was coming. Or had he stolen the ones Dale had printed out for me?
“So you’re into photography, specifically nature photography?”
He looked up, and his brow was crumpled in a frown. But I caught the moment he twigged what I was getting at. His eyes grew wide, and he bit his bottom lip, trying to tamp down a smile. But he didn’t succeed, and he snorted, which quickly became a full-throated laugh.
“My cousin took those.” He studied one of the photos. “That’s one reason I picked up on your BS, because when photography is mentioned, he can’t stop talking about the places he’s been, the sunsets, the animals, and the different cultures he’s been privileged to photograph.”
“My brother did print out some pics.”
Bronson rolled his eyes. “Give it a rest.” He reached behind the TV and pulled out an unframed print and held it to his chest. “I bought this after… you know… you showed me all of you.”
Is he talking about me?
Maybe.
I hoped it wasn’t a dick pic because he’d seen more of me than most people. Though if it was NSFW, that would be a positive step, at least I thought so. My brain was a little frazzled with all the back and forth.
He flipped the pic around, revealing a majestic photo of my panther in the early morning light. It was the one I’d sent him from the bonfire.
“He’s stunningly beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
He patted the couch, and we sat side by side, but our thighs and shoulders weren’t touching and I wished they were. “Tell me about human and shifter relationships. Not friends, but intimate, partner ones.”
I hesitated, because was he asking if part A was inserted into part B the way two humans had sex?
But he clarified by saying, “In general.”
I launched into an explanation of mating versus marriage, describing how one could be broken by a decree while the other was a lifetime bond. But I detoured about the subject of mates.
“Some humans can’t accept the shifter lifestyle, while others do but are unable to adapt.” Knowing your life partner transformed into an animal and hunted prey could be an insurmountable hurdle in a relationship if the shifter was carnivorous.
“So the difference is not just in the name but in the nature of the relationship.”
Much as I wanted to avoid the fated-mate discussion, I had to be honest. I’d intended to do it the day I shifted, but Bronson had rushed off. Not that I blamed him.
“Bronson, I like you.” That sounded as though we were high schoolers wanting to date. Or maybe kindergartners declaring we were going to marry our desk-mate.
I cleared my throat and began again. “You are my fated mate.” I drew in a deep breath, hoping when I let it out, he would have responded.
“Fated mate.” He got up and put a couple of yards between us. I let out that breath because his behavior suggested he wasn’t going to agree. “Can you explain that?” He crossed his arms, another signal that he wasn’t having what I was serving.
“For some shifters, not all but some, the universe puts someone on earth who is their destiny.”
If the universe is listening, I’d like to take back those words, please. But she wasn’t.
“Fate?” He huffed. “So you get no choice? There’s no falling in love?”
“That’s not… It’s hard to describe.” There was no hole opening to swallow me, so I had to keep going. “Some humans believe in love at first sight, right?”
