Page 30 of Buckle Up, Buttercup

Shroud dips low and watches her closely as she lifts a hand. She brushes her fingers down his nose and over his high cheekbones, then moves them to his square jaw.

“It’s you.” Her voice is awed, reverent as she moves her fingers to his horns. “And these?”

He shudders when she draws her fingertips along the length of his left horn.

“Sensitive,” he says gruffly.

She laughs. “Oh my God. I don’t know anything about you now!”

“You know all the important parts,” he corrects, “except for this. Shall we take our seats, my sweet? I can’t wait to introduce you to skyball.”

Her mouth drops open. “I thought you coached football!”

He shrugs. “Closest story I could go with, Vela.”

When he offers her his hand, she hesitates a moment then takes it, threading her fingers through his. I hand Shroud the welcome book for later—going through the scavenger hunt at the front will be the perfect way to introduce Vela to Pine Gulch.

As they make their way to two empty seats on the sidelines, the entire arena breaks out into cheers. The kiss cam moves to them, showing a shocked-looking Vela and beaming Shroud as they sit in the empty seats.

I follow them over, promising to be there after the game to tour downtown if she wants a human friend to accompany her. Unsurprisingly, she looks pretty okay with Shroud by her side, staring at him like she’s totally shell-shocked.

It’s always a little like that when we call humans from the outside world. I’m sure it’s a weird experience for them to easily enter our town just because they feel drawn to it, and then for us to unglamour everything to reveal the ward that protects us from the outside world, and—oh, by the way—we’re all monsters. Most of the humans who live in the haven system are some sort of witch, too. The odd human has no magical ability at all, like my dad, but that’s less common.

Leaving Vela and Shroud to it, I return to my seat. Uncharacteristic moroseness fills me as I sit between Jasper and my mother. The game starts, and the players come onto the field, but I can’t stop my eyes from drifting to Vela and Shroud. They’re engrossed in conversation, and he’s obviously enamored. He’s missing the entire game, his head propped on his fingertips and one hand wrapped around her knee. She talks emphatically, and the only time he even looks at the field is when she seems to ask a question about it.

Eventually, I pull my eyes from them and focus on the players. My mother leans over. “Did you do Hay’s wings? Looks awesome, sweetheart!”

I smile. “Yeah, he asked me to try. No idea how long it’ll keep, but it looks pretty badass, huh?”

Jack snorts. “Gaudy as hell. I’m gonna make fun of him after the game.”

I shake my head, fairly certain that the twins’ and Hadrian’s friendship is built on a foundation of their snarky nonsense and Hadrian’s utter unflappability. It surprises me anew that it’s not Jace and Alk who are so close. They’re more alike. But perhaps that’s precisely why they’re not drawn together.

On the other side of my father, Jasper sits with his head in a book about green magic. Of my three brothers, he has to work the hardest, although he’s usually not inclined. It’s the same because his magic is so damn strong when he chooses to apply himself. In some ways it surprised me he wanted to study for the level-three mastery test. I don’t think Jack’ll ever bother with it.

Glancing at Vela and Shroud again, my heart leaps into my throat at seeing his huge fingers trailing up her jaw. He stares at her in absolute wonder, eyes hooded and the slightest smirk on his face.

And I know that look, because it’s the way Hadrian looked at me earlier.

Hadrian

“Everything alright, Alk?”

I look up to find my coach, Rip Shorthorn, sinking onto the couch next to me with a seasonal mead in his hand.

Smiling, I nod and wave at the rest of the team who are playing touch football in his enormous backyard while the coach’s grown sons grill steak and vegetables for a post-game family-style meal. We don’t always do this after home games, but when we do, it’s one of the only times I hang with the team afterward.

“How you feeling about things, son? You’ve been here for a few months now…”

His deep voice is comforting, reassuring. I like him as a coach more than I thought I would. I’d been so hopeful Manorin would take the Punishers job and I’d get to play under him still. That was the main reason I stayed at the Protector Academy as long as I did. But Rip reminds me of Manorin in many ways—quiet, observant, doesn’t suffer fools and sees through monsters to what they really are. In a short time, I’ve come to rely on him more than I imagined I would. I’m glad I kept an open mind.

He takes a deep sip of his mead, throat bobbing as he enjoys the brew, crossing one muscular leg over the other.

“I’ve noticed you don’t party with the younger guys. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a fit thing or you not feelin’ welcome.”

I shake my head, leaning onto my forearms. “Nothing like that, Coach. The team has been incredibly welcoming. I’m just a homebody.” Waving at the grill and his sons, I smile. “This is more my speed than anything else. Shit, if I had it my way, the team would spend their free time helpin’ me fix up my ranch. I like to get my hands on things and work, I guess. Never was much of a partier. Do you think it’s a problem?”

He smiles, the move pulling his thin lips wide and exposing bright shiny fangs. “No, son, I don’t. I never used to be able to understand that perspective myself, though, until my calves came along. I loved to go out with my team and party. But now? I don’t even like traveling for games. Perfect night for me is spending time with family, eating a good home-cooked meal and staring at my beautiful mate over a dinner table filled with our calves and grandcalves.”