Page 186 of Beasts of Mine

“Oh, that's dangerous.” I whispered to the laptop as I reached for my notebook almost automatically, excitement already turning into equipment lists and logistical questions before I'd even finished reading.

I started writing as I moved through the rest of the message: cold-weather equipment, wind protection, multiple elevations, long-lens work, possible low-light tracking, backup storage requirements, publication rights, feature placement, and potential cover consideration if the project produced the right image. Then I reached the proposed compensation and stopped long enough to read the number twice.

“…That's very dangerous.” I muttered as I underlined the rate, already mentally subtracting travel insurance, equipment servicing, additional cold-weather gear, and several other expenses while realizing I would still come out comfortably ahead.

The timing was good too. Wild Terrain's proposed start date fell several weeks after my current contract ended, which gave me enough time to go home, deal with laundry that would probably qualify as hazardous material by then, service my equipment, replace whatever needed replacing, see my family, repack, and leave again without rushing directly from one assignment into another.

There was almost nothing wrong with the offer. The pay was good, the project interested me, the planning in Caroline's initial summary looked solid, and the access was the kind of opportunity photographers spent years trying to get. It was exactly the sort of job I'd worked toward.

Then I reached the duration again.

Twelve weeks in field. Three months.

My pen stopped against the notebook while the excitement remained exactly where it was. Something less pleasant simply joined it. Being gone that long meant no Malek, Tavian, or Luca. No temple, no nest, and no falling asleep surrounded by cedar and damp earth, citrus leaves and spice, sandalwood and herbs, all mixed with my own scent until the room had become familiar in a way hotel rooms and temporary field beds never did.

It meant no Tavian handing me fruit with the confidence of someone personally responsible for whether I'd eaten enough that day, no Luca quietly noticing that I needed something before I'd finished deciding whether to ask, and no Malek sitting close enough for our knees or shoulders to touch while saying almost nothing and somehow making the silence comfortable. Three months without their purrs suddenly sounded considerably longer than twelve weeks had on the screen.

I realized my fingers had moved toward my gland again and dropped my hand into my lap just as another thought surfaced.

I could turn it down.

For several seconds, I stared at the email, more startled than tempted by the possibility.

“No.” I said aloud as I frowned at the screen, irritated with myself rather than Caroline. I'd turned down jobs before. Plenty of them. I wasn't desperate enough to believe every opportunity automatically deserved a yes. I'd refused assignments because the timing was terrible, the compensation didn't justify the work, the planning felt unsafe, a client expected far more than they were willing to pay for, or the subject simply didn't interest me enough to justify spending weeks away.

None of those things applied here. The timing worked, the compensation was good, the project was legitimate, and I wanted to photograph pumas badly enough that I'd already started mentally sorting which lenses needed servicing before I'd finished reading the email.

The only reason I'd even considered refusing was because I didn't want to be away from three men. I leaned back, the wooden chair pressing against my shoulders while the ceiling fan clicked faintly overhead.

“When the hell did that happen?” I asked the empty room as I stared at the screen, genuinely wondering when Malek, Tavian, and Luca had become part of a decision that used to be simple.

Malek was easiest to trace backward because he'd been Cat before he'd been Malek. Maybe it had begun beside the creek when I'd believed he was nothing more than an injured leopard and he'd tolerated me cleaning blood from his fur, or maybe it came later, after I learned who he really was and discovered that beneath all that quiet Alpha intensity was a man who wanted me close but was trying very hard to understand that wanting something wasn't the same as having the right to decide it.

Tavian had probably slipped through my defenses somewhere between making me want to strangle him and appearing with another tiny forest treasure because he'd decided I might like it. A seed, a shell, fruit I hadn't asked for. He remembered which things made me laugh, which animals annoyed me, what foods I reached for first, and how much time I needed after waking before conversation became survivable.

Luca was harder because Luca rarely announced what he was doing. He'd learned where I kept the radio because he'd watched me put it there, moved the table because rain had started reaching my equipment and then made sure I understood I could move it back, and left an empty box, shelf, and drawer rather than deciding what should go inside them. Somehow, he managed to help without making me feel handled.

Maybe it had happened when all three of them stood outside my nest and waited for an invitation instead of assuming they belonged inside. Maybe it was when I'd looked at Malek's shirt, Luca's blanket, Tavian's seed and shell, and my old lens cloth all mixed together and thought Home. Or maybe there wasn't one moment at all.

That seemed more likely.

It had happened through a hundred ordinary things that hadn't seemed important enough individually to name, and somehow it had still happened fast enough that I hadn't recognized it until another assignment forced me to imagine being gone for months.

I loved them.

All three of them.

For several seconds, I simply sat there while the quiet hum of the equipment and the distant calls of birds outside continued as though I'd realized nothing more important than tomorrow's weather forecast.

Oh.

My eyes moved back to the length of the project.

Oh, shit.

I covered my face with both hands and let out a muffled groan.

“This is ridiculous.” I told myself from behind my palms, my cheeks heating even though nobody was around to witness it.