The wind picked up then, sharp with icy intent. Her hair whipped across her face. Without thinking, he shifted his wings forward, blocking the worst of the gusts. He wanted to wince at the action; they were still sore.
She looked up at his wings. Stared at them with an expression he couldn’t read. Fascination?
Snow spat out of the sky at an alarming pace now. He frowned at it.
She paused, the look she gave him incomprehensible, her gaze shifted down to her bandaged hand. She sighed but then gestured toward her dwelling and made sounds he interpreted as an invitation. The female said something that included “cocoa,” which his cipherbots had managed to translate.
A hot beverage. She was offering him hospitality.
He grunted acknowledgment. Letting her lead him inside was a terrible idea. But beyond his comprehension, he followed her anyway.
He moved with her toward the house, wings tucked tight against the wind, and tried not to think about how right it felt to walk beside her.
Chapter Three
Delaney
Sotherewasamothman in my house…
Delaney tilted her head, assessing him as she shed her outer layers, hanging them to dry. She couldn’t believe she had actually invited him inside. Some random man—scratch that—some random cryptid man.
She paused. In actuality, she didn’t know if he was male; she had no frame of reference for whatever he actually was. For all she knew, he could be a she. Her eyes drifted down his chest and landed on the sizable bulge in his pants.
Yup. Definitely male.
Her face flushed. Maelic caught it, because of course he did, and the corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smirk. Then it was gone, replaced by that unreadable expression. But she’d seen it. And the fangs. He had fangs. She hadn’t noticed those before. Her gaze flicked away.
“Okay, big guy. I don’t know what we’re doing here, but let’s make some cocoa.”
She moved toward the kitchen. The space had always felt cramped, but with Maelic behind her, it felt downright suffocating. She could feel him there, warm at her back, and something in her chest fluttered stupidly. She cleared her throat and pointed at the table. “Take a seat.”
He tilted his head. She mimed sitting, and recognition flickered across his face. He lowered himself into the chair with surprising care, wings tucking tight to keep from knocking into anything. The old wood creaked under his weight, and his frame dwarfed the small seat entirely. He looked ridiculous—this massive creature crammed into her grandmother’s kitchen chair like a dad playing tea party with his child.
Whatever. This is my life now.
“Okay, let me see…” She rifled through the cabinet and felt a small spark of relief at finding the melting chocolate, but then her hand paused. The shelves were barer than she remembered. When did that happen? Her eyes flicked to the snow coming down hard outside; there would be no going out today to restock. She grabbed the cinnamon and shut the cabinet.
She made the hot chocolate the way Grandpa always had. Melted chocolate, not powder. Warmed milk, not water. The familiar motions settled something in her, even as her chest ached. She could still see him at this same stove—his toothy grin as he’d hand her the mug, the kiss on her cheek that smelled like pipe tobacco.
She swallowed hard and focused on her hands. She could’ve made an instant kind—that’s what she’d been surviving on for weeks—but something made her want to do this right.
“So you’re not aggressive now,” she said, knowing he couldn’t understand. The words helped fill the silence. “Even though you tried to—I don’t know—maul me last night?”
She dusted cinnamon on top and watched the powder settle.I wonder what that was about.
“But today you helped with my fence. With your weird glowing wrench thing.” Her nose scrunched. “When did cryptids get that kind of technology, anyway?”
As much as it hurt to do this without Grandpa, it felt nice to have someone to share it with. Cryptid or not. She carried both mugs to the table, set the fly-fishing one—Grandpa’s favorite—in front of Maelic, then slid into the seat across from him.
For a moment, she just watched.
His clawed hands wrapped around the mug, dwarfing it. He lifted it to his face and sniffed, his antennae twitching andperking forward like a dog catching a scent. Then those red eyes rose to meet hers, one brow raised. Her stomach flipped.
“You drink it,” she said, her voice a little breathless.
She lifted her own mug and took a sip, warmth spreading across her tongue. “Like this.”
With exaggerated wariness, Maelic brought the cup to his lips and mimicked her. His eyes widened. His antennae perked straight up—the good position, she was starting to think—and a low rumble vibrated through his chest. It wasn’t a growl this time. It was deeper, a rhythmic thrum-thrum-thrum that she could actually feel vibrating the table under her elbows.
