I find her a moment later, dwarfed by the massive couch she’s sitting on. Her hair is up in the usual messy ponytail, curls flying all over, her glasses perched on her nose, one shoulder peeking out of a cozy yellow sweater. She’s holding a steaming mug of honeyfruit tea, the cup closer to the size of a cereal bowl in comparison to her tiny hands.
Beside her is my nephew, Pan. He’s only ten, but he’s already roughly her size—and he grins up at me, looking up from what seems to be a book of fairy tales.
“Uncle Garrik!” Pan shouts. “Your friend brought me a book!”
I only realize I’m staring when Davrin walks up behind me and nudges me, making me stumble a step forward. Iris sees me a moment later, watching her like some creep, and her eyes light up as her face flushes.
Everyone sees it.
I wince.
“Garrik,” she says.
Full stop.
“Iris,” I say back.
Silence.
“Garrik, we were just catching up with your friend,” Flora offers. “She was regaling us with tales of your time on Earth together, rescuing books.”
I clear my throat, nodding slowly, eyes flicking back to Iris—who is still watching me, still sitting there like she belongs,like she’s already made herself at home in a way that makes my stomach twist into knots. She’s got that look on her face, that stubborn set of her jaw that tells me she’s here for a reason. And I am absolutely, positively not prepared for whatever that reason is.
Pan kicks his legs over the side of the couch, still grinning. “Uncle Garrik, did you really fend off a whole pack of enemy lycan just so Iris could salvage a comic book collection?!”
I exhale slowly, rubbing at the back of my neck. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me—Flora’s keen, inquisitive gaze, Davrin’s barely restrained smirk, and Pan’s wide-eyed excitement—but it’s nothing compared to the weight of Iris’s stare.
She’s watching me like she’s trying to figure something out, like she’s waiting for me to make the first move. And I…have no idea what to do with that.
So I do the only thing I can think of.
I lie.
“Of course not,” I say gruffly, crossing my arms. “It wasn’t awholepack.”
Pan groans dramatically. “Come on, Uncle Garrik! That’s the boring answer.”
Iris, the traitor, grins into her tea. “It was at least asmallpack,” she supplies. “And he did fight them. And hedidwin. But to be fair, the comic bookswererare editions.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Yousaidthey were valuable historical artifacts.”
She shrugs. “Theywere! To me.”
Davrin cackles from behind me. Flora shakes her head fondly. Pan looks at me like I’m the coolest person in the world, which makes it infinitely worse.
Iris, meanwhile, just keeps sipping her tea.
I exhale through my nose, running a hand down my face. “Pan, don’t believe everything Iris says.”
Iris gasps, mock-offended. “Excuse you,everything I say is true.I’m a librarian. I deal exclusively in facts.”
“Iris said you promised her a tour of the meadery and you still haven’t done it,” Pan says, suddenly accusatory—like I’m the bad guy here, lycan-fighting badass aside. “Why not, Uncle Garrik?”
“I uh…” I stammer, all pretense of swagger gone. I don’t know how to answer—because I kissed her? Because I broke her door, I wanted her so badly? Because it just proved that if I even try to touch her, there’s a chance to break her and?—
“Oh, I don’t mind waiting,” she says, all saccharine patience. “Whenever you’re ready, beekeeper.”
I exhale sharply through my nose.
