Had he? He wasn’t sure anymore. The thought of Sara walking away—choosing to leave, choosing someone else, choosing anything that wasn’t him—made his lungs constrict and his claws ache.
But Flora was right. She usually was, damn her.
“Of course I am,” Flora said complacently. “So get off your ass and talk to her about all of it—the nesting, the possessiveness, the instincts screaming at you to claim her.” She shrugged. “And if she runs screaming, at least you’ll know.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“I’m not here to comfort you. I’m here to make sure you don’t screw this up.” She patted his cheek again, a lot harder this time. “Now go back inside, stop terrorizing your kitchen staff, and have an honest conversation with that sweet girl before you do something stupid.”
She turned and marched back inside, bright red tracksuit glowing faintly in the light from the windows.
Silence descended again.
“She’s terrifying,” Eric said finally. “But she was right about me and Robin.”
“And about Nina and me,” Sam agreed.
“I find her refreshing,” Garrick offered. “Gargoyles appreciate directness.”
He said nothing. He was staring at the river and the faint reflection of stars on the water’s surface. His mind was full of Sara—her laugh, her scent, the way she fit against him like she’d been made for his arms.
Talk to her. Tell her everything.
He’d been so focused on controlling himself, on proving he could handle the intensity of what he felt, that he’d never stopped to consider whether honesty might be better than restraint.
She deserved to know what she was dealing with. She deserved to understand what it meant that he’d built her a nest, that his instincts had claimed her, that every fiber of his being was screaming that she was his in a way he’d never experienced before.
And then…
Then she could decide for herself.
“I need to go,” he said abruptly.
Eric raised an eyebrow. “Kitchen’s still?—”
“Nina can handle it.”
“You’re going to her now?” Garrick sounded faintly surprised. “It’s nearly midnight.”
“I know.” He was already moving towards the door. “But if I wait until tomorrow, I’ll lose my nerve. And I’ve wasted enough time on being careful already.”
He paused at the threshold, looking back at the odd assembly on his porch—the werewolf sheriff with his knowing eyes, the reclusive kraken floating silent in the darkness, the gargoyle who’d traveled the world and still came back to this strange little town.
His friends. His community. His chosen family, as complicated and unlikely as they were.
“Thank you,” he said. “For… whatever this was.”
“Emotional support group for monsters with feelings?” Eric suggested.
“Support group is generous,” Sam murmured. “I mostly provided atmospheric presence.”
“I came for the drama,” Garrick said flatly. “I was not disappointed.”
He snorted, surprising himself with the sound. Something had loosened in his chest—not the tension, not the wanting, but thefear underneath it. Flora’s words echoed in his mind.She has to choose.
Time to give her the choice.
“Tell Sara the town’s rooting for her,” Eric called as he pushed through the door. “Not you. Her. You’re a grumpy bastard and we’re all hoping she can fix that.”
