“That ... has a certain ring to it, but might be a bit too on-the-nose.”
A gust of wind whirled through the yard, caught the blossoms on the trees and sent a cascade of petals swirling through the air. “What about naming it after those?” Cela asked. “They’re so beautiful.”
Tyr grinned at her. He looked amazing, with a smudge of dirt on his nose and cobwebs in his tousled, wavy hair. His T-shirt strained across his broad chest, and in that moment it was all Cela could do to clamp down on her griffin and herself, and not throw herself across the space between them and press herself to him with devastating consequences for both of them.
His smile faltered, and she wondered if he was having similar thoughts. He looked away from her and watched the petals whirl off the trees. “That’s a great idea. Apple BlossomOrchard. Or something similar. I’m not sure if apple trees are what those really are.” Abruptly he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone and unlocked it. He started to hold it out to her, then laid it on the cleaned-off end of a recently repaired plant table—a workaround they’d developed to pass things back and forth without accidental skin contact. “Why don’t you look it up? It’ll give you more practice with the internet.”
He had already given her a brief introduction to looking things up on what he called The Googling, or something like that, but she cupped the phone nervously in her hands. “How?”
“Take a close up picture of the trees and upload it to image search.” He pointed out the camera button, his dirt-smudged thumb coming dangerously close to brushing the back of her hand before he quickly pulled his hand back.
The camera turned out to be much more fun than the search. She wandered through the trees, occasional showers of petals dotting her hair, and glanced over now and then where the kids were sleeping in their playpen in the shade. She took pictures of the trees, the grass, the house, and more than once of Tyr from a distance. The sunlight caught his hair, bringing out red-gold highlights. She wondered what his griffin looked like and hoped he would show her someday.
We are mates. We ought to share everything.
She wasn’t sure if the thought came from her griffin or herself.
But they couldn’t. She looked down at her arm, where the loose sleeve of a sweater Gaby had given her covered up the tattoo. The slashes had fully healed, leaving only faint scars to interrupt the lines and indicate to all other griffins that she was an outcast.
The thought had occurred to her to try deliberatelycutting it off, but she had stopped herself with the reminder that the magic still worked even with the rest of the tattoo broken. The exile mark was for social purposes only. She still couldn’t speak to anyone about her griffin past if they didn’t already know.
So trying to destroy the lines on her arm would do nothing but hurt herself. The magic had sunk deep in her, becoming part of her bones and blood.
And she had a worse suspicion about what it might be able to do. On the now-infrequent occasions when she accidentally brushed against Tyr, she felt her griffin shrinking away from her, becoming hard to reach as it retreated from the pain.
Was it possible that too-prolonged touching might sever her connection to her griffin entirely? She wondered if even Kav could be so cruel.
“What’s wrong?” Tyr’s voice came from behind her, quiet and sympathetic.
She looked around. He had come up without her noticing and stood a few feet away, gazing at her in a way that suggested he would have loved to take her in his arms and let her head rest against his shoulder.
Their heights were perfect for her to fit just right, her face nestled in the crook of his neck.
Cela took a shaky breath, pushed the thought away, and thrust the phone at him. “Here. I didn’t find the kind of tree. Maybe you can.”
Tyr took it carefully with his fingertips. “Can I do anything to help?”
Touch me. Hold me. Lay me down on the grass and make love to me.
“No,” she said. “Have you—heard from any of your friends?” She knew Tyr had been quietly asking questions to the other shifters in town, although he had reassured her thathe hadn’t revealed anything personal about her, just sounded out the local shifter community for information on anyone who might know something about magical tattoos.
“Not yet. Our people are tremendous recluses, you know.”
Cela managed to smile. “That’s an understatement.”
“But the local shifters have some helpful contacts. There’s a solution out there, if we can just find it.”
Cela nodded. “It’s only been a week.”
“That’s right.” Tyr smiled lopsidedly. “Only a week.”
Cela brushed her hands across her skirt. Borrowed, like all her clothes—hand-me-downs, cast-offs, giveaways. Suddenly she was furiously, miserablytiredof being in debt to everyone she knew, even her mate. “Tyr, do you think I could get a job?”
“A job?” He seemed startled. “You don’t have to.”
“I know. But I want to. I live in the human world now, and I’d like to truly feel like part of it. I especially want to start pitching in and helping out. You’ve done so much for me. I’d like to contribute as well.”
To her relief, he didn’t argue; he even grinned at her. “You know you can live here forever without having to do anything. But another paycheck coming in sure wouldn’t hurt right now. What do you think you might like to do?”
