“Complicated?” he echoed. “Is there any part of all this thatisn’tcomplicated? Where does it rate between razor-winged bird shifters and having my dinner stolen by a baby dragon?”
She laughed weakly. But at least it was laughter. Not a sob at his terrible and terribly timed sense of humor. “Good point. I—I don’t know where it rates. Probably worse than all of them.”
“I doubt that.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Tension thrummed through her. Little twitches of worry, like she was one wrong word from running away. He ran his hand down her arm, a slow caress. A silent plea.Stay with me.
What fucking right did he have to ask her to stay with him, when she didn’t know the truth about him?
He stared out to sea. The stars blazed overhead, but the ocean was dark. Impenetrable, but hiding fathomless depths. A cold, eternal night, beyond where the sun ever touched.
His future.
“You’re not the only one who’s been hiding something,” he admitted, and the words came out smoother than he’d thought. Like they’d been waiting all along, knowing he would say them.
He wasn’t an octopus shifter anymore. There was no slithering out of this. Part of him must have known that, even if he hadn’t accepted it until now.
Carol sighed. “I know.”
Her words took a moment to sink in.
“Wait. How did you—”
“I don’t knowwhatyou’re hiding. But I do know you’re hiding something.” Her lips twisted, as though unsure if they wanted to smile or be serious. “All that s-special agent training is good for something. N-not actually figuring anything out, but random suspicion? I’m a-a-all over it.”
She winced and squeezed her eyes shut.
*If it’s easier for you to talk like this, we can,*Moss told her. She let out a shaky breath and shook her head.
“This is—this isme. This is the me I normally am, I mean. When I’m not—when I’m…” Her shoulders slumped as she gave in. A flurry of emotions flooded against his mind in front of her words: shame, anxiety, and relief at finally admitting something she’d been holding on to for so long. *This is how I am. I can’ttalk straight. I never know what to say, and if I do, I can’t say it.*
*I never noticed that.*
*Because I’m not like that around you. I’m not… not scared that you’ll think the wrong thing.*Her face twisted. *I already know you think the wrong thing. Because I’ve been lying to you about who I really am.*
He was walking on a knife’s edge. And so was she. And the fact that both of them knew that was what made this so hard—the knowledge that if they took a wrong step, it wouldn’t only be themselves they risked hurting.
Which left him trapped between venturing forward, step by careful step, and running away to remove the risk of hurting his mate.
As though she wasn’t hurting already.
What could she be hiding that is tearing her up so much inside?
He tried a crooked smile. “I knew it. You are a dragon smuggler, after all.”
She shook her head.
“Can’t be that bad, then.”
“Can’t it?”
“Are you the Weaver of Souls, who stitches together our human half with the animal that suits us best?”
“What?” Carol stared at him, curiosity poking holes in her distress. “No, I’ve never—is that a real thing?”
“An old myth.”
