“Because of…” I hesitated, not wanting to assume.
“Yes.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Public appearances require… arrangements.”
The understatement in those words hit me like a punch to the gut. Of course Rion couldn’t simply attend an opening ceremony for a building he’d designed. Of course he couldn’t receive public recognition for his work. The world I navigated freely was a minefield for him.
“That’s not fair,” I said, the words bursting out before I could temper them. “Your work is brilliant. You should be celebrated for it, not hidden away.”
His eyes met mine, surprise evident in their depths. “The world is not known for its fairness, particularly to those who are different.”
“Still,” I insisted, a protective fierceness rising in me. “You deserve recognition.”
“Recognition has not always been… beneficial for my kind.” His voice lowered, taking on a heaviness that suggested personal experience. “Humans tend to fear what they don’t understand. Fear becomes hostility. Hostility becomes…” He trailed off, but the pain that flickered across his face told me enough.
In that moment, I understood that Rion’s imposing physical presence and his reserved demeanor weren’t just personality traits—they were armor, developed over what must have been years of misunderstanding and prejudice. The realization made my heart ache.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “For whatever happened. For all of it.”
He looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You have nothing to apologize for, Clara.”
“Maybe not personally, but as a card-carrying member of the human race, I feel like someone should apologize for our collective idiocy.”
A startled sound escaped him—something between a snort and a chuckle. “Your species is young. Perhaps you’ll improve with time.”
“I hope so,” I said, suddenly wanting desperately to prove to him that not all humans were driven by fear and prejudice. That some of us, at least one of us, could see him for who he truly was. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I texted the wrong number that day.”
His expression softened, the guardedness receding slightly. “As am I.”
We returned to shelving books, but something had shifted between us. The air felt charged with unspoken understanding, a shared acknowledgment of the unusual path that had brought us together and the unique connection that was forming despite—or perhaps because of—our differences.
As we placed the last few volumes, I found myself stealing glances at his profile—the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his horns, the thoughtful set of his mouth. In the warm light of the library, surrounded by books and quiet, he looked like he belonged there. Not as an anomaly or a monster from mythology, but simply as himself.
When we finished, we stepped back to admire our work. The display looked better than I’d envisioned, with the heavy reference volumes fanned impressively across the top shelf and the smaller books organized neatly below.
“It’s perfect,” I said, genuinely pleased. “Mrs. Wilson is going to be thrilled, and the patrons will love it.”
“It’s well-designed,” he agreed, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Though perhaps biased towards the ‘fact’ side of ‘Fact or Fiction’ now.”
I laughed. “Our little secret.”
I reached up to adjust one slightly crooked spine, but even on tiptoes, I couldn’t quite reach it. Without a word, he stepped behind me, his presence warm and solid at my back, and easily fixed the alignment.
“Thank you,” I murmured, suddenly acutely aware of his proximity. I turned around, finding myself in the small space between his body and the bookshelf. Looking up at him from this close was dizzying—he seemed to fill my entire field of vision, powerful and imposing yet somehow not intimidating at all.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice lower than before.
For a breathless moment, neither of us moved. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and smell that now-familiar warm, earthy scent. His dark eyes held mine, and I had the distinct impression he was waiting for something….
My pulse started racing, but then the harsh buzz of the library’s ancient heating system kicking on broke the spell and he started to step back.
Before I could overthink it—before I could talk myself out of it—I went up on tiptoes and I kissed him. It was impulsive, completely unplanned, and the second my lips touched his, my brain stopped functioning.
Because he didn’t freeze. He didn’t pull away. His hand came up, large and careful, and settled on my waist, holding me against him as he deepened the kiss.
His lips were not exactly human lips, his tongue wide and slightly rough, claiming my mouth with devastating thoroughness, but he was gentle, so gentle that I felt my knees go weak. When we finally broke apart, both of us slightly breathless, he leaned his forehead against mine, careful of his horns. His eyes, dark and deep, held an expression that stole the air from my lungs.
“Clara,” he rumbled, my name a low vibration that I felt in my bones. “That was…”
“Inevitable?” I supplied, a little breathlessly.
