Keoni's was a warm gold, and it tasted sweet and sparked, like static electricity sliding down my throat.
It settled in my belly, warm and heavy, and I kept feeding until the hunger that had been gnawing at my insides quieted down.
"Thank you," I murmured as I pulled away, as his life force retreated back into him, where it belonged.
"Was that enough? Your aura still feels pretty weak," Keoni said, brows furrowed, and I ruffled his hair, knowing it would annoy him.
"It was enough. It takes some time to settle. You know that."
Keoni's frown didn't soften, but he didn't push either, and I asked him to fill me in on what had happened.
Thankfully, he jumped right in, telling me how Silas and Touya had been heading out for dinner when they discovered the locked door. It'd happened less than an hour after I left. To think if I could've gotten stuck here last night... would I have missed my chance of meeting Nolan? Surely, I would've gone to the bar at some point.
But if I hadn't gotten locked out, would Nolan have ever taken me home? Would he have told me we were mates?
I had no answer, but I knew mulling over the what-ifs was futile when Nolan had already asked me out on a date.
Fuck, I had a date. With mymate.
In all my daydreams, I'd never gotten further than finding them. What was I supposed to do now?
Nolan
It wasn't until hours after Zamir had left that I realized something terrible: I'd forgotten to ask for his number.
While it'd been years since humans started using cellphones, for someone as old as me, it'd barely been a minute. I still forgot about my phone's existence until it buzzed in my pocket, and there had been more than a few occasions when I'd forgotten to charge the damn thing. It was why I still held onto my landline connection, so Sofia and my other employees could get a hold of me if something went wrong at the bar.
I'd asked Zamir out, and he'd said yes, but without his number, how was I supposed to tell him when our date was?
"I fucked up, Dots," I said as I scratched behind his ear, eliciting a purr from him. He'd settled in with the rest of the family quite easily, and I was glad. I hated when my fur children fought.
"I'll have to figure out some other way to get the message to him," I said, and Dots meowed softly. Smiling, I scratched his chin, and he turned his head this way and that, telling me exactly where he needed to be petted.
Maybe I could go old school and write him a letter. Something short and sweet, thanking him for saying yes to the date and giving him the details. Or enough of them to not ruin the surprise.
"Do you think I'm making a mistake?" I asked Muffin, who was sprawled on the couch beside me. I needed to make myself somelunch, but instead I'd been sitting here since Zamir left, petting the closest cat or dog as I thought about him.
This. This was exactly why I'd put a wall between myself and people, because when I let someone in, I went all in.
Despite all the years of grief and heartbreak, despite my best efforts, I hadn't changed. Once I'd decided I couldn't stay away from my mate, he was all I could think about.
This wasn't right, wasn't sane. Or safe. If something happened to Zamir, or if he decided he didn't want to build our bond after all, it would shatter me.
"That won't happen though. Right, Dots?" I asked, but the cat had no opinion on the matter.
Shaking my head, I leaned back against the couch, gazing up at the ceiling as I tried to gather my thoughts. I needed to stop worrying about the future, or I'd end up losing out on the joy I could experience in the present.
Zamir might change his mind, but he might not. All I could do was my best, and hope that was enough.
I slid Dots off my lap, and he meowed in protest before curling up against Muffin, who covered him with her fluffy tail.
Leaving them to their cuddle session, I got up and went to my bedroom, tiny chicken feet pattering after me.
As I sat down at my desk and pulled out a sheet of thick notepaper, the chickens hopped up onto the desk, lining up in front of me. They watched as I grabbed a fountain pen, one I'd 'borrowed' centuries ago without realizing it would one day become the only existing model of Leonardo's fountain pen design... not that I'd told anyone of import. For the rest of the world, none of Da Vinci's pens existed anymore, only reproductions made from his drawings, and I was happy to let things stay that way. It was my favorite pen, after all.
I sat there with the pen in my hand, the paper blank as it waited for me to get my jumbled thoughts in order, mocking me as I struggled.
Why was this so difficult? I'd written many letters in my life, even love letters, and yet words eluded me now.
I closed my eyes, and pictured Zamir, his warm brown eyes that sparkled when he smiled, his wild curls, and imagined him reading the words I had yet to write. I pictured the way his lips would curve, how his eyes would sparkle as he read my invite, how he'd chuckle when I mentioned forgetting to ask his number.
I opened my eyes and started writing.
