Page 104 of Bookish Girl’s Emergency Contact Is a Lycan King

“Honey and lightning,” he says, entirely unrepentant, “and pine. Mixed. Permanently. It’s considered a joyful scent.”

“It’s considered PRIVATE…”

Somewhere in the crowd a howl goes up, full-throated and celebratory. It’s answered by a dozen more, and Esme’s cackle cuts through all of it, a blade through frosting.

Theo materializes out of the firelight, bows with perfect formality, and says, “My queen. My king.” The corner of his mouth is doing something deeply insubordinate. “Congratulations.”

“We are not talking about this.”

“I said nothing, my queen.”

“Your face said everything.”

“My face is beyond my control. Unlike my nose, which…”

“Fired. You’re fired again.”

Mira takes one look at us, screams “I KNEW IT,” and bursts into tears.

Orion tucks me under his arm and steers me through the gauntlet of grins and congratulations while I hide my burning face against his ribs and feel him laughing, chest and bond both.

“I’m moving to the ocean,” I mutter. “Marine biologists can’t smell anything.”

“I’d follow you.”

“I know you would. That’s the whole problem with you.”

Later, in his bed, warm and wrapped around each other under blankets that smell like pine and him, I catch him watching me through the bond.

Not with his eyes, his eyes are closed, his breathing even. But I can feel his attention on me, soft and wondering. Like he’s still not quite sure this isn’t a dream.

Caught you being soft, I send through the connection.

His eyes fly open.

You can do that?

Apparently.

This is going to be a problem.

Only if you keep having tender feelings about me.

He pulls me closer, tucking me against his chest, and I feel his laugh vibrate through both of us, through our bodies and through the bond.

“I’ve never been happier to be caught,” he says.

His fingers find the mark on my throat, tracing its edges with a touch so light it barely lands, and through the bond I feel something in him gather itself. Steady itself. The particular quiet of Orion preparing to say a thing that matters.

“There’s one more thing you should know. It isn’t tonight-sized. But I promised you no more omissions.”

I prop myself up on his chest. “Okay. Hit me.”

“The claim binds us. Heart, mind, the bond you’re feeling now.” His eyes hold mine, steady and gold. “But there is an older rite. Deeper than claiming. It binds life to life. Your thread to mine. Your years.” His thumb strokes the mark. “To my years.”

It takes me a second. Then it takes me another one.

“Are you telling me I could live as long as you?”