Page 166

He is officially not working tonight. This is difficult for him. It is also difficult for me, because emergencies happen whether humans schedule dates or not, and because my first instinct remains to know every place danger might stand before it chooses to have teeth.

But the forest is quiet. It breathes around us in silver and shadow, awake beneath the full moon. It knows what I have planned. It has known for days because I asked the old cedar near the split rock to hold back the wind if it could. I cleared fallen branches from the path, and placed moss over sharp stone where Lucas might kneel or sit, though he would complain that I assume too much about his knees.

The forest helped in small ways. Ferns stay low. Roots do not catch his boots. The Labrador tea blooms pale near the trail even though it should not be so thick here this late in the season. Aestrata does not speak, but once, as I passed this place before sunset, one white petal fell directly into my hand.

That is approval, I think.

Or warning.

With Aestrata, both may share roots.

The clearing appears between the pines ahead, and my chest tightens with memory before I can command it to loosen. The split rock sits near the center, dark and silver under moonlight, its crack full of moss and tiny ferns.

This is where Lucas first came close to me without dreaming. Not the first moment he saw my true face, but the first place he stood before me while awake and chose to stay. Human then. Stubborn, embarrassed, hungry with questions, and afraid but angrier at himself for being afraid.

He touched my face here. He put his hand on the human shape I made for him and looked at me as if I were not only a thing to survive. Later, he touched my true skull here too, and he called me beautiful.

A creature can endure thousands of years and still not be prepared for one human hand.

Lucas slows when he realizes where I have brought him. The bond shifts, a warm ache of recognition moving through him. His eyes catch the moonlight strangely now, moss-green deepened by the green-white rootfire Aestrata left threaded inside him.

He is still mostly human tonight, though the full moon makes the half-Cervari shape under his skin restless. His ember marks are darker across his nose and cheekbones. He is alive—mine by choice, his own before mine. The forest’s and Sweet Rivers’ and his family’s, and every annoying human responsibility he insists on carrying even when he is tired.

He turns in the clearing and looks at me with narrowed eyes. “This is suspicious.” I make my face calm, but his eyes narrow more. “That is your suspiciously calm face.”

“I have one face,” I say.

“You have at least twelve, and this one says you’ve either done somethin’ romantic or committed light property damage.”

“I repaired the porch.”

“That does not answer the question.”

“The porch was property damage before I repaired it.”

He gives me a look, and amusement moves through the bond despite his suspicion. “You’re dodgin’.”

“Yes.”

He blinks, clearly not expecting honesty that quickly. “Okay. Bold strategy.”

My hand tightens around the ring in my hand, and its edges press into my palm. I am not wearing shoes, which Lucas has decided is a hopeless battle and now only argues about in front of his mother because he enjoys watching her scold me.

I am in human form because this is a human ritual and because I want my mouth for it. Speech still costs me more when emotion rises, but tonight, I need every word to stand on its own legs. I need Lucas to hear them with his ears, not only in the bond where he already knows too much.

He feels my nerves, and his expression changes at once, teasing folding away into concern. He steps closer and places a hand on my arm. “Onyx,” he says softly.

“Yes,” I answer too quickly.

His mouth tilts, but his eyes are gentle now. “What are you doin’?”

“Standing.”

“Ancient forest guardian, last child of Aestrata, menace to refrigerators, and still the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

“I did not lie. I am standing.”

The expression on his face is the one he calls ‘done with your bullshit, Death-deer’. “Wildheart.”