Page 34

Steph stirred. Her eyes opened, unfocused and heavy, and found him sitting beside her in the grey light. She blinked, registered the brightening sky, and pushed herself up on one elbow.

"What time is it?"

"Early. Just past five."

She looked at him, then at the destroyed basin beyond the oak roots, then back at him. Something moved across her face, the quick calculation of a woman deciding how to frame the last twelve hours. "I should get back. I need to file a report on the collapse before anyone else sees the site."

"Yeah. I should get moving too."

She nodded and reached for her thermal, shaking the dust out of it before pulling it over her head. He watched her dress with the efficient, unselfconscious movements of someone reassembling armor. Jeans, boots, jacket. Hair twisted back and secured with the pencil she'd somehow kept through a near-death experience and everything that followed. By the time she was done, Stephanie Ward the professional was back in place, and the woman who'd pulled him down into the dirt and screamed his name was tucked away.

"Criss." She paused near the tree line, pack over her shoulder, and looked back at him. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

She held his gaze for a beat longer than casual. Then she turned and headed down the trail toward town.

He waited until she was out of sight before he shifted. The change was easier this time, his tiger rising to meet the transformation like it had been waiting for permission. He ran back to the cabin through the early morning woods, covering the distance in long, ground-eating strides, the cool air sharp in his lungs and the forest blurring past in shades of silver and green.

He shifted back on the cabin porch and stood naked in the dawn for a long moment, breathing hard, staring at the main house where warm light already glowed in the kitchen window. Freya was up. Which meant Kieran was up. Which meant the conversation he needed to have was waiting for him whether he was ready for it or not.

He showered, dressed, and crossed the yard with wet hair and the particular expression of a man walking into something he couldn't walk out of.

Kieran was at the kitchen table with coffee and the Gazette. Freya was at the counter slicing bread, Sage on her knees in a chair beside her mashing banana into her own face with cheerful determination. The kitchen smelled like toast and the herbs Freya kept drying above the stove. It was so warm and domestic that Criss wanted to turn around and leave.

He poured coffee instead and sat down across from Kieran.

"You were out all night," Kieran said without looking up from the paper.

"Went for a run."

"A twelve-hour run."

"I'm thorough. You've said so yourself."

Kieran turned a page. Freya glanced over her shoulder clearly reading the subtext. She caught something in Criss's face, because she quietly picked up Sage and the banana and left the room without a word. Freya was good like that. She knew when to give the Holts space to be difficult with each other.

The kitchen went quiet. Criss stared into the coffee.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You're going to regardless."

"When you and Freya..." He stopped. Started again. "How did you know? About the bond. The mate thing. How did you actually know it was that and not just attraction?"

Kieran set the paper down. His eyes found Criss's. "Why are you asking?"

"Curiosity."

"You don't have curious questions, Criss. You have deflections shaped like questions. Try again."

Criss took a sip of coffee that was too hot and burned his tongue. "Fine. How did your tiger know before you did? And how long did you try to talk yourself out of it?"

Kieran crossed his arms over his broad chest.

"My tiger knew the first time I scented her. Properly scented her, not just caught her in passing." His voice was measured, choosing words with care. "It wasn't attraction. Attraction I understood. This was different. It was like every other scent in the world went flat. Like my tiger had been listening to noise my whole life and suddenly heard music."

"And you just accepted that?"