Chapter 9 - The Fire Within
An hour later, the lodge was quiet again.
Marcus’s lackgies had fled into the night, carrying their wounded leader back toward the northern peaks. Gavin and my mother were in the kitchen, quietly cleaning up the broken glass and making strong black coffee, while Mia sat on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, staring at the fireplace in a state of shell-shocked acceptance.
I sat on the edge of the wraparound deck in my human form, wrapped in a heavy wool sweater, watching the stars wheel across the vast, ink-black sky above the mountains.
Footsteps crunched on the wood behind me.
Rowan sat down beside me on the bench, handing me a steaming mug of tea. His hand brushed mine, and this time, the electricity between us felt warm and comforting instead of terrifying.
“How are you holding up?” he asked softly.
“My life is officially a six-part true-crime documentary crossed with a fantasy novel,” I said, taking a small sip of the tea. “Professor Lang is going to give me an incomplete for the semester because I turned into a grizzly bear and missed my final critique.”
Rowan laughed—a low, genuine sound that made the tightness in my chest ease. “I think you’ll find your art has improved quite a bit since you got here.”
“It’s not empty anymore,” I admitted quietly, looking down at my hands, then resting them gently over my stomach. “It has a lot of emotion now.”
Rowan shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against mine. He reached out, placing his warm, heavy hand over mine on my stomach.
“You were terrified when you first got here,” he murmured.
“I was terrified six weeks ago,” I corrected him with a slight smile. “Now? I think I’m just adapting to the local real estate.”
Rowan smiled, turning his head to look at me with those intense, luminous green eyes. The moonlight caught the sharp planes of his face, softening the harshness of the mountain man into something tender and entirely devoted.
May you like
“You belong to this ridge now, Chloe,” he said, his voice dropping into that rich, gravelly whisper. “And so does our cub.”
“I know,” I whispered back, leaning my head against his broad shoulder, breathing in the scent of pine, woodsmoke, and home. “And honestly? The view isn't half bad.”
