Page 39 of Rainse
“It’s a delicacy,” I said.
“It’s green jelly with ideas above its station,” she replied.
I laughed, the sound startlingly easy. “Then perhaps I owe you something better to end the night.”
“Oh? And what do Finfolk consider better?”
“At home, we'd swim. But with you, I propose a walk,” I said. “No pudding. No talking if you don’t want to.”
Her smile softened. “Walking sounds good.”
We slipped off the boardwalk and onto the cool sand. The sea was starting to get rougher, the sky turning that impossible shade between blue and silver that happens just before the stars appear. I listened to the rhythm of her breathing beside me, the quiet crunch of our steps.
For the first time in mooncrossings, I wasn’t thinking about rules or reputation or suppressed needs. Just her.
“You’re quiet,” she said after a while.
“Thinking.”
“About?”
“You,” I admitted. “And how easily you fit here. How easily you fit anywhere.”
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “That’s funny. I’ve never felt like I fit anywhere.”
“You do now.”
The wind lifted between us, warm and scented with salt and oncoming rain. She stopped walking, turning to face the sea, and I stopped too.
“Do you ever miss your world?” she asked.
“Every day,” I said honestly. “But I think what I really miss is the way I used to belong there. My life with my clutch-brothers, innocent and full of joy. Before the Matriarchs decided who was worthy of love and who wasn’t.”
Her voice softened. “You mean before they told you that you couldn’t have a mate.”
I nodded. “It’s strange. I used to think it was punishment. Now I think it was preparation.”
“For me?” she teased gently.
“For this,” I said. “For meeting someone who wouldn’t believe in fate, but would still choose me.”
Something flickered across her face — surprise, emotion, maybe both. She didn’t speak. Instead, she reached out and took my hand. The gesture was simple, but it felt important.
We walked like that until the first stars appeared. The bond pulsed quietly between us, steady as a heartbeat.
When the air shifted, I noticed it first — the faint crackle that always came before a storm. Clouds were gathering over the horizon, the kind that moved quickly in these latitudes.
“We should head back,” I said, but she didn’t move.
“I like it,” she said softly. “The air feels alive.”
“So do you,” I murmured.
Her gaze lifted to mine, and the look there undid me. All the restraint, the waiting, the careful distance — gone.
I stepped closer, close enough to feel her breath against my throat. She didn’t step back. Her fingers slid down my arm, finding the faint texture of my greenskin where it curled around my wrist. The touch sent heat rippling through me.
“Rainse…”
