Page 38 of Hush

Of course not. Why would he? He grew up before roads, lives in these woods, and speaks directly into my brain because his mouth never learned how to make human sounds correctly. Social embarrassment over accidental mutual arousal is probably not covered in ancient cryptid courtship customs.

“It was…” I stop. How exactly do I phrase I got off thinking about you to a creature who hunted me through dreams until I named him? Every option is awful. “This morning when I woke up, I was… there was…”

His eyes stay fixed on mine, open and intent. Jesus, I’m really standing in a clearing, about to explain masturbation to an ancient forest being I may or may not have a supernatural bond with.

Need? he offers into my head.

“Yes,” I say, face burning. “That. Need.”

Immediate understanding floods the link, followed by a wave of warm satisfaction so strong, it almost knocks the air out of me. He touches my face again. For me? he purrs through the bond, deeply pleased.

“Oh, absolutely not.” I peel his hand from my face and step back, mostly so I can breathe again. “You do not get to look smug about that.”

His eyes brighten in an unmistakably smug way, despite my protest. I contemplate lying down on the forest floor and letting the moss reclaim me.

When I don’t answer his question, he steps closer again; concern returns, softening the satisfaction. Shame? he asks carefully.

I’m sure he’s trying to understand why my body is cycling through heat, panic, and embarrassment like it’s glitching.

“Yes,” I say finally, since lying to a creature who felt me come this morning seems pointless.

Why?

The simplicity of the question makes me want to tear my hair out. “Because people don’t usually… you don’t usually…” I break off and gesture wildly between us. “That’s usually private.”

Bond cannot be private, he says. But I will learn.

That takes some of the sting out, and I blow out a long breath. “Thank you.”

He studies me for a few seconds, then to my complete shock, bows his head slightly in acknowledgment. Want for mate is not shame, Little Ember.

The sentence comes through too accurately and finds the sore place so fast. I think of my ex and how my life was supposed to look. A wife and kids, a house somewhere with decent schools and a garage I’d complain about cleaning.

I think of how neatly I arranged myself around that picture and called it truth. If I didn’t come back home, would I have felt empty my whole life?

“Humans are a bit more complicated than that,” I say, and that’s all I have to offer for now.

You are, he agrees immediately, which should offend me but almost makes me smile. Onyx’s hand rises again, hovering close to my cheek instead of touching. I lean into the touch before I can overthink it.

His hand moves from my cheek to my throat, stroking where my pulse is hammering. Heat flares down my spine as he touches me. I’m suddenly very aware that I’m standing in a moonlit clearing with a man-shaped forest creature touching me, and we’re talking about how he physically felt me get off to him this morning.

“Just so we’re clear,” I say carefully, “this morning was a very private moment. It’s not usually shared with others.”

His gaze stays on me. I did not look. I only felt the bond carry heat.

That matters, I realize. He didn’t pry; he simply felt me. I can tell by the way he says it that if he realized what it was, he would have shut it out. I let out a slow breath. “Right. Okay. That helps.”

Still sorry, he adds.

I blink at him, confused. “You’re apologizing because I got off to you?”

Because I made you feel shame.

That ridiculous knot in my chest tightens in a whole new way. He sounds so genuinely concerned that I can’t even enjoy being embarrassed anymore.

“You didn’t make me feel shame,” I say softly. “I did that all on my own.”

His hand remains at my neck, his warmth sinking into me with every second. The longer he touches me, the more my body seems to understand that this is not a threat—not even close. It’s comfort laced with heat; safety wearing the face of danger.