by Zoe Chant
“Sorry, I honestly thought you were joking about having a cat,” she said. “You didn’t strike me as a pet person. And it’s unusual for a single guy to have a cat.”
Hugh wrestled Mr. Mittens back again. “I don’t have a cat.”
Ivy raised her eyebrows. “In which case, I have some very bad news to tell you about your dog.”
“I have six cats,” Hugh said. “And it’s their feeding time.”
Ivy scrambled up onto the table as a tidal wave of fur poured into the kitchen. “Shit! Hugh, do something!”
Hugh hastily put his half-eaten dinner on the floor, instantly attracting all feline attention. His cats crowded around, Ivy forgotten as they investigated the irresistible lure of people food.
“Sorry about this,” Hugh said, heading for the cupboard to get the cat bowls. “Don’t worry, I’ll shut them all in the kitchen overnight. And even if one does accidentally brush against your skin, I can always heal them, you know.”
“Yeah, but I’d still have hurt them.” Ivy crouched on top of the dining table, every muscle poised and ready, her eyes fixed on the purring horde. “Why do you have so many cats?”
Hugh didn’t say anything for a moment. He occupied himself with the can opener, cats winding around his feet. His first instinct was to say something flippant, like that he was saving them up until he had enough for a coat…but it felt oddly like a betrayal. He couldn’t pretend that his pets weren’t important to him.
“I rescue them,” he said at last. “From the local shelter. I take the ones that no one else wants, the shy or sick or angry ones. I give them a home, and they give me…contact. I don’t like being around people. But cats are different.”
“I get it.” Ivy’s voice turned wistful. “I wish I could have a cat. They look so soft.”
Mr. Mittens rubbed against his ankles, meowing for attention. The black-and-white cat was clearly too stuffed full of paella to be interested in mere kibble. Hugh picked him up, stroking his long, glossy fur. Mr. Mittens purred, arching into the touch.
He had his cats. But Ivy didn’t have anything at all. She couldn’t touch anyone, not even her own sister.
She’d never stroked a cat.
“Ivy,” he said, going over to the table. “Take off your gloves.”
She looked from him to the cat and back again. “Are you out of your mind?”
“You won’t hurt him.” Hugh shifted Mr. Mittens to one arm, freeing his other hand. “Just take off your gloves.”
She started to protest, but the words died in her throat as he caught her wrist.
“Trust me,” he said softly.
Holding her wide green eyes steadily with his own, he peeled off her glove. Her fingers trembled under his own.
Concentrating, he quested out with his healing power. Ivy caught her breath, trying to jerk back. He closed his fingers firmly around her hand, holding her still.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Neutralizing your venom,” he said, guiding her hand to Mr. Mitten’s soft fur. “You can’t hurt him, Ivy. Not while I’m in contact with you both.”
“Oh,” Ivy gasped, as the purring Mr. Mittens rubbed against her fingers. Tears brimmed in her eyes, making them as luminous as jewels. “Oh.”
Hugh kept his hand on the back of hers as she stroked the cat, concentrating on channeling his power through her. His unicorn’s approval glowed in his soul, soft and pure as the light from its horn.
Ivy’s green-streaked hair shadowed her face. He couldn’t see her expression, but he could feel the soft drip of tears on the back of his hand.
“I thought you were an asshole,” she said quietly.
He let out a huff of laughter. “I am.”
Ivy shook her head, her glossy, chin-length hair swinging. “You’re a paramedic, and a firefighter. You save people. And stray cats. And, and, you’re helping Hope. And you came to find me when you thought I was in danger. You’re a good man, Hugh.”
She raised her chin, meeting his eyes at last. Her mouth trembled, but her gaze was steady.
“I’m not a good person,” she said. “And you’re going to hate me even more. But I need to tell you something.”
Hugh listened with mounting concern as Ivy explained exactly what had happened during her meeting with Gaze. When she got to the bargain she’d made, he started, accidentally squeezing Mr. Mittens. The old cat yowled, retaliating by sinking all four sets of claws into his arm. Hugh barely noticed, cold with shock.
“Me?” he said, as the cat jumped down. “He wants you to find out my animal?”
Ivy crossed her arms, her shoulders hunching. She’d drawn away during her confession, though she was still perched on the table. She avoided his eyes, instead watching Mr. Mittens stalk away with his tail held haughtily high.
“I’m not going to tell him anything,” she said. “Not now. But I…I considered it.” She took a deep breath. “Please, please, don’t take it out on Hope. She’s innocent of all of this, and her condition is terminal. If you don’t heal her-”
“Of course I’m still going to heal Hope,” Hugh said, cutting her off. He raked a hand through his hair, pulling on it. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
Ivy flinched. “I—“
“Not you, me,” he snapped. He paced a few steps, agitation burning in his muscles. “I was stupid. Arrogant. Even my father warned me—God, I should have been more careful!”
He’d thought he’d been so clever. That he’d found a way to use his talents without betraying his secret. He’d grown cocky, careless, healing people more and more openly. He’d told himself that it was fine, that even if other shifters grew curious about his powers, they’d never have a chance of guessing the truth.
Now, it seemed, someone had.
We are hunted, his unicorn said uneasily. And in the hunt, there are only two choices. Do we run…or do we fight?
“Fight,” Hugh answered his inner beast out loud. “I’ll be damned if I run. This is my home. I'm not letting some jumped-up snake drive me away.”
Ivy slid off the table, intercepting his path. “Don’t underestimate Gaze, Hugh. He’s dangerous. But if you’re planning to confront him…I’ll help.”
“You most certainly will not,” he snapped.
Gaze had clearly worked out that Ivy was his mate. If the basilisk shifter had decided to use her as a hostage rather than a spy…Hugh’s blood turned to ice at the thought of what could have happened. There was no way he wanted Ivy anywhere near Gaze again.
“We made a deal,” he said harshly. “I heal your sister, you vanish. I’m changing the terms. You vanish. I’ll still heal Hope, but I want you gone.”
NO! His unicorn reared in his mind, horn blazing. This is wrong, WRONG!
Ivy squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them, moisture was caught in her long, dark lashes.
“Okay,” she said, her voice quiet and defeated. “I’ll go now.”
“Not literally right now, you imbecile!” Hugh grabbed her shoulder, spinning her back to face him. “You can’t just walk out into the streets with no resources and no plan.”
“What do you care?” Ivy’s voice raised, her tears turning to anger. “I don’t get you at all, Hugh! If you’re going to hate me, can’t you at least be consistent about it?”
“You’re my bloody mate, woman!” Hugh had never wanted to shake someone so much in his life. “Of course I don’t hate you!”
“Well, you’ve got a weird way of showing it!” Ivy yelled straight back. “Most of the time you act like you can’t stand the sight of me!”
“I can’t stand the sight of you because when you’re around all I can think about is kissing you!”
The words hung in the air.
“Really?” Ivy said blankly.
“Well, no.” Hugh let go of her, scrubbing both hands over his face. “I was being polite. My thoughts don’t just involve kissing.”
Ivy swallowed hard. “So…why don’
t you?”
“Because I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”
“I wouldn’t want you to,” she said softly.
She was close, so close. He could feel the heat radiating from her, trembling in the air between them. He couldn’t look away from her full, soft lips, half-parted in invitation. A single step forward, and he could claim them…
He turned on his heel, before he could fall headlong into disaster. He braced his arms on the kitchen counter, chest tight, struggling to master himself.
“You should go.” The words felt rough in his throat. They were the precise opposite of what he wanted to say. “Before we do something we’ll both regret.”
“I wouldn’t regret it.” He heard her draw a deep breath, as if she was bracing herself for a fight. “Hugh. I know you don’t want me as a mate.”
Oh, but he did, he did. He clenched his jaw, his chest hurting with the effort of staying silent.
“And I get it, I really do.” The bleak resignation in her voice tore his heart. “I don’t fit in your world, I have way too much baggage, I’m—I know that it could never work. I’m not asking for that.”
She’d sidled up alongside him as she spoke. Hugh stared down at the granite countertop, not daring to look at her.
Hesitantly, she put her bare hand on top of his. Hugh closed his eyes, the sweetness of the simple contact singing through every inch of his body.
“All I want is to be touched,” she whispered. “Just once. Please.”
He knew that he should pull his hand out from under hers. He knew that if he did, she would never ask again.
And the thing trembling in the air between them would be broken forever. She’d made herself utterly vulnerable, though it went against every harsh lesson life had taught her. If he pulled away now, she would never, ever trust him again.
He turned his hand palm up, lacing his fingers through hers. Gripped tight. Felt her strength in return, her hand squeezing as desperately as if once again he was the only thing stopping her from falling.
And he knew what he had to do.
“Ivy,” he said. “I need to show you my animal.”
Chapter 9
“You don’t have to do this,” Ivy protested, as Hugh drew her down the corridor. “You shouldn’t do this, Hugh. If I don’t know, then I can’t betray you.”
“I’m not worried about that.” He kept a firm hold of her hand, unlocking a door with the other. “And you need to know.”
The door swung open, revealing a set of plain wooden steps leading down into darkness. Hugh descended without hesitation, pulling her after him. Ivy clung to his hand, his fingers strong and reassuring around her own.
Her boot unexpectedly sank into something soft and springy rather than echoing from another wooden step. Ivy stumbled, only Hugh’s grip saving her from falling flat on her face. She put out a hand to catch herself, but her fingers encountered rustling leaves instead of a wall.
“What the—?” Ivy reached out again, tentatively, and felt something that she could have sworn was the rough bark of a tree. “What is this?”
A click, and the room filled with a soft blue light. It was dim and diffuse, but seemed dazzling after the pitch blackness. It illuminated the sharp planes of Hugh’s face like moonlight, silvering his cheekbones and tracing the curve of his lips. There was something vulnerable about his eyes that she’d never seen before.
“This is where I shift,” he said.
Ivy stared around. Her first impression was that they stood, impossibly, in a forest glade. A full moon glimmered through the branches overhead, riding high in a pitch-black sky speckled with distant stars. Soft spring grass rustled under her feet.
But…it was all fake.
The air was dry and sterile rather than filled with the lush green scent of growing plants. The grass underfoot was plastic. The tree trunks were real, but only fabric leaves hung motionless from their branches. The moon was just a light bulb in a paper globe shade; the stars, glowing paint.
“You shift here?” She revolved on the spot, taking in all the carefully-detailed fakery. “Why?”
“I can’t risk being seen. I can hide myself from human eyes, but other shifters would still be able to see me. So I built this. So I could pretend.” Hugh smiled his edged, bitter smile. “Pathetic, I know.”
She’d never stood in a room so permeated with sadness. The thought of him down here all alone, trying to pretend that fake grass was real and that the ceiling was full of stars…her throat closed up.
“Why?” she whispered again.
He released her hand at last. He walked to the center of the room—it only took two steps—and turned to face her.
“Because this is what I am,” he said.
He shimmered…and the sad glow of the light bulb moon washed away, replaced by a truer, softer light.
Her legs folded like wet noodles. She sank to her knees on the plastic grass, never taking her eyes off that brilliantly white form.
He took a step forward. Where his silver hoof touched the fake turf, the scent of rain-washed earth rose up, impossibly. Fabric leaves seemed to unfurl like butterfly wings, yearning toward his glimmering light. The air hung still, yet she could have sworn she felt a whisper of a spring breeze on her skin, warm and scented with blooming lilacs.
She put out a hand, her fingers trembling. His great, graceful head dipped, the silken mane falling like a waterfall over the powerful arch of his neck. His velvet-soft, pure white muzzle touched her palm.
“Hugh,” she whispered.
His fragrant breath sighed against her skin. As gracefully and easily as the setting moon, he knelt down, his long, strong limbs folding underneath him.
He lay his head in her lap.
A slight, strangled noise escaped her, half-sob, half-laugh. She was Ivy Viverna, the wyvern. The monster.
And a unicorn was resting his head in her lap.
Barely daring to touch him, she traced the sweeping lines of his head. His sapphire eyes drifted closed as she stroked his nose, his cheek, the elegant points of his ears. His fur was softer even than the cat’s had been. His mane flowed like fog through her fingers.
He sighed a little, leaning into her. His pearlescent horn nudged against her shoulder. It was at least three feet long, spiraled like a sea-shell, glimmering with a secret light. Holding her breath, she hesitantly ran her fingers up the hard length. The glow brightened, silver sparks swirling like miniature fireflies in the wake of her touch.
Tears streaked her cheeks. When had she started crying?
She bent her own head, hiding her face in his white mane. Her arms hugged his neck. She pressed herself against his warm hide, breathing in his scent of lilac and rain. She felt like she’d finally stopped after a lifetime of running; finally put down a burden she hadn’t even known she’d been carrying. In the peace that settled over her like a blanket, she heard the soft sound of wind in leaves.
She didn’t know how long they knelt there, while the fake forest grew and whispered around them. It could have been a minute, or a century. She would have been content not to move for the rest of her life. But all too soon he stirred, his ears lowering a little in resignation. He drew back, and she had to let him go.
The unicorn stood—not with a horse’s ungainly scramble, but as smoothly as a falcon taking flight. He dipped his head again, that sweeping horn descending on her like a sword blade. She caught her breath—but the needle-sharp tip just settled lightly on her own forehead.
Light flared, so bright that she had to squeeze her eyes shut against it. When she opened them again, Hugh stood before her, head bowed.
“So,” he said. “Now you know.”
The grass was just plastic again, rough under her palm. The fabric leaves hung limp from dead branches. But she could still feel his light glowing inside her, in some secret center of her heart. She knew that it would be there until the day she died.
“Y-you,” she croaked. She licked her lips, and
tried again. “You’re a unicorn. Literally, a unicorn.”
He raised his head a little, though his eyes were still in shadow. “You probably have some questions.”
“Yes! Like, how can you even exist?” Ivy scrambled to her feet, the strange spell finally breaking. “You can’t be a unicorn! That’s not a real thing!”
Hugh’s mouth quirked. “Says the wyvern.”
“That’s different. We’re just rare. Not fairy tales!”
“I’m a mythic shifter, same as you. Just a little more mythic than most. Unicorns have always been real, Ivy. But we’ve been in hiding for the past seven hundred years or so.”
“Even from other shifters? Why?”
He tapped the center of his forehead, one eyebrow raising ironically. “Give you one guess.”
Ivy hugged herself, struggling to contain her churning emotions as her mind raced. “That’s why Gaze wants you, isn’t it? For your horn.”
“A live unicorn can cure a lot of things. Wounds, poison, critical injuries…but even we have our limits. We can’t restore a lost limb, or lost youth. We can’t fix congenital problems, where the body doesn’t know that anything’s wrong.” His eyes went bleak. “I can’t cure cancer.”
She wanted to hold him again, and stroke away the old anguish shadowing his face. But something about the way that he stood, straight-backed and rigid, kept her hands at her sides. She’d just been closer to him than she ever had been to anyone in her life, but now he seemed as remote and untouchable as the moon.
Hugh shook himself a little, his usual ironic mask sliding back into place. “But a dead unicorn…now that’s more powerful. I’m a walking jackpot, as far as Gaze is concerned. If you were old and dying and rich, what would you give to be restored back to the prime of life?”
Ivy’s heart contracted at the thought of his shining beauty being snuffed out. But Gaze was a monster. If anyone would kill a unicorn, he would.
“I’ll never tell,” she vowed. “But you shouldn’t have trusted me with this, Hugh. It’s too big. I wish you hadn’t—“