Page 11 of Christmas with a Chimera (Claw Haven)

S omething tickled Emma’s nose.

She pried her eyes open. Feathers clouded her vision, a sea of black and white. For just a moment, the sight relaxed her more. She’d woken up like this so many times. Arthur had practically lived at her house for those last few years of high school.

Then reality set in, and Emma’s relaxation was replaced by panic. She wasn’t a teenager anymore. She was thirty-two goddamn years old, she owned a business, she hadn’t talked to Arthur in years, and yet she was cocooned in his wings on the couch of his stupidly cozy cabin.

His arms were tight and solid around her, his tail still wrapped around her legs. She winced, trying to detangle herself. How could she be so stupid? She needed to get out of here—now. No matter how good it felt to be in his arms again.

She pulled his arm carefully off her torso.

He let out a sleepy growl, grip tightening. He nuzzled her hair, and she fought down the wave of butterflies that threatened to overwhelm her as she wondered how many models, actresses, and billionaires he’d given the same treatment. If they woke up feeling just as safe and held as she had.

She winced and pulled more determinedly.

He growled louder, disgruntled. Then his eyes slid open. They were blurry for a second, blinking hard. He focused on her, and the surprise in his face made Emma’s hackles go up. She tensed, ready to snap back at whatever stupid thing he was going to hit her with.

Then he grinned, looking so genuinely pleased her guard went down.

“Hello,” he said. He stretched, wings retreating from their squeezing grip. “What time is it?”

She checked her phone, which was in the pocket of her discarded jeans. “Almost nine in the morning.”

The smile dropped off his face. “Really? Shit. We have to be on set in ten minutes.”

He lifted her off his lap and stood, grimacing as he noticed the dried come in his chest fur.

“I’m going to take the world’s shortest shower,” he announced. “Time me.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Emma scrounged for her bra and tried not to react as he looked over her nakedness.

It had been a long time since a guy had seen her this naked.

The last guy she slept with didn’t even get her pants off, they just did hand stuff in the back of a car like they weren’t fully grown adults with mortgages.

He put a hand on his hip, flashing her a toothy grin. “Want to conserve water and hop in the shower with me?”

Emma gathered up her jeans, pretending to think about it. “No.”

She balled her clothes up against her stomach and waited for him to argue.

But he just stood there, looking at her.

Emma squirmed, fighting the urge to cover up her chest. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him looking at her; it just made her aware of how brazen she’d felt last night and how stupid she felt now.

Too fast for her to react, Arthur leaned in and plucked something off her cheek.

“Feather,” he explained softly. He cleared his throat, dusting the fluffy down from his fingers.

He was still smiling, but it was oddly bashful in a way that she hadn’t seen since high school—which made zero sense.

He probably picked feathers off people’s cheeks all the time after rolling around with them on a yacht or a grand piano or sheets with a thread count she’d never heard of.

Was he acting? He didn’t seem like it, but maybe she’d gotten worse at reading him over the years.

“Anyway,” he said. “I’m gonna…”

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. Emma watched him go, then flopped back against the annoyingly comfortable couch, her clothes in her lap.

One night. She’d let herself have one night of something stupid and brilliant. She wouldn’t do it again. He’d be gone in a week and a half, and she’d never have to see him again. The butterflies would fade, and so would the regret.

Life would go back to normal.

* * *

She took the world’s second shortest shower after him, throwing on her clothes and shoving her damp hair under a hat. After taking a second to sigh at her reflection, she decided she didn’t care if she looked like crap and marched into the kitchen where the noise was coming from.

Arthur looked up. He was easing lids onto plastic take-out containers, which had been filled with last night’s risotto. The leftovers from the fridge, not the bowls they’d left out all night. The bread was wrapped in a dish towel, tied in a clumsy knot.

“Hey,” Arthur said brightly. “Here’s today’s lunch.”

He tossed it at her. She caught it, bewildered. She’d been expecting to get hit on some more and rushed out the door, not…leftovers. She tucked them in her handbag.

“I know you hate wasting food,” he continued, sucking a speck of risotto off his finger. “Come on, we gotta go.”

He led her outside, not bothering to lock the cabin door before he turned to her and held out his arms. “Up you get.”

She stared warily, annoyed at the part of her that wanted to fling herself back into them and never let go.

“There’s a car,” she said, gesturing down the road. “Right?”

“Flying’s faster.” He clapped, arms coming out wider. “Come on.”

She sighed and walked up, looping her arms around his neck. He picked her up easily, the cold already much more bearable when she was pressed up against his chest.

Seconds passed. Nothing happened. She looked up at him, cheeks heating when she saw he was watching her.

“What happened to being in a hurry?”

“We still are.” His arms flexed around her, wings poised for flight. “Would you like to take me on a tour after the shoot ends?”

“Oh, would I like to,” she said, automatic. “Thanks for giving me this golden opportunity—”

“You can just say no.”

She fixed him with a dubious look. “I refuse to believe you haven’t gotten one yet.”

“I had offers,” he admitted. “I want it to be you.”

He said it so casually. And yet it made her traitorous heart clench.

She opened her mouth to say no. To say hell no. To say that last night was fun, but she wasn’t about to dig herself deeper into the heartbreak that until a few days ago, she thought she had gotten over. She wasn’t digging this hole any deeper.

“Fine,” she said instead.

He beamed. “Great! I can’t wait to see your argument for how this place is actually worth living in. Something tells me it’s improved over the years.”

“Claw Haven is worth living in,” she snapped. “If you just—”

“Save it for tonight,” he told her and took off.

She yelped, clinging. The icy wind stung her cheeks. She turned her face grudgingly into his mane, ignoring the pleased look on his face.

It didn’t mean anything. Not the risotto or his continuous attempts to string her along.

He’ll be gone by New Year’s , she reminded herself and held him tighter.

* * *

He soared over the town, heading dangerously close to Main Street.

“You can drop me off a block away,” she told him.

He hummed. Pretending to consider it, she realized, and she had to bite her cheek to hold back a laugh.

“Nope,” he said, landing right outside Cozy Grotto Café.

Before Emma could decide whether to double back and pretend she was just coming in, a dozen heads swiveled to look at her through the glass—including but not limited to the camera operators, his glamorous costar, Daisy and Hazel, Luna Musgrove, and extras who had known Emma her whole life and looked far too overjoyed to see her climbing out of her ex’s arms.

Emma smiled tightly. Great.

Arthur held the door open for her. “After you.”

She ignored him, adjusting her handbag and walking in.

Some of the camera crew were getting back to work, but everyone who already knew Emma was taking their sweet time looking away.

Thankfully Daisy and Hazel were stuck behind the count-er talking to the director, but Luna Musgrove made an immediate beeline toward her, looking positively delighted.

“Helloooo,” Luna said, blond hair bouncing. “You look great! Are those last night’s clothes?”

Emma tugged her into the corner, out of the way of the crew and the nosy townsfolk. It wouldn’t help if there were any vampires or werewolves around, but Emma hoped that her reputation was enough to make them butt out of her private conversations.

“Do me a favor and shush,” Emma told her. “Why are you here?”

“What, I can’t drop by the most exciting thing that’s happening all winter?” Luna fluttered her eyelashes. She looked…way too knowing, Emma realized. Suspiciously knowing.

“Luna,” Emma said gravely. “What did you do?”

Luna linked her hands together under her chin. “Whatever do you mean?”

Emma tugged her hands back down. “Luna!”

Luna laughed. “Nothing! I just pointed him in Heath’s direction. Who knew the guy could cook as well as bake? Did you like the risotto?”

“It was fine.” Emma adjusted her handbag strap, listening to the leftover containers clack together. “You’re an asshole.”

“You love it,” Luna said breezily, turning to watch the crew set up.

The makeup artists had gotten to Arthur, brushing out the mane he’d avoided during this morning’s shower as they led him out back to the wardrobe.

Emma prickled. She could never do that; she hated strangers touching her.

But he seemed so calm, letting them peel his lips back to examine his fangs as the door swung shut behind them.

Luna leaned in, her glossy hair tickling Emma’s chin. “Is he very different than when you knew him?”

Emma snorted, folding her arms. “No. Same annoying, self-obsessed chimera.”

“Sure.” Luna waved a dismissive hand. “But he’s got layers, right? You wouldn’t have dated him otherwise.”

Emma didn’t reply. Sometimes she thought she’d imagined it all: the sweet moments, the times when he dropped his mask and was just… Arthur . No bells and whistles, no flashy lights. The deep emotions he pretended not to have finally seeping through.