Page 12 of Christmas with a Chimera (Claw Haven)

He’d stopped bringing up LA. She thought he was happy with their life together.

Then he ambushed her on Christmas Eve to tell her he had an audition in the New Year and he wanted her to come with him.

But when it became clear that she wouldn’t, he just…

stopped begging. His face had closed off. No tears, no regret. Just a mild smile.

Maybe it’s better this way. You won’t be holding me back anymore.

Then he’d left and never looked back. He hadn’t called.

Granted, she had screamed at him not to, but he would’ve if he wanted.

The next time she saw him, it was a movie poster they hung up in the movie theater.

This was before they started showing more than two movies a year, so Emma was forced to look at his stupid face every day as she drove to work for six goddamn months .

Then again when his next movie came out, and the next.

His smug smile blared down at her from the poster, all charm and fangs.

Looking at some girl like she was the whole world.

“He’s a good actor,” Emma said flatly.

“Well.” Luna nudged her. It wasn’t hard, but it was enough to make Emma grit her teeth. Luna was a friend, but they weren’t that close.

Luna continued, “I’m just glad you two—”

“Stop,” Emma snapped. “I know you get off on gossip, but get your nose out of my personal life. Okay?”

Luna blinked, surprised. Emma hadn’t snapped at her since the day they’d first met, when Luna playfully batted her arm one too many times.

“Ooookay,” Luna said quietly. “Noted.”

Emma was still scowling when Arthur came out of the back room, dressed in an entirely different suit, an apron tied around his waist. He paused to let a makeup artist run one last comb through his mane, then headed over to his mark.

His costar—who Emma belatedly learned was called Jennifer, a Hollywood nepo baby who rose to fame through her famous director dad—wiggled her fingers at him as they took their places behind the counter.

A hush fell over the café.

“Okay,” Rusty called. “Everybody ready? Three. Two. One. And…action!”

Daisy started fake-taking an order at the till. Hazel bustled around, fake-making a coffee. Behind them, the camera crew zoomed in on Jennifer and Arthur as they stacked mugs onto a shelf.

The café was quiet enough for Emma to hear every word.

“Pretty cramped behind here,” Arthur said. “You don’t get uncomfortable?”

“I don’t know,” Jennifer replied. “I’m getting used to it.”

She bumped her hip against his. He grinned at her, eyes crinkling.

Emma’s grip tightened on her handbag as she remembered kissing those stupid laugh lines last night.

The marks he’d left on her twinged—blunt claw marks on her hips, her thighs, her back.

She used to touch them every morning in the shower, giddy and hot.

There had been a glimpse of that this morning, heat curling in her gut as she ran her hands down her soapy thighs. The marks would be gone soon.

Good riddance , she thought. But it didn’t sound convincing, even in the privacy of her own head.

She’d missed him. His cock, sure. But also the way he saw right through her.

She thought she’d been doing a good job hiding that she hadn’t gotten any for a while.

Then he’d shown up and ruined that. It had taken him a while to learn to see past her anger to what she was hiding under it, but apparently, he still had the knack.

She just hoped he didn’t see how pathetic she felt when she thought about how easily he’d left.

How much she wanted him around, even as she raged at him.

How much she’d missed him despite everything.

“I can teach you a thing or two,” Jennifer said.

Emma blinked. She’d obviously missed a few lines of dialogue while she spaced out. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. She had barely eaten dinner, and she hadn’t had breakfast yet.

“I bet you can,” Arthur said, voice low.

They were standing so close . Emma fidgeted as they stared into each other’s eyes, all those cameras trained on them. How the hell did they do this with so many people watching? She wasn’t even in the shot and it was making her skin crawl.

It’s not real , she reminded herself as Arthur and Jennifer drew closer. It didn’t help. She couldn’t stop watching his eyes, so big and soft, watching Jennifer like she was everything. The same way he’d looked at her, once.

Arthur leaned in. Jennifer smiled into the kiss, her pleased hum easily audible even from all the way across the café.

Emma clenched her handbag, the plastic containers pushing hard against each other. It was fake. That was what Arthur did, he faked it until he got what he wanted, no matter who got hurt because of it.

What the hell was she doing here? This was never going to end well. Better to end the fling now, after one night, than let him drag her along for another week.

“Cut,” Rusty yelled. “Alright, let’s do that one again. Jen, this time could you try that last line with a bit more pizzazz?”

Emma wasn’t sticking around for this. She headed quietly for the door.

“Em?” Luna said.

Emma ignored her. Her eyes burned as she strode out onto the snowy street, which was once again bustling with shoppers. It was a twenty-minute walk to her house. The streets had been cleared for most of the trek, but the last stretch would soak her jean cuffs yet again.

“Emma!”

Emma groaned and kept walking.

Arthur caught up fast. She heard him give a brief greeting to someone who was no doubt staring at the big fancy movie star right here in their Podunk little town before he was behind her. Not touching her—not this time.

Emma was grateful. Emma was annoyed. Emma wanted that big hand to close on her shoulder and turn her around, wanted it to sink into her hair, wanted it to warm her cheek like he’d done last night.

“You have a scene to finish,” she reminded him, still walking.

“They can wait,” Arthur said and ducked in front of her. “Where are you off to?”

“Home.” She tried stepping around him. He let her, falling into step beside her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

He snorted. “You’re upset.”

She didn’t look at him. She could see him smiling out of the corner of her eye, that coaxing smile he pulled up when he could tell someone was mad and was hoping he could charm them out of it.

“I need new clothes,” she said.

“You look great!”

“Well, then, I need a nap.”

“Okay,” Arthur said, laughing at the obvious lie. “When should I expect you back for the grand tour?”

She whirled to face him. People streamed around her, ignoring her, staring at the incredible Arthur Pineclaw, who came to a stop beside her.

Still smiling, still beautiful, the kind of beauty that demanded attention.

No wonder they loved him so much in the big city.

No wonder they plastered him all over their screens when he looked like that—when he could look at people the way he’d looked at Jennifer in the café, the way he’d looked at Emma last night.

It took a special talent to make you believe in romance with one look.

Emma swallowed, trying to drag back the anger. “This is a bad idea. This whole thing was a bad idea. I should never have met up with you last night. We shouldn’t have—”

“Whoa, hey.” Arthur stepped closer, voice lowering. “Where is this coming from?”

She threw her arms up. “Gee, I don’t know! Christmas, twelve years ago?”

He was still smiling, watching her with something too close to hope—that movie star smile fading into something scarily genuine. Then it grew, turning back into the smile he used with paparazzi.

“Emma,” he started. Too smug, too knowing . She hated that he knew her so well, even after all this time. “Come on. We had a great time last night. Don’t ruin it with this thing you do.”

“Thing?” Emma hissed. “What thing , Arthur?”

Arthur hesitated. His smug smile wavered, but only for a moment.

“You feel something you don’t like,” he said slowly. “And then you get mad because it’s easier than feeling whatever’s under it.”

Emma clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached. A thousand fleeting conversations with her parents and her short-lived therapist ran through her head at once.

“I don’t do that,” she mumbled.

“You do ,” he said. “You were getting better at not doing it. I hoped you’d be over it by now.”

Emma swallowed. He’d said something the other day about her liking certain waves of anger.

She’d lain in bed that night, fuming, determined that he was just getting under her skin.

Was this something he actually believed about her?

Something he’d believed even back when they were together?

She didn’t like anger. She didn’t rely on it to cover stuff up, she just…

got angry sometimes. The world was frustrating. That wasn’t her fault.

A strange, shaky feeling came over her. It felt a lot like a realization. Then rage rushed to cover it, as blinding and reliable as ever.

“Yeah,” she snapped. “I hoped you’d be different, too. That you’d stop with all your empty, pandering bullshit . So, apparently, we’re both disappointed!”

She pushed past him.

“Emma,” he tried.

He reached for her. She dodged it, whirling on him.

“ Don’t . Just go back and finish the scene, alright? Don’t let me hold you back. ”

It should’ve felt good, throwing that back in his face. Turning his own last words against him. Turning her back, the same way he’d done to her all those years ago.

But it was a hollow victory. The anger dissipated as soon as it came. She was too stuck on how the smile had fallen off his face for good when she left him there. He’d been trying to pull it back up, but she’d seen it.

He had missed her. That part was true, at least.