Page 20 of Christmas with a Chimera (Claw Haven)

Arthur’s tail flicked again. He stilled it. It had been happening too much since he came to Claw Haven; he’d have to sort that out before he went back to LA. He couldn’t walk around telegraphing what he was feeling all the time.

Was Rusty a friend or a coworker? Scratch that.

Was everyone in Arthur’s life—his agent, his LA flying crew, his gym instructor, the old coworkers he got brunch with every eight months that never ended without a photo op—were they all just coworkers?

He couldn’t think of a truly personal conversation he’d had with any of them.

Nor with his parents. The only genuine connection he had was with Emma Curt.

He almost wanted to laugh. It would be better than bursting into tears, which was feeling horrifyingly like a real option as he sat there at the bar, ignored by his coworker, stared at by bar patrons and fairy waitresses who wanted an autograph, and ignored by the one person who truly saw him.

Arthur stood up so fast he nearly knocked over the barstool with his wings.

“I have to go,” he announced.

Rusty watched him, bewildered. “You’re gonna get back to me about that thing we talked about, right?”

“On it,” Arthur called back. He stumbled out of the bar, heart thumping, the future warping in front of him in a way it hadn’t done in a long, long time.

* * *

He dug his blunt claws into his hands, tail twitching as he waited on her ramp. He should’ve brought flowers. He should’ve shown up at her house days ago, no matter what Joshua said about letting things lie. He should’ve done a lot of things.

The door creaked warily open, revealing Emma in all her sweatpants and sleep-shirt glory. Her hair was oily like it hadn’t been washed in a few days, and she was wearing fuzzy socks as slippers. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“They want me to date my costar,” Arthur said, too loud. Then he stopped. “Is that my shirt?”

For a second, Arthur thought she would slam the door in his face, or maybe take the wreath off the door and throw it at him. She seemed like she was considering it.

“I found it in my parents’ garage a few years ago,” Emma said slowly, like she had to force it out. “It’s comfy.”

“Looks comfy,” Arthur said determinedly. “I mean, good. It looks really good on you.”

Emma’s lips tightened. Arthur braced himself for a snarky comment, Emma’s go-to defense when she felt like the other person had the upper hand.

“I threw it in the trash,” she admitted. “Then, um, dug it out. What were you saying about Jennifer?”

“Nothing is happening,” Arthur hurried to say. “I swear. They just want me to date her for the publicity.”

He glanced around, trying to spot any werewolves or vampires who might be lingering down the street with their super hearing.

The street was empty, and he couldn’t smell anyone hiding in the bushes.

Just snow and Emma’s berry deodorant buried under dried sweat.

It made him want to follow her inside and lick it off her.

Wrap her in a blanket when they were done.

He’d never seen the inside of her house, and he wanted to know how she lived.

If she still organized her bookshelf by color, kept DVDs, or left the cupboard doors hanging open even though she always dinged her head on them.

He knew her to her bones, but he didn’t know what her bedroom looked like. He wanted to.

Emma waited. “And?”

“It would be fake,” Arthur continued, forcing his thoughts back on track. “At least while we’re in Claw Haven. Like I said, I don’t date coworkers until after shooting wraps. Maybe after. I wanted to run it by you first.”

Emma’s jaw ticked. She folded her arms, and his heart sank.

“Again, why would I care?” she asked.

He blinked. It actually sounded like a question this time, not the accusation she’d slung at him at the cabin.

“Because I thought we had something the other day. Before you ran out into the snow.” Arthur could feel the desperation in his smile.

He knew she could see it, she always could.

And yet he couldn’t stop. If he stopped, he didn’t know what terrifyingly honest expression would take over his face, but he didn’t want anyone to witness it.

“It had stopped snowing,” Emma said defensively. She shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable. But not yelling. Why wasn’t she yelling?

“We did have something,” Emma admitted in a rush, staring at her socked feet. “But you’re—you’re leaving. So let’s just stop whatever this is before one of us does something stupid.”

He’d never seen her this quiet when she was upset. It was eerie. It made him want to take her face and tilt it up, make her look at him. He dug his claws into his hands, forcing them to still.

“You really aren’t going to yell?” he asked hopefully.

She huffed. “I’m trying something new. I’m still mad, I’m just… I don’t know. I’m trying to be done with yelling. I’m trying to be done with this .”

She waved between them. Then she added something he didn’t expect.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

She started closing the door.

Arthur panicked, shoving his wing in the way.

“I wanted you to come with me,” he tried. “I thought about you all the time. I tried not to, but I did. You can still come with me!”

Emma snorted, his old shirt falling off her shoulder and exposing her collarbone in a way that made him breathless.

“Right,” she said. “I’m going to be the next girl on your arm, huh? All prettied up and smiling, going to parties and red carpets and laughing at everyone’s jokes. That’s who I’m gonna be?”

“You can fake it,” he said. “It’s not that hard! I can teach you!”

Emma nudged his wing out of the way, so gently he was too dumbfounded to do anything but let her.

He grabbed the door. “Please! I need—nobody’s ever— please . You can trust me, I swear. I’ll never walk away from you again. I’ll never say you don’t matter—you do matter, we were something. We were everything.”

Emma finally met his gaze. Her beautiful brown eyes were shining, goose bumps already rising on the exposed flesh of her shoulder.

She sucked in a deep breath like he’d always told her to do when they were in high school, one bit of advice she had never followed.

She’d always steamrollered ahead, not taking the time to pause and cool down before she started screaming.

Except now. She’d finally started doing it. It just took him breaking her heart for a second time.

“We had something good,” she said, her voice almost even. “And it ended. And that’s…fine. It’s fine! I’ve moved on. You’ve moved on. And now we go back to our lives.”

She paused and smiled at him, small and tremulous.

“I’m glad you came back to visit,” she admitted quietly. “Merry Christmas, Arthur.”

She closed the door. No slamming, no screaming. Just a soft snick of the lock clicking into place and the not-so-soft sound of Arthur trying to stop the heartbroken roar building in his throat.