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Mor

Rain pounds against the windows in a constant barrage that I normally find soothing.

Nothing better than staying inside when there’s a rainstorm, curled in a chair to read or wrapped up in soft blankets as I drift off to sleep.

But this evening, the rattle of droplets on the roof can’t soothe away the restless energy fed by thoughts of Bo Folan.

I push back the covers and roll off the plush mattress, abandoning my attempt at sleep to descend from my bedroom and try to work through the grid of my own emotions.

But the colors overlaying my skin have always been difficult to discern.

All I know is, the air is cool, but my skin is flushed.

Memories of his forearms flexing while shelving a book continue to play through my mind, and I occasionally wonder what it would be like if Bo wrapped those arms around me.

If he held me close and never let go.

“What is wrong with me?” I mutter, pressing hard fingers against my forehead, as if I might be able to massage away the new rise of urges.

“I don’t know. What is wrong with you?”

The question has me starting in surprise, and I realize that my sister isn’t twined with her werewolf lover a floor above me, but instead is perched on my research table just next to the kitchen.

Ame cradles a steaming mug in her hands, and though she stares at me, the rest of her body faces the back window.

In the muted light of the moon, a torrential downpour rages just past the glass.

“What are you doing up?”

Ame always goes to bed at a reasonable time.

Mainly because, at eight p.m., Jack usually announces, “It’s bedtime,” then carries her upstairs.

Like he’s had enough of functioning in the world and he’s finally reached a socially acceptable time of day to sequester Ame in his den to enjoy all to himself.

I might protest the move if my sister didn’t grin wide every single time.

If she’s happy, then I’m happy.

“Anna had shoulder surgery today.” She names Jack’s mom, a human woman who moved to Folk Haven not long after Jack settled here with us.

“Everything went fine, but he felt better, staying over with her, just in case.”

Ame sips her tea, and a warm beverage on this cold, wet evening sounds perfect to me.

As I refill the teapot, I ask, “You didn’t want to go too? I’m surprised Jack was willing to part with you for a whole night.”

My sister goes back to staring out the window.

“I think Anna would like to have him to herself for a little bit. Have her son’s undivided attention.” She shrugs.

“Jack can be a little too focused on me if I’m in the room.”

“I’m betting it’s the same even when you’re not in the room.” I spoon loose chamomile tea into my infuser.

“He’s obsessed with you.”

Ame frowns.

A worry pricks at my nerves.

“Does that bother you? Do you … not feel the same?”

My sister is self-contained and developed top-notch emotional shields years ago, so it’s hard to tell what she’s feeling sometimes.

I imagine having the loving intensity of Jack focused on her all day and night could be wearing, especially if she’s realizing she doesn’t have the same level of devotion to him.

“I feel the same. Jack is mine.” There’s a warning note in her voice, but when I glance up from pouring the hot water into my mug, I realize the tone wasn’t directed at me.

More like my sister was putting the vibe out into the world.

A warning to the universe.

“But, yes,” she continues, “how much he loves me bothers me.”

“Explain.” I probably should be less demanding, but she’s used to it.

With my own tea warming my palms, I join her in the research room, choosing to settle in an armchair by the window that faces the room.

I don’t need to see the rain.

I just want to hear it, gentle background noise to our conversation.

“If something ever happens to me—not that I think it will, only it could because bad things happen all the time—it will devastate him. No …” Her brows scrunch in thought.

“Destroy. Decimate. Obliterate. I think that’s it. My death would obliterate Jack.”

Trepidation creeps down my spine.

If something were to happen to Ame, Jack’s not the only one who would be obliterated.

“You’re worried about dying?” I manage to keep my voice neutral.

“Not usually. But it happens to all of us. Even the long-lived mythics go at some point. And when I do, Jack won’t survive it.” She frowns at her mug.

“Most days, I love how Jack loves me. With every bit of himself. But I don’t like thinking that loving me could be fatal to him.”

That’s heavy.

But also correct as far as I can tell.

Jack has a job. He has family and friends.

He has interests that aren’t my sister.

But Ame is the blood in his veins.

More important than that even—since you can replace blood, but you can’t replace my sister.

“Ame.”

At the sound of her name, she finally glances my way, her vulnerable eyes seeming too large for her face.

“I will do everything in my power to make sure you live a long, healthy life. And your wolf will have no reason to even consider a future without you.”

She blinks, then offers me a small smile.

“Thank you.”

I nod just as a flash of lightning lights up the room and a boom of thunder shakes the glass.

I hope Bo is sleeping soundly in the RV.

Thoughts of the monster remind me of why I couldn’t sleep, and a question pops out of my mouth before I consider if I even want to have this discussion.

“Did you think Jack was attractive when you first met him?”

Ame tilts her head to the side.

“When I first met him, he was a cat. So, no.”

I huff a laugh.

“I meant as a man.” My voice turns a touch serious.

“The first time you saw his human form, were you attracted to him?”

Ame doesn’t need long to consider the question, nodding almost immediately.

“I never planned to act on the attraction. Even after he kissed me. But, yes, I thought Jack was handsome right away. Intimidatingly so.”

“Have you ever …” I don’t know how to phrase it other than, “Not been attracted to someone, then suddenly, you are?”

Maybe it’s strange I’m bringing this question to Ame when she’s younger than me.

Normally, I’m in the mentorship role.

But before Jack, Ame had a relatively full dating life, often having flings with men and women we met on our trips.

I never understood how she could encounter a person and be kissing them later that night.

I didn’t judge her for it; I just didn’t get it.

This time, Ame does take a moment to consider my question.

“I think I’ve always known right away whether or not I find someone attractive. Those feelings can grow if I spend more time with them. Or change into love, like with Jack. But I can’t remember a time when there wasn’t at least that initial spark.”

“Hmm.” I make the noise in the back of my throat, hoping I don’t sound disappointed.

“Is that something you’re feeling?” Ame asks.

“Attraction you didn’t feel before?”

“I don’t know.” I sip my tea and try to untangle my own mind.

“Shouldn’t I know right away?”

“Not necessarily.” She uncrosses her legs and swings them over the edge of the table.

“Attraction isn’t always a physical thing.”

Bo’s muscular body and flexing forearms come to mind.

“This is definitely physical.”

“Oh. Okay. Maybe … have you ever considered you might be demi?”

“Demi?”

“Demisexual. People who only form physical attraction after they’ve established a deep emotional connection to a person. Kind of like … you can’t find someone sexy unless you trust them first. I think.” The upward quirk of her mouth is rueful.

“Honestly, I only have an idea of it.”

“That’s … I’m not sure I …” Words fail me as I examine what Ame just described.

Is that truly a possibility?

“Mor?” Ame’s voice pulls me out of an internal whirlwind, and I meet her searching eyes.

“If that word helps you, then great. But while I know how much you love organizing things”—she waves around to encompass the library—“keep in mind, you don’t need to label yourself. If you like someone, you can just like them. If you find someone attractive, you can just find them attractive.”

“Stop lecturing me,” I grumble.

Ame grins, and it wrinkles her freckled nose.

Whatever we might have said to each other next is interrupted by a soft yet distinct noise.

A scratching at the back door.

Ame and I share a look, and I press up from my chair to explore.

Cracking the door lets in a chilly breeze, the cacophonous pound of precipitation, and a soggy raccoon.

The creature waddles into the kitchen like it owns the place and merely forgot its key.

“Hey!” I yelp.

“Oh.” Ame’s voice is soft with wonder.

“You found your familiar.”

“I … what?”

Then it occurs to me that Ame works in a veterinarian’s office and is much more used to reading the emotional auras of animals than I am.

“I’ll grab some towels,” my sister announces instead of explaining further, disappearing in the direction of the laundry room.

As if understanding what Ame just said, the creature sits back on its haunches and waits, little arms rubbing droplets from its face.

“My familiar?” I whisper, half to myself, half to the raccoon.

Two liquid black eyes meet mine, and something settles in place in my chest.

I lower to a crouch myself, extending my hand.

The raccoon reaches out and curls its little clawed digits around my pointer finger.

Almost like we’re shaking hands.

“Hello.”

The raccoon chirps.

Then Ame returns with towels, and we carefully pat the forest creature dry, braced the whole time for it to stage a protest. But the raccoon merely sits still, then wanders over to one of the many cat beds placed around the library for Lucky.

It curls up on the plush cushion and falls asleep.

“Aren’t they supposed to be nocturnal?” I whisper to Ame.

She shrugs. “Familiars make their own rules. But I can ask Lucky to keep an eye on your new friend.”

So, with my familiar asleep in my research room, under the watchful eyes of a black cat, I retreat up to my bedroom.

But I’m still not sleepy, so I prop my laptop in my lap and proceed to google demisexual .

At some point, I must have dozed off because my screen is black when I wake up to a thunderous crash overhead.