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Bo

The boom of thunder wakes me up, but it’s the rending crack of a tree that sends me stumbling out of bed and into the torrential downpour.

In the flashes of lightning, I catalog the damage, spying a massive branch that’s torn free of a tree and smashed into the roof of the library.

The roof of Mor’s bedroom.

Without thought, I’m shifting, taking on the horrific form of my monster as I charge toward the house.

Navigating inside would be too slow, so I leap for the lowest point on the roof and climb upward.

The storm rages on around me, not satisfied with the damage it’s done.

Please let her be okay .

As my claws scrabble across slick shingles, I realize that this panic in my chest is from fear of something happening to the fiery witch.

That she’s come to matter to me in small ways, even if I matter very little to her.

And the idea that she could be hurt even now …

No. I refuse to entertain it.

Having reached the skylight, I try to shove my head past the protruding twigs and destroyed roof to get a sense of how much damage is inside.

How much has been done to Mor Shelly.

“Gods-damn it!” a lovely voice snarls.

And there she is, by a closed door, trying to pull debris away from the exit.

I let out a snarly cough to get her attention.

Mor turns to look up at me.

She freezes, mouth going slack.

Gods, what must she think with my horrendous face peering down at her while she’s trapped?

And I’m not one of the mythics who can speak while in my nonhuman form.

I gather the power to shift back, even if it will leave me butt-ass naked on her roof in the middle of a storm.

But before I can morph my face to look human again, she lets out an audible exhale.

“Bo! Hells, you scared me for a second. All I saw were your eyes.”

She pushes damp hair off her forehead, and I spy speckles of blood on her skin.

She’s injured .

The knowledge makes me want to tear the storm clouds from the sky and ripped them to pieces for daring to harm the strong, kind witch.

“Can you help me get out? The door is blocked.” She waves at the splintered rubble keeping her in the room, talking to me like my monstrous visage is commonplace.

Nothing to be remarked upon or concerned about.

The reaction makes me feel …

things.

But she’s talking again, so I don’t have time to decipher exactly what those things are.

“There are plastic tarps in the basement. Maybe if I can cover the floor of the room, it’ll keep water from getting downstairs.” She stares around at the rain collecting near her feet.

I scrabble off the roof, leaping to the ground in one smooth move, then shift back to my human form before pushing inside the house, regretting how I have to break the knob to do so.

I mentally put it on my list as an item to repair.

Mor loves her little skeleton key, and she’ll be sad if the lock is ruined.

Taking the stairs three at a time, I climb up to the third level, only to find Jack and Ame working on freeing my witch as she shouts directions to them.

That task covered, I pick a new destination, hustling to the basement and easily finding the plastic tarps on the shelf above the laundry machine.

A toolbox sits in the corner, and I grab that too.

Meanwhile, I’m grateful I haven’t caught anyone’s attention while I’m running around nude.

Outside once more, I retake my monster form and scale to the roof again, tools in tow, held by my tail.

When I peer into the bedroom, Mor is gone, and the place is empty, which means I don’t have to worry about falling debris when I wrench the branch out of the roof and fling it far away from the home.

Then I’m human and naked again, needing opposable thumbs.

In my birthday suit, I proceed to stretch the plastic tarps over the hole in the roof and nail them into place, trying to secure the protection as good as possible.

The rain chills my skin, and the rumble of thunder mixes with the pound of blood in my ears.

Eventually, I’m as satisfied as I can be that the house is mostly waterproof again.

The rain is still coming down in heavy sheets, so I make the shift once more, feeling the drag of so much magic usage against my muscles.

Normally, I don’t alter my shape so rapidly and so many times over a short period.

I hope I don’t get stuck in my monster skin as I wait to regain strength.

Maneuvering carefully, I descend from the roof, only to find Mor, Ame, and Jack waiting for me on the front porch.

Expressions are some variations of surprise and shock.

“Did you just patch the roof?” Mor asks, her voice breathless.

But I’m too focused on the blood trickling from a split on the bridge of her nose to bother nodding.

Instead, I force my weary muscles to change once again until I’m standing as a human man, sweat mixing with rain, trying not to pant at the pain.

“You’re hurt,” I growl.

“How badly?”

Mor’s beautiful face flushes a deep red in the glow of the porch light.

“You’re naked.”

“Here.” Jack, who I didn’t realize had stepped away, strides out the front door and tosses a blanket my way.

I wrap the covering around myself as I trot up the stairs toward Mor, cataloging all the injuries I can spy on her.

Cut on her nose.

Gash on her left cheekbone.

Bruise forming on her collarbone.

Scratches on her left arm.

“Those need to be disinfected.” I herd her inside, and thankfully, the witch lets me.

“Ame, do you have a first aid kit?”

“On it.” The smaller witch jogs through a side room as I direct Mor toward the kitchen and plop her down at the table.

“Did you really cover the hole in the roof? All by yourself?”

I grunt and shrug.

Then I realize she’ll probably want more clarity than that.

“Yes, I did. It should hold till the morning.”

Ame appears at my side with a plastic white case that sports a Red Cross on it.

“I can take care of my own cuts,” Mor insists.

And she can argue all she wants while I make sure the abrasions are clean and cared for.

Besides, a grumpy, wet Mor is kind of cute.

I’d appreciate her in this state more if I wasn’t panicking over how close she came to truly getting injured.

That branch could have gone fully through the roof and landed on her.

Crushed her.

Impaled her.

And I wouldn’t have been able to stop it from happening.

I tear open the disinfectant wipe a little too aggressively and remind myself to rein it in.

Thankfully, despite her earlier protestations, Mor is willing to let me play doctor.

She sits still as I clean her wounds and cover them with Band-Aids.

The Band-Aids have bats on them.

“I don’t think you need stitches,” I mutter.

“But you should get checked out by a doctor.”

I toss the bloodied wipes on the table and turn back to her, only to find myself enveloped in a warm, soft, decadent hug.

Mor has plastered her top half against mine, her arms encircling my neck, our faces pressed cheek to cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Uh, sure. Of course.”

“For saving the books.”

I gape, watching over Mor’s shoulder as Ame smiles and Jack rolls his eyes.

A laugh of relief and astonishment bursts from my chest, and I allow myself to hug the ridiculous witch back.

Nothing I did tonight was for the books.

It was all for her.

Because she’s what matters.

To me. Mor matters to me.

I close my eyes and enjoy the embrace as I try to keep doubtful thoughts at bay.

Is this me repeating the past?

Falling for the first woman who shows me a hint of kindness?

Will Mor drop me just like Georgiana did once she gets whatever it is she wants?