Page 10 of Something Worth Keeping
The shadows surged forward, crashing against Cillian’s control.They wanted to pour through that window, to wrap around Julian and announce their presence. They needed to make him understand that he would never be alone again, never be dismissed again, never be punished for being exactly what he was…
“No.” Cillian forced the word through clenched teeth that weren’t quite teeth. “Not. Yet.”
The shadows retreated, but they were sulking again. It was becoming a habit. They coiled around him like petulant serpents, radiating their frustration.
Cillian understood. He felt it too - his desperate, clawing need to claim, protect, and keep his mate. But Julian was human, and that meant he was fragile. He’d been calm in the alley because he hadn’t fully processed what he’d seen. If Cillian manifested now, if he let the shadows run wild,Julian might finally feel the fear that had been notably absent. And that would destroy something in Cillian that he hadn’t known existed until thirty-six hours ago.
So, he waited and watched, because for now that was all he could do. He let the golden thread between them hum with unspoken promises.
Julian closed his laptop around eight o’clock and made himself dinner - chicken breast, roasted vegetables, arranged in neat portions. He ate methodically, chewing each bite thoroughly, and Cillian found himself matching his breathing to Julian’s without conscious thought.
After dinner, Julian washed his dishes immediately, dried them, and put them away. Then he stood in his small kitchen, looking around like he was searching for the next task.
“This is why people drink,” Julian said to the empty apartment. “Unstructured time is terrible.”
Cillian’s chest ached. His beacon, suspended from work, was alone in his apartment with nothing but research and shadows for company. It was unacceptable.
The urge to hunt rose again, sharp and demanding. Cillian could find the supervisor who’d suspended Julian. He could explain very clearly how beingcorrectwas exactly the same as beingright, and anyone who couldn’t understand that distinction didn’t deserve to supervise a mind like Julian’s.
But that would frighten Julian and might even make him see Cillian as a threat instead of a guardian.
So, Cillian stayed crouched on his rooftop, watching Julian retrieve a book from the shelf and settle into his chair. The beacon read for an hour,occasionally pausing to write notes in the margin. Even his handwriting was precise - small, neat letters that maximized space.
The shadows kept trying to slip away, kept reaching toward the window. Cillian caught them each time, but the effort was exhausting. They’d never been this rebellious before, never this insistent.
Because they’d never found their other half before.
Cillian’s phone buzzed again.
Thorn: Where are you? Meeting started ten minutes ago.
Cillian typed back:Unavoidably detained.
Thorn: By what?
By a human with gray eyes and no social filter who’d calmly suggested body disposal methods and then walked away like encounteringeldritch entities was a normal Tuesday evening. By a beacon who collected research like other people collected stamps. By the mate Cillian had waited centuries to find without knowing he was waiting.
Cillian: Something important.
He put the phone away and returned his attention to Julian, who’d fallen asleep in his chair, book open on his lap. The reading glasses had slipped down his nose, and his head rested against the chair at an angle that would definitely cause neck pain.
Cillian stood. The shadows moved with him, eager to the point of desperation.
“Just to move him to the bed,” Cillian whispered. “Nothing more.”
The shadows didn’t believe him. Cillian didn’t believe himself.
But Julian would wake with a terrible crick in his neck if he stayed in thatchair, and Cillian couldn’t bear the thought of his beacon in pain when he could prevent it.
With his decision made, Cillian stepped off the rooftop and let the darkness carry him across the street, through the window crack, and into Julian’s home.
His beacon slept on, peacefully unaware, while Cillian’s shadows finally -finally- wrapped around him like a promise and moved him silently to the bed.
Chapter Five
Julian woke in his bed with no memory of getting there. For someone who never forgot anything, that was momentarily disconcerting. He lay still, cataloging his situation.
There was nothing amiss. The duvet was tucked around him firmly to keep him warm against the chill. His glasses were folded and placed on the nightstand, well within reach of the bed.
