Page 78 of Property of Crypt Keeper

I nearly dropped the knife. “No,” I insisted. Though a small little devil in the back of my head gleefully tickled the mark along my spine.

“Yes, he does.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Yes-huh.”

“Yes-huh is not a word.” I considered arguing further.

Then realized I was debating relationship dynamics with a child. A child who was somehow winning. Again.

Fucking hell.

The afternoon passed surprisingly quickly.

Somewhere between making sandwiches, reading half a dozen picture books, and listening to Zara explain why raccoons were superior to most humans, I found myself relaxing. It was quite disturbing.

I didn’t relax.

I didn’t sit in kitchens.

I didn’t discuss raccoons.

And I certainly didn’t allow children to curl up beside me while reading. Yet here I was.

When had this happened? More importantly—how had Gideon allowed this tiny creature to obviously completely dismantle his life?

Because she had. I could see it now. The way everyone watched her. Protected her. Worried about her. Especially him.

A strange ache settled in my chest. Because for the first time in a very long time… I thought I understood why.

“Are you staying?”

The question caught me completely off guard. I looked down. Zara sat cross-legged on the floor with a coloring book spread out before her. Her gaze remained fixed on the page. Like the question wasn’t important. Like she didn’t care about the answer. Which meant she cared very much.

My throat tightened unexpectedly. “I-I-I don’t know,” I stuttered.

It was the truth. The only truth I had.

The child nodded slowly. “I hope you do.”

Just like that. Simple. Honest. No manipulation. No hidden meaning. No agenda.

I hope you do.

The words hit harder than they should have. Because nobody had ever said that to me. Not that I could remember. Not in decades anyway. Maybe not ever. Well, besides my uncle, but he didn’t count.

Something in my chest twisted painfully. I looked away before she noticed.

While she continued with her art project, I was researching everything I could about Rougarous and the mythology of the curse that “created them.”

Then it happened. A sharp pull. Deep inside my chest. I froze. The feeling vanished.

I frowned. What was that?

The bond had felt strange all day. Different. Stronger. But this… this felt painfully wrong.

Almost like—unsurmountable distance. I pushed the thought away.