Page 22 of Gone Hunting

“What are you doing to me?” she whispers.

I try to laugh. It doesn’t quite come out. “I was going to ask you the same thing. You’re like . . .”

“Magic?” she offers.

“Not quite.” I nuzzle her closer, my jaw sweeping over her head. “You’re peace.”

“That’s nice,” she says. I release her when her arms slip away, even though neither of us seem ready to let go. “We could all use some peace.”

The hoots from a distant owl is a firm reminder of how late it is. I offer Celia my hand, trying not to smile like a fool when she takes it.My dad always warned me that when I’d fall for a female, I’d fall hard. Still, I never pictured anything like this.

“Are you hungry?” She looks at me. “Sorry, that’s a stupid question. We can talk things over with my folks while we eat. Mom always makes plenty of food.”

“All right.”

I give her hand a small squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

“Aric, I know you mean well. But if your parents aren’t okay with me staying, I understand. If I can just call home, Ana Lisa, my foster mother, will wire me the money to pay for the call and a ticket back home. Do you have access to Western Union or something like that?”

“We do, but it won’t be necessary. My parents won’t take a dime from you, and they’ll welcome you like family.”

“But they don’t know me.”

“True. But they know me, just like I know them. They’re good people. Just make sure you eat plenty, otherwise you’ll offend my Mom.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” she says. “I could eat a cow.”

“Good,” I say. “That’s probably what’s for dinner.”

I pause when we come across a familiar spot. “Want to see something?”

“Is it evil?”

I bark out a laugh. “No. It’s anything but.”

“In that case, sure.”

I lead her off the path until we’re standing directly in front of a pine with a trunk as wide as my body. “Here,” I say, guiding her around it.

She tilts her head when I point to the heart carved into the tree. “Who are A.C. and E.D.?” Celia asks, motioning to the initials.

“My parents, Aidan Connor and Eliza Dùghlas. They’re mates,” I add, when she glances back at me. “My father carved their initials into this tree the day they realized who they were to each other. My mother was so touched by the gesture, he bought this property to ensure nothing would ever happen to the tree.”

“It was a wedding present,” I say, when she continues to appear confused.

“What’s a mate?”

I want to tell her it’s a word connected to love, commitment, and honor. Stronger than marriage and the most sacred bond awerewill ever share with another. But as I look into Celia’s pretty face and see the way she patiently waits for me to explain—like I’m the only one who can explain it the right way—the words barely come.

“Weres, the lucky ones anyway, have mates,” I say, my tone a whisper that vanishes in the increasing breeze. “That one special being they’re destined to love and share a soul with for eternity.”

Celia’s gaze drifts to mine. “Do you think you’ll have a mate someday?”

I think back to my parents, how lost they are when the other is not around, and how they cherish each smile and gentle touch. “I hope so,” I rasp.

The wind picks up again, lifting Celia’s long hair. It’s similar to how it felt last night, the same kind of wind that brought me that dream. “I should get you inside,” I tell her.

We hurry back onto the path and through the patch of woods that makes up most of our property.

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