Page 46 of In the Light of the Moon

“Well, thank you,” her voice lowered, “and next time, I can take care of you. Maybe cook for us?”

I began feeding the rectangle of dough through my pasta roller, slowly cranking the handle to flatten it to a uniform sheet. “No.”

“No?”

“I enjoy doing this. Just let me take care of you without feeling like you need to reciprocate. You give me more than enough by just being you.” She’d told me about how she spent years taking care of her father. And I knew that she saw it as enjoying time and learning with her grandmother, but Sylvie spent enough time worrying about others. I’d never had someone I wanted to do this for—be this way for—until her. Andeven she wasn’t going to keep me from doing it. She deserved to rest.

“Ugh, why are you so perfect?” Her words sounded frustrated, but her contented scent just deepened.

I didn’t know what to say to her besides, “I’m not perfect,” because it was the only thing about her words that I knew for certain.

“Yes, you are. With your wonderful house, your impressive career, your sweet and tender words. How cute you look barefoot with an apron on while making me pasta. People write romance novels about men like you, Orion.”

Well, I wasn’t a man, but I wasn’t ready to say that to her. So again, I responded with the words I knew for certain, “I’m not barefoot,” I waggled my socked foot for emphasis while I finished running the pasta through the machine once more and flowered the clean counter.

Sylvie snickered and pressed forward on arms folded in front of her. “What are you doing, now?” The movement pressed her breasts up against the neckline of her dress, their pillowy softness almost spilling out. I’d meant what I said earlier, about my intentions tonight. It was a wonder that I hadn’t fully mated her that night on campus. Even though the recent days shifted should have left my mind in a calmer state, the sight of her smiling at someone else and then her cherry scented flesh yielding and so soft under my teeth almost snapped my resolve.

Because I wanted to mate her. Breed her. My teeth itched with my fangs threatening to emerge at the thought. Of locking myself to her while I buried my fangs into her neck, truly breaking the skin.

But that could never be. She was human, and I wouldn’t bind her to me in that way when she didn’t know what it meant. When it could turn her. I’d already gone too far with the half-mark on her neck.

So, I shook my head and set my knife to the folded layers of dough. “The sauce is almost done reheating, so I just need to shape and boil the tagliatelle. But that shouldn’t take long. The salad is already assembled and in the fridge,” I gestured my knife toward the refrigerator behind me and continued to cut into the yellow dough.

Sylvie watched me and hummed while I stored half of the noodles for freezing and brought the rest to the boiling water on the stove. I dropped the little bundles of tagliatelle into the pot.

“Are you all right if we eat outside?”

“Ooh, yes, it feels nice out there.” Sylvie’s enthusiasm was rubbing off on me. An easy smile stayed on my face while I finished making our meal. After plating the bolognese and salad, I put everything on a tray and led us out of the kitchen.

Sylvie followed me silently, her scent identifying her as curious but excited, and when we reached the entrance to the back porch, she pushed the door open for me.

“Orion, this is too much,” her voice was almost choked, and I fought the urge to whirl around to see her face with our dinner still in my hands. I’d purchased some of those twinkle lights my sister loved and set them up to illuminate the little area. Ramona said it made for a cozy ambiance when I asked her why she’d had them set up in her room a few years ago. Now that the sun had set, and I took in the sight of my backyard, lake and all, I agreed that it did add something to the view. Normally, when I sat out here in the evenings, I needed little light. The thought of setting these up had never occurred to me until I imagined sitting out here with Sylvie, thinking about what might make her feel comfortable and welcome. I realized that I enjoyed it as well.

Once I set the food down on the iron patio table I thrifted earlier this year, I turned to her.

She had tears in her eyes.

Without thought, I crossed the distance between us and brought her into my arms. My nose settled at her neck, unable to stifle the urge, and I took a deep inhale. She shivered but wrapped her arms around me. There was sadness there, but it was underneath the layers of sweetness and excitement that were still present. It was confusing.

“What’s wrong?” My voice was harsher than I intended, but I was frustrated that I didn’t understand.

I pulled myself back so that I could look at her face, to memorize the expression that paired with this particular aroma of hers. “This is just… so nice. I hadn’t,” her breath was shaky, “I hadn’t expected anything like this.”

Despite the usual discomfort, I met her eyes, trying to find clarity in them. It was becoming easier and easier to do with her—the color reminded me of running through the forest, something that never failed to calm me. “It’s… overwhelming?”

A wobbly smile started to spread on her face, “Maybe. But in a good way.”

Like how her kindness makes me feel, I related in that practiced way I’d been instructed to as a child. Through the years, it got easier to do. And then, at a certain point, I didn’t much feel like extending myself to understand the way other people felt. Not when it required all of this.

But I wanted to do that for her, my little witch. And when I thought of what she said in this way, I understood.

I pressed my lips to hers, offering that unspoken reassurance, and by the way hers molded to mine, she accepted.

After a few moments, we sat at the table, side-by-side, and began to eat. The sight of the lake and forest beyond was so familiar, I probably could have painted it from memory with great accuracy. But looking out upon it with Sylvie made it feel new. I always acknowledged its beauty, but the way the moon and stars reflected on the dark surface of the water was magical.We didn’t talk, but where I normally would have felt a nagging obligation to fill the silence, I relaxed. Sylvie’s satisfied ‘Mmm’s’ while she ate and my hand resting on her thigh was just the right amount of communication between us.

She’d used the word ‘perfect’ to describe me, when I felt anything but. However, I would have used that word to describe this, with her.

After we finished eating, we lingered on the porch, eyes still on the land before us with the music from inside trickling out of the open back door.

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