Page 81 of Howl for the Gargoyle

And when Rafe's hand linked with mine, following me step for step into the kitchen, I sighed with relief, needing him within reach. He texted and grabbed a spice blend as I pulled a popcorn packet from the box, scowling at the way it slipped clumsily in my claws. He stretched our arms between us as he pulled butter from the fridge. When I flinched at the popping sounds, he dragged me closer, wrapping one arm around me, covering my ears, and warmed the butter in a pan on the stove with the spices. I was meant to be taking care of him, or at least that was my intention, but something was cracking inside of me, mimicking the lines of silver now decorating his skin. His hand soothed down my back and paused over my scars.

"Hmm. We match now."

It was too close to my own thoughts. Fincher had grabbed Rafe as punishment and as bait. I was the reason my mate had been put in danger, if not the one to blame. And Rafe was just…being calm and cute and never complaining, even though I'd seen him wincing in the shower earlier when the water had rinsed over his wings.

A werewolf weeping is a peculiar sound—a woofing, barking, whining noise, my human cries mingling in my animal throat.

"Shit, sorry," Rafe whispered, shoving the pan from the heat and gathering me fully against his chest, squeezing too hard to be safe for the crack of silver along his ribs. "I'm all right, Hannah. I'm okay. I'm here."

"He could've killed you!" I snarled, my hands hovering at his sides, wanting to clasp onto him but afraid to.

"Nahhh," Rafe said.

I leaned back, eyes wide and baffled, and gaped at him.

Rafe blinked down at me. "Woulda taken a really long time. Gargoyle thing," he said, shrugging. "And he had shitty tools."

My jaw hung open, and Rafe's eyes were big and honest, his expression even. I had other points to argue—mainly that Rafe being slowly chiseled to death wasn't better than Fincher being quick about it—but Rafe's hands rose to cup my face and he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the tip of my nose.

"I knew my mate was on her way," he murmured, head tipping to kiss my jaw, then leaning in and burrowing his face into my fur.

I shuddered, and my arms wrapped tight around Rafe's back, my eyes fixed to the rivulets of silver that marked Rafe's wings, matching us as a set, and wished I'd taken the opportunity to tear Fincher's throat out when I'd had the chance.

Rafe was heavy on top of me, an anchor as the transformation tore through me the next day, leaving me panting on my bed, sore and exhausted. But the night had been quiet and easy, the pair of us staying tangled up together. Whatever anxious urges I ought to have had were pushed aside with the need to touch and soothe and cuddle with my mate. It was almost restful, if only my mind hadn't been caught in a spiral of intrusive thoughts.

"Shower?" Rafe asked, stretching on top of me as my body settled back to human.

A shower would be good—a bath would be even better—but I shook my head. He lifted himself up on his elbows and stared down at me.

"What's wrong?" he asked, frowning.

I blinked up at him, trying to find the right words in the right order to explain myself.

"I…still wish it hadn't happened," I answered in a whisper.

Rafe's brow furrowed. "I mean, listen, I'm not saying I had a good time either."

I pressed my lips together and shook my head. "Not that. I mean, obviously I wish Fincher hadn't been able to hurt you, but I…mean I wish he hadn't turned me into a werewolf."

"Should you wish he had?" Rafe asked.

"Shouldn't I?"

We stared at one another for a moment, mutually puzzled, and then Rafe's expression cleared and softened. His lips curved and his head ducked, resting against my forehead. He was warmer like this, after we'd spent hours cuddling and lying in the sun, his stone soaking up the heat.

"Because you being a werewolf is why we met?" Rafe asked.

I nodded, and he rose up just enough to share his grin with me.

"Like, I want us to be us, and….and I want you to be my mate, and none of that happens if I'm not a werewolf. I'd almost actually gotten to a place where I was…" I trailed off in my ramble. Before Fincher had grabbed Rafe, I'd not been thrilled to be a werewolf, but I’d been moving toward acceptance.

"Nothing changes our relationship now, Hannah," Rafe said, still smiling. "You don't have to run hypotheticals, and I'm not going to be hurt or offended that you wish you hadn’t suffered through Fincher’s attack or what he put us through. We are mates, even if the chain of events wasn’t ideal."

I huffed at the understatement of Rafe being kidnapped and chiseled as 'not ideal,' and Rafe shrugged.

"I love you," he murmured, reaching up and stroking the backs of his fingers over my cheek and down my throat. "And because I love you, I'm never going to look at your scars and say to myself, ‘gosh, I'm sure glad Hannah was hurt so we could have a reason to fuck each other straight into matehood.’"

I snorted, and Rafe's expression brightened at my growing smile. "I just thought I was supposed to say something like…like about how I'm grateful it happened 'cause it brought me to you."

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