Page 57 of On Tap for the Bear
Relief floods through me so strong my knees nearly buckle. Not a threat. Not danger. Just the magic doing what it's supposed to do.
"What about the readings from the north?" I ask. "Where Jonah disappeared?"
"Still anomalous," Calder admits. "Still stable. Whatever's happening up there, it's not connected to tonight's surge. That's a separate issue." He gives me a meaningful look. "One we'll deal with when we have more information."
Translation: not tonight. Not on my bonding night.
Beau pushes off the doorframe. "So we're good? No immediate crisis?"
"We're good." Calder starts shutting down some of his monitoring programs. "The ley lines are settling into their new normal. By morning, everything should be stable."
Quinn lets out a breath I didn't realize she was holding. Her relief washes over me, mixing with mine, amplifying until we're both nearly giddy with it.
"Can we go back to bed now?" I ask.
Beau snorts. "Please do. Some of us would like to sleep without worrying the world's ending."
Calder waves us off. "Go. I'll keep monitoring, but I don't expect any more surprises tonight."
We make it halfway across the compound before Quinn starts laughing. Soft at first, then harder, until she's bent over with it.
"What?" I can't help grinning at her.
"We just...” She gasps for air. "We bonded, had amazing sex, thought the world was ending, and now we're just going back to bed like it's a normal Tuesday."
"It's Saturday, actually."
She swats my arm, still laughing. "You know what I mean."
I pull her close, kissing the top of her head. "This is pretty much normal around here."
"Magical chaos followed by relief?"
"Every time."
We climb back up to the loft, and this time when we slide under the covers, there's no urgency. Just warmth and contentment and the steady pulse of the bond between us.
Quinn curls into my side, her head on my chest. "Eli?"
"Mm?"
"I'm really happy."
Simple words. But the bond carries everything behind them to me—the joy, the relief, the deep satisfaction of finally being exactly where she's supposed to be.
"Me too," I tell her, kissing her forehead. "So am I."
Three MonthsLater
I'm pulling a fresh batch of pale ale when Quinn walks into the Bear Claw with her laptop bag and that focused expression she gets when she's working on a story.
"Corner table?" I call over the lunch crowd.
"Please." She waves at Old Tom, who's become one of her regular interview subjects. "And coffee. Strong."
I pour her a mug from the pot I keep going all day and bring it to her usual spot—the table by the window where the afternoon light is best. She's already set up, laptop open, notebook beside it covered in her precise handwriting.
"Working on the brewery piece?" I ask.
