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There was still so much to think about, so many secrets left to unravel. But exhaustion was truly taking hold of her now, stealing her ability to form coherent thoughts.

The rest would have to wait.

13

By the time Gabriel maneuvered his road-weary Mercedes down their snow-caked driveway, it was well after dawn. The winter sun shone bright against the sparkling snow that had swallowed up the yard, and water dripped in a steady rhythm from treacherous-looking icicles that clung to the roof’s edge.

Gabriel’s foot eased off the gas as he spotted Clement’s Range Rover parked behind Iris’ Nissan. He pulled up next to it with a prickle of concern.

Iris lifted her head from the passenger side window, dark circles marring the smooth skin beneath her brown eyes. She’d barely said a word during their hour-long drive home. Gabriel was fairly certain she wasn’t angry with him, merely too weary and exhausted to speak.

He felt conflicted about having finally confided in Iris about his past. On the one hand, he had shouldered the burden of his secrets nearly all on his own for centuries. At times, he’d feared he might collapse beneath their back-breaking weight. It was a relief that he didn’t have to hide so much from her now, but Gabriel couldn’t help worrying that he had transferred too much of his own heavy cargo onto her slight shoulders.

And despite the bond they shared, he still couldn’t be certain that she believed him. Gabriel was finding it very difficult to imagine himself in her place. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what it would feel like to have your entire understanding of the world ripped away from you within the span of a single day. To say he was impressed by how calmly she was handling everything was an understatement.

Another part of him was almost surprised that Iris truly hadn’t known what he was. His past was omnipresent, a constant thorn poking into his side and making him bleed. How was it possible she’d never sensed it?

During their long drive home, Gabriel had taken the time to reflect on the progression of his and Iris’ friendship. It had taken him so many decades to learn to let anyone in. He’d always known how foolish it would be to trust in a human. But Iris had knocked down all of his defenses almost immediately in a way no one else ever had.

A memory had been tugging at him for days like a child begging to be noticed, and as he’d sped down the highway, the sun peeking out over purple-tinged mountains, Gabriel had finally allowed it to take hold.

It was six months after he and Iris had met, and the world was cloaked in a quiet blanket of snow. The sweet scent of a vanilla candle wafted up around them, its smoke coiling through the air, while a fire crackled in the wood stove to their left. They were watching a movie on the couch (a sturdy wood futon Gabriel had salvaged from the junk yard) in the newly renovated living room, when Iris had leaned her head on Gabriel’s shoulder for the first time.

It had felt as natural as breathing.

Once the credits rolled, Iris had peered up at him, her dark eyes earnest. She’d expressed how much his friendship meant to her. How she loved their time together. How she felt safe and at peace with him, and how rare it was for someone to make her feel that way.

She’d explained that she didn’t want anything romantic—but she wasn’t looking for conventional friendship, either, if that made any sense.

It was the first conversation that had eventually led to them to label themselves as platonic life partners, a term that confused every single person they’d ever told.

Gabriel was there for Iris in everything that she did. He loved her fiercely, more than he had ever loved another human being. They could trust in one another, seek comfort in one another, in a way only family could. Neither of them needed romance—at least, Gabriel didn’t, and Iris had expressed the same—but both needed connection, both desired commitment.

Their unique dynamic had worked seamlessly because they both wanted the same things out of life. But now…

Merging into the slow lane to make their exit, Gabriel’s mind had been only half focused on the road as his fears coalesced.

The trouble was, he had lived for so many years that it was easy for him to know that the kind of relationship he had with Iris was all he’d ever wanted or needed. Whereas Iris? She had decided to invite him into her life at only twenty-five. What if she had changed her mind? What person knew what they truly wanted at twenty-five, anyway? Had he? What if she’d decided there were other things she wanted, things Gabriel couldn’t offer her?

Blinking himself back into the present, Gabriel unhooked his seatbelt and slid on his hat and gloves, his gaze once again snagging on Clement’s car.

“You should plug in your battery,” he suggested, trying to keep his tone light. Iris’ car battery had taken to dying unless it was plugged in regularly. Gabriel normally would have handled it himself, but he wanted a moment alone with Clement.

Iris yawned, but she nodded, zipping up her coat as Gabriel exited the car and mounted the porch steps. At best, he’d have about five minutes before she caught up to him.

Knocking the snow off his boots on the rough straw mat by the front door, Gabriel met Clement’s steely glare from across the kitchen. He removed his shoes and walked over to him, his anxiety rising with each step. “What are you doing here?”

“I expected more from you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel cocked a brow. “Oh?”

He had been anticipating Clement’s ire ever since he’d texted his friend to inform him that Blair would be staying with them and hadn’t received a reply. Clearly, Clement didn’t think it was prudent to invite a Similar of uncertain affiliations and abilities to live with them. Gabriel happened to agree, though he wasn’t about to give his friend the satisfaction of saying so aloud.

Without warning, Clement thrust open the drawer beside the oven and drew out the largest knife they owned, the handle carved from rough-cut stone. Iris had gifted it to Gabriel last Christmas after he’d complained that her bargain knives were too dull for efficient chopping.

Clement slid a finger along the sharp blade, his eyes glinting dangerously. “Let me ask you something. If Iris enjoyed juggling knives, you would throw them away, no? At the very least, you would lock the drawer.” He forced the drawer closed, his other hand still wrapped tightly around the hilt of the knife.

The metaphor was clear, but Gabriel remained rooted to the spot, eyeing the weapon in Clement’s hands. His gaze darted to the door, praying that Iris was still occupied with her car. The last thing she needed to see was Clement brandishing a knife in her kitchen. She would probably forbid him from ever entering their house again. Even Gabriel, who after two hundred years was used to Clement’s theatrics, couldn’t pretend he wasn’t a little unnerved.