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"Oh, marvelous!" Mom exclaims. "Ethan told me about the jacket he altered for you on set a few weeks back. Oh! And those masquerade outfits! He said Ryker made them completely from scratch? Is that true, love?"

"He did," I say, feeling that familiar wave of awe I always get when I think about Ryker's incredible talent. "He’s truly talented. He doesn’t have most of his memories back yet, but I think the sewing and designing helps. It’s all coming back to him through his work. Watching him draft patterns or handle fabric is like watching an artist paint. He belonged in design all along."

"That is wonderful, Teagan. Seriously," Mom says, her voice thick with genuine emotion. "He sounds like a remarkable young man. After everything he's been through—losing his memories, feeling lost. It warms my heart to know he's finding his footing. And that he's taking such good care of you."

"He really is," I whisper, looking down the corridor as Ryker emerges from the trailer area carrying my coat over one broad arm, his tail swaying behind him. "He's... everything, Mom. I love him."

"Well, that settles it then."

"Settles what?" I ask, catching Ryker’s eye as he walks up to me.

"You’re bringing him home for Christmas," Mom announces firmly, leaving no room for argument. "I won’t take no for an answer, Teagan Dae. I want to meet this handsome gargoyle who stole my son's heart, and I intend to stuff him full of homemade food."

I choke back a laugh, covering my mouth as Ryker stops in front of me, cocking an amused eyebrow.

"Mom," I whisper-hiss into the receiver. "You better not be scheming to embarrass me."

“Me. Never!”

“Don’t forget, he’s a large seven foot gargoyle with a wide wingspan. We might need to make accommodations. I want him to feel welcomed.”

"Then we’ll put the thick mattress in the family room near the fireplace where he can stretch his wings!" she counters instantly. "Ethan said Ryker loves cozy spaces anyway. Tell him I'm making my special beef short ribs and Irish soda bread."

I glance up at Ryker, holding the phone slightly away from my ear. "My mom wants to know if you'll come home with me and Ethan for Christmas break. She offered her famous beef short ribs and soda bread."

Ryker’s cerulean eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his features before melting into something incredibly soft and tender. The spade of his tail curls neatly around his leg. "Tell your mother that I would be honored."

"I heard that! Tell him he can’t take it back," Mom chirps loudly into the phone. "Wonderful! I can't wait to meet you, Ryker honey! Teagan, wrap up your things on set, and get some rest. Give that big gargoyle of yours a hug for me."

"I will, Mom. Love you."

"Love you too, sweetie. Bye!"

I hang up the phone and slip it back into my pocket, letting out a breathy laugh as I look up at Ryker. He holds out my winter coat, helping me slide my arms into the sleeves before gently pulling the collar around my neck. His touch lingers on my skin.

"You don't feel overwhelmed, do you?" I ask. "With my mom and traveling for the holidays?"

"Teagan," Ryker whispers, tilting his head down so his forehead rests gently against mine, his small horns lightly touching my purple hair. "A month ago, I didn't know where I belonged. Now I have a major I love, a path forward, a trip to New York to see my brother after the holidays, and a wonderful boyfriend whose family wants to welcome me into their home."

“Mate,” I correct with a soft smile.

He pauses, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. A sweet smile spreads across his lips. "I’ve never been this happy in my life."

I smile, tilting my chin up to press my lips to his. The kiss is sweet and unhurried like a promise I know he’ll keep. When we finally pull back, Ryker wraps his arm around my waist, tucking me close against his side.

Chapter twenty-two

Ryker

The quiet drive to Upstate New York is a peaceful one. Outside the passenger window, bare oak trees and the snowy landscape stretches on. Beside me, Teagan keeps both hands on the steering wheel, his bright purple hair catching in the light.

Every few minutes, his eyes dart over to me. His hand leaves the wheel just long enough to reach across the center console to squeeze my thigh. The touch is surprisingly reassuring.

"How are you holding up?" Teagan asks. "We're almost there."

I take a deep breath. My wings are folded as against my back, tucked securely into the custom slitted winter coat I finished sewing just three days ago.

"I don't know," I admit. "My head feels clear, but my heart is racing like crazy."