His broad shoulders and towering horns make it so he has to nearly crawl with his head down to avoid bumping into anything.

We get situated just as the train leaves. Sitting by the window, I watch the Siberian landscape unfold like a vast, untouched canvas.

Across from me, Ilian stares out, too, and the silence stretches between us but it’s not uncomfortable. In truth, his presence is a comforting anchor that grounds me.

Last night, he insisted on sleeping on the broken couch in the sitting room while I took refuge in my room.

As I drifted into sleep, I couldn't help but feel bereft at the thought of him just beyond the door—for some insane reason, I wanted him by my side.

I feel safe when Ilian’s with me—calm, even—like I’ve been missing something inside of me my entire life and he’s the lost puzzle piece that completes the emptiness.

And that terrifies me because I don’t know if this is how I genuinely feel or if it’s the effects of the bond—what if I’m trying to dissolve the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me?

More importantly, what the heck happened to my fear of relationships?!

I shift in my seat, wishing I knew what was real and what wasn’t with my emotions. No easy feat considering how I can also feel Ilian through the bond.

His lust, his admiration, his guilt.

Even without him saying so, I know he thinks he’s a monster. I feel it in my bones how he hates what he’s done to me.

If only he could see himself through my eyes.

Just this morning, when we checked out of the hotel, an elderly woman approached Ilian, pulling him in for a strong hug that belied her air of weathered frailty.

She didn’t say anything, just patted his bony cheek and hobbled away to sit in front of the lobby fire.

Ilian stared after her for a long moment before quietly requesting to book her room for the rest of the week.

I pretended not to hear, but how can this man think he’s anything less than an absolute sweetheart?

The incident left me reflecting on the stark contrast between Ilian's perceived monstrosity and the kindness he effortlessly extends.

In his eyes, society brands Ithaqua as senseless beasts, but the reality he showed me painted a different picture.

And a tiny part of me already loves him for it.

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I break the silence between us. “When was the last time you rode the Transsib?”

Ilian grins, the curl of his bony lips almost sheepish. “Actually, this is my first time. Ithaqua—and Mulens—prefer to walk the vast expanses of the Siberian tundra.

The idea of a structured journey is foreign to us as we tend to roam in a nomadic fashion from one place to another depending on the seasons.

And even though I live in human society, I rarely use human transportation. It’s not exactly made for monsters, especially ones my size.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize! Are you uncomfortable?”

He shrugs. “No. I’m happy to be wherever you are.”

Be still, my stupid heart.

“Who are the Mulens? I’m afraid I’ve never heard of them before.”

“Some call them the Siberian Bigfoot, but they’re their own monster species.”

“How do you know so much about the Ithaqua if you were separated at birth?”

“Ithaquan traditions aren’t written down, but passed in utero to Ithaquan tugan—younglings. From it, I also have vague memories of my mother, but none of my father.”

I rub my chest, the familiar constriction making it hard to breathe. Whenever I fail to reunite families, I get awful pains right around my heart.

Sakura thinks I need to see a doctor, but I know it’s just an expression of the agony I’m feeling at not succeeding.

Even though I was young, I know what it’s like to have no memories of my ata—but at least we met and I grew up having both my parents.

“Do you see your Mulen family?”

“Only about once a year. Although I care for them deeply, the Mulen clan that took me in only did so because they knew I could help with hunting and gathering. It wasn’t out of love, per se.”

I scowl. “Who doesn’t love a child?!”

Ilian reaches forward to cup my face in his clawed hand. “You are much too kind, my mate.”

My lips twist even more, but the tightness in my chest loosens. I’m fairly certain it’s because he’s touching me, and I try to tamp back the nervous butterflies at the thought.

Stop getting attached!

“You’re stressing about something,” Ilian hints without remorse.

“No, I’m not.”

“Little liar, tell me what’s wrong.”

I shake my head. It’s bad enough he can sense everything I’m feeling. He doesn’t need to know what I’m thinking, too.

The giant Ithaqua sighs. “Ok, you asked for it.”

In a flash, I’m in his lap as he tickles me through the layers of fabric I’m dressed in to stave off the harsh cold that seeps in through the window.

My shrieks of laughter echo around us, and I hope these cabins are marginally sound-proof, or else someone is going to complain.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“You can’t do this!”

“Obviously, I can,” he smirks like the very devil he is.

“It’s not fair! You’re bigger than me! I can’t retaliate!”