Jim Gem's Arc

Chapter 20 of 23

Days after Lena's fall on the stairs, Jim still moved around her like she was made of glass. He stood an arm's length away when she cooked. He hovered near the wide door when she walked. Every time fear spiked in him, the scale on his chest pulsed and his hands itched to change. He knew what one wild shift could do to her now. So he stopped touching her. He would not risk crushing her or the baby with a hand that turned to claw. Lena noticed. She always did. "You slept on the floor," she said that morning. She stood in the doorway, one hand on the swell of her belly. "Third night in a row." "The bed's small." "The bed is huge. You hauled it up yourself." She crossed her arms. "You won't hold me. You won't touch me. You act like I'll break." "You almost fell." "So catch me." Her chin lifted. "You caught me off a tower once. Or did you forget how." Jim stayed by the window. Water ran past the glass. "If I panic, I shift. If I shift while I'm holding you—" He stopped. He could not say the rest. Lena's face changed. The fight went out of it. "That's what this is." Her voice dropped. She stepped closer. "You're scared of your own hands." "I'm scared of what they turn into." She took another step. "Then let me help you. Like before." "Before was different. Before you pulled the wolf back." He shook his head. "You can't pull a whole dragon off you. You said it yourself, at the cliff. I got too strong for your hands." "So you decided not to touch me at all." She reached out and took his wrist. He tried to pull back. She held on. "No. Feel this." She pressed his palm flat against her belly. His heart slammed. The scale flared hot. Scales crept up his forearm, black and edged. "There it is," Lena said, quiet now. She didn't flinch. She didn't move his hand. "Look at it. It's just your arm." "Lena—" "Breathe. You taught yourself this without me. You can do it holding me." She kept his hand where it was. "I trust you. Do you?" Jim looked at his own arm against her. The scales climbed toward his elbow. Under his palm, something small kicked. He felt it. The kick. His kid. His heart slowed. Not because she stroked his hair. Not because she reversed it. He chose it. He held the fear and stayed a man with his hand on his child. The scales stopped. Then they sank back into his skin, one by one, until only the chest scale remained. "See," Lena whispered. Jim let out a breath he'd held for days. He spread his fingers wide over the kick. That night he slept in the bed, one arm around her, and did not change.