Page 10

She was still his mate.

Delilah pulled back, too quick. Her hands trembled, just slightly.

“I should go,” she said, standing fast. “Wren’s probably wondering where I am.”

“Of course,” he said softly.

She lingered in the doorway, one hand on the frame.

“I’ll stop by tomorrow,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “See how the pup’s doing.”

Rollo nodded, unable to speak past the thick weight in his chest.

The door clicked behind her.

The phoenix pup stirred. And for the first time in days, it chirped.

5

DELILAH

The next morning, Celestial Pines woke wrapped in silver fog and the scent of damp pine. Delilah wrapped a scarf twice around her neck and stared at her reflection in the mirror above Wren’s tea cabinet. Her hazel eyes looked more rested than they had in days.

She hated that she knew why.

Rollo, with his quiet voice and rough hands and the sanctuary that didn’t look like it should suit him—but did.

Delilah shook her head and slipped on her shoes.

She wasn’t here for him. She was here for Wren. For the town. For the woods that whispered in her dreams like they missed her.

Still, she tucked an extra sprig of elderflower in her pocket for the phoenix pup, and another for her nerves.

The sanctuary sat nestled against the forest edge like it had grown there, all mossy shingles and leaning fences and early crocuses blooming despite the chill. Delilah stepped through the main gate, the old iron creaking under her hand.

“Back again?” Rollo’s voice called out before she saw him.

He was kneeling in the herb patch just past the side porch, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dirt smudging his forearms like old ink. His hair was tied back today, and the sight of him like that—domestic, rooted—sent something warm and unwanted through her chest.

“Told you I would,” she said, careful to keep her tone even.

He stood, wiping his hands on a cloth. “I didn’t think you were the type to bluff.”

“I’m not. I’m also not the type to be ignored. So... I’m here. To help. When I’m not tending to Wren.”

His eyes softened. “She doing any better?”

Delilah shook her head. “Still weak. The house feels hollow without her magic pulsing through it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said simply, and the way he said it—not out of obligation, but like he meant it deep in his bones—made her throat tighten.

She cleared it fast. “So? What do you want me to do?”

“Come on,” he said, motioning toward the stables. “I’ll show you where the real chaos lives.”

The stables weren’t glamorous. Not by any stretch.

They were warm and full of straw and smelled like damp fur, wet hay, and magic. Tiny jars of glowing salves lined one wall. A trio of owlets blinked at her from the rafters.