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“You weren’t supposed to come,” she whispered.

He didn’t stop moving.

“Then you should’ve made that more clear.”

“Would it have mattered?”

“Nope.”

Delilah stood, her shoulders squared, but her chin trembled.

“I told you—this isn’t your battle. Not anymore.”

His steps were slow, deliberate, and full of everything he couldn’t say. “You don’t get to make that call for me.”

“I’m trying toprotectyou?—”

“And I’m trying toloveyou,” he snapped, voice shaking. “That’s what this is. That’s what thismeans.”

He stepped into the edge of the grove’s pulse and felt it—magic sharp like pine needles, warning him off. He didn’t flinch.

She looked away. “If Garrick finds me, he’ll use me against you.”

“Then I’ll stop him.”

“What if you can’t?”

He took her hands—rough, calloused, warm. Still trembling.

“I almost died without you,” he whispered. “And not just from the poison. But from being too afraid to let you in. I’m done hiding. Done treating this bond like it’s a burden.”

She blinked up at him, eyes shimmering.

“It’s not a curse,” he said. “It’s our strength. And you know it.”

Delilah’s breath caught.

“You still love me?” she asked, voice breaking on the last word.

He laughed rough, raw, aching.

“Of course I do. You walking away doesn’t change that.”

Her lips parted, and she reached for him.

Their kiss was fire and roots and breaking open—two halves locking together the way only soul-deep things could.

The forest hushed. And for a breathless moment, the corruption stilled.

Love wasn’t a weakness.

It was the strongest thing they had.

35

DELILAH

The moment their lips met, the weight she’d been carrying—layer by layer, spell by spell—lifted.