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I bit my lip. I'm not sure I wanted to hear it, but it was something he wanted to share. “Go on.”

“Runa was out on the beach, and I confronted her about where to find the Cure. You see, it was her I learned about him through.” He ran his fingers along the edge of the table.

“Did she tell you anything?”

“Only about the coven,” he said. “She said the coven’s mandate was not only to keep the balance between the hunters and the O’Cillians but also to protect the Cure.”

My eyes opened wide as my jaw dropped. “Why don’t we remember him?”

“I think because of the same spell that caused you to forget the O’Cillians and the crest. But you are obviously breaking that spell, and I don’t know how.”

I ran my hand over my face, the ring’s band gliding over my chin. I knew how, but now wasn’t the time to tell him because I didn’t know what was next. I gritted my teeth, wanting to scream, furious at the information, wondering what my aunt knew. “Why didn’t Aunt Amara just ask me to bring the grimoire home?”

“Are you sure it has nothing to do with me?”

As Dani placed the glasses on the small table between us, I stared at the blood still swirling in his glass, the dark hue reminding me of what he was, regardless of how sophisticated and caring he came across. He took a sip as I grimaced, then set the glass down, his gaze never leaving mine.

“I haven’t wanted to leave you to go feed. It’s what I need to live,” he mumbled. “And I won’t take it from you—unless you ask.” He took another sip, his eyes watching me intently, waiting for my reaction.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, shifting the topic. “I asked Aunt Amara about you—about us.”

He furrowed his brow as he sat back. “And what did she say?”

“She won’t stand in the way. Neither will the coven. Her taking the grimoire wasn’t about you.” As I said it, my heart settled, the words soothing the ache that our argument had caused.

“Well, that’s good to hear.” He smirked, the edge of his mouth curving up. “I’d rather not make enemies of witches.”

I smiled. “And how often has that happened?”

He shook his head. “Only once.”

I narrowed my eyes, intrigued. “Just once?”

“Once is enough,” he said with a small chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s a story for another day.”

I teased, “You say that a lot.”

“There are a lot of stories,” he admitted, his tone quieter.

He took his time finishing the drink, the slow movements adding to the shifting tension building between us. I sipped on my own, searching his every move for a hint about what was next. Was our argument forgiven, or would it linger? Then, without a word, he stood and extended his hand toward me.

My heart fluttered, excitement and nervousness mixing as I poured the rest of my bourbon down my throat. I didn’t notice the sharp burn as I reached for his hand.

“Are you sure about this?” His fingers tightened ever so slightly around mine, his voice soft but full of unspoken questions.

I nodded, though part of me was still trying to convince myself as much as him.

His touch slid to the back of my neck, sending a thrill running through me. “Why?”

I met his gaze, steady this time, my voice firmer. “Because I know you’re not compelling me. I want to be with you, and that is my choice.”

He chuckled a soft, dismissive sound. “Compelling you has never been successful, though I still don’t fully comprehend why not.”

I shook my head. “That’s the other reason.” His brows furrowed, a small crease forming between them as I continued. “I know why you can’t compel me. And there are things about the coven I won’t be able to share—not now, and certainly not when I’m High Priestess.” I exhaled, the tension in my shoulders loosening, though the unease lingered. “I’ll have to be okay with not knowing everything all the time.”

Mac’s arms slid around me, his warmth engulfing me. His lips brushed mine, the kiss gentle but charged with everything unspoken. When he finally broke the silence, his words were a soft breath against my lips.

“There is one thing I can promise you.”