Page 12

DORIAN

T he candlelight still shimmered off the book’s truth-scrawled pages, its words bleeding warmth and unspoken ache. Dorian wanted to reach for her hands, but resisted. But between almost and maybe his bear prowled.

The bookstore felt different now. Not just magical, but personal . Like the whole place had leaned in with bated breath, waiting to see what happened next. The whispers of rearranging bookshelves, the scent of old parchment and lavender ink, it all faded behind the rush of her pulse.

She hadn’t looked at him since the book closed and had been passed to another couple.

She just remained, still staring down, lashes low, body still as a windless evening.

He knew better than to push. So he waited.

Markus passed nearby, giving them a knowing side-eye but said nothing.

Rowan, too, flitted past in a swirl of enchanted scarf and soft-smiling mischief.

Nico was behind the counter humming something old and off-key, like they knew the song of every broken heart and half-finished love spell ever cast.

Autumn finally spoke. “That book’s dangerous.”

“It just writes what’s already there.”

“That’s the part that makes it dangerous,” she muttered.

Dorian smirked, adjusting slightly so his knee bumped hers under the table. “So... which part scared you the most?”

She looked up at him then, violet-blue eyes cool but storm-stirred.

“That you’d wait forever,” she said quietly. “Like it was easy.”

He leaned in, slow and solid, alpha calm rolling off him like heat. “Waiting for you isn’t easy, Autumn. It’s right. That’s different.”

Her mouth twitched, not quite a frown, not quite anything. “You’re not making this easier.”

“Not trying to.” He ran a hand down the table’s edge. “You don’t make easy feel worth it anymore.”

She exhaled sharply, something like a laugh hiding under her breath. “Gods, you’re exhausting.”

He grinned. “You keep saying that. But you haven’t left.”

She hesitated. “I might.”

“Not tonight,” he said, voice low and sure.

It wasn’t a command. But it was true.

Her gaze flicked down to where the book had been as if she wasn’t sure how to continue.

Dorian didn’t want the moment to end, or for this opportunity to pass. He took a breath and said, “Before you got here, I was having these dreams.”

She looked up at him then. “The ones about Evelyn?”

“No. About… something else.”

She almost looked like she gulped, as if she knew another confession was coming, but she held his gaze.

“Been having them since I took over the inn. Before I met you. Just... shadows and scent. Laughter in the woods. A woman I couldn’t see, but I knew. ”

Her throat moved in a swallow. “What did she feel like?”

“Like standing near a fire you didn’t light but want to burn in anyway.”

Autumn blinked once, slowly. “You always talk like that?”

He chuckled. “Only when I’m trying real hard not to kiss someone.”

That broke her stillness. Not fully. But enough.

Her hand jerked just slightly near his. Not pulling away, just reminding him that she was there , not ready, not running, but not surrendering either.

“Don’t,” she said softly. “Not yet.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Not until you ask.”

Silence fell again, thick and almost tender.

He could smell her magic now, unfurling like smoke from a slow-burning ember. Not flashy. Not showy. But wrapping around him like it knew him.

His bear responded with a slow, aching growl deep in his chest.

He pressed his other hand flat against the bench trying to quiet it. He wanted— needed —to shift. To brush his muzzle against her neck and scent-mark her. To leave a scratch that said mine .

But he wouldn’t. Not tonight. Not when she still flinched from the idea of being seen, let alone wanted .

So instead, he leaned back just enough to let air settle between them again.

“You hungry?” he asked, his voice warm but easy now. “Markus makes moon-pie shortbread when he’s feeling smug.”

Autumn blinked like he’d just switched languages. “What?”

“Food,” he said, tilting his head toward the counter. “Neutral territory. No soul-shattering revelations required.”

She stared at him. Then, slowly, cautiously, she nodded.

“Shortbread sounds... less intense.”

He stood, offering his hand. She hesitated only half a second before slipping hers into his.

And they walked toward the counter like any other maybe-couple in a too-magical bookstore, surrounded by quiet truths and starlit bookshelves.

The only difference was Dorian had already decided.

He wasn’t letting her go.