Page 38 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

I’m wrapped in a soft oversized shirt from the wardrobe in Bennet’s chambers, curled up on a couch near the fire while he leans against the hearth, shirt half-unbuttoned and hair still damp from a bath.

He’s got a cut on his temple, bruises all over, and fatigue etched into his pores.

We both look like we nearly died. Maybe because that’s exactly what happened.

But we’re alive. We won.

The fire crackles, casting warm light over the stone floor. I let my head rest against the cushions and close my eyes for a moment.

My mind won’t stop buzzing.

The aftermath is a strange kind of numb. I keep turning the whole night over in my head, trying to make sense of it. After the battle, everything blurred.

There were others in the dungeon rescued, servants that had been locked up for not complying with Hugh’s plans, including Torren, the head guard. Dominic and Lord Wallace were among the prisoners, both bruised and hungry but upright.

We cleared the castle of the lingering ifrit. Most had vanished when Hugh fell, like smoke in the wind. But a few remained, confused and suddenly directionless. Bennet and Helen handled them quickly, banishing the remaining wisps of smoke with magic.

Helen wanted to return to Delores right away. And Mom and Dad are aching to see Jackie and Kevin and Mimi. But we need rest first. Just one night.

Tomorrow, we’ll regroup. Head home. Make a plan.

And tonight . . .

I glance at Bennet. He’s watching me, that quiet, thoughtful gaze of his, like he knows exactly where my head is even if I haven’t said a word.

“You’re thinking too loud.” He pushes off the fireplace and crossing the room to me.

My lips tug upward. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.” He sits beside me. The heat of him is solid and warm and real. “I keep going over it too.”

I lean into him. “We almost didn’t win.”

His arm wraps around me, a kiss whispering against my hair. “But we did.”

I nod. “I know. I didn’t think it would feel like this. I thought there would be cheering. Some kind of cinematic music swell.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “You want me to hum something dramatic?”

“Only if you simultaneously rip your shirt open.”

He glances down at his shirt. “Halfway there.”

Despite everything, I laugh. Just a light chuckle. But it’s real.

I sag further against him, our physical connection helping the stiffness bleed slowly from my spine.

“We’re going to have to explain everything tomorrow. To everyone. Servants, council members, visiting delegates. Helen wants to go back an hour ago. Your parents too.” Tension tightens his body and his emotions seep into me.

I turn my head to look at him. “You’re worried.”

He swallows. “The bond allows no secrets.”

“You think I don’t want to stay here with you?”

His gaze narrows on mine. “You... you wish to stay here?”

“Don’t you have to? You’re like, the ruler, or whatever, you and Helen?”

“Well, yes. But?—”

“We can go back and visit my family sometimes, right? I mean, we are pretty magical now, together. I bet Helen can show us how to open a portal.”

“Of course.”

“So what’s the problem?”

He slips off the couch and comes to his knees before me. “You would give up your life in the mortal realm, for me?”

I chuckle. “What life? I was raising my siblings, which I don’t have to do anymore because they have parents, and doing random side jobs that I hated.

Here, I can learn about a whole new world.

” Excitement slips through me. “A whole new, magical history of art and literature and artifacts. The possibilities are endless.”

His hands slide gently into mine. “Cassie, I’ve lost so much in my life. I was living half a life. And then you freed me from the lamp, threatened me with your stick, and I—I never stood a chance.”

My chest tightens, warmth blooming in my ribs.

Then he leans closer, his voice a little steadier. “So. I have no ring,” we both wince at that memory, “no speech prepared, and we still smell like demon smoke, but, uh, will you marry me?”

My heart stops in my chest. “Wait. Seriously?”

His head tilts. “Is that a yes?”

My mouth falls open. I shut it. It falls open again. “Isn’t this kind of fast?”

He shrugs. “We’re fated mates. I think we’re already legally, mystically, cosmically bound.”

I pretend to consider. “True. And you’ll promise to love and honor and take care of all the evil bugs that might come into my presence?”

He nods. “It’s a strong foundation for marriage.”

“Okay.” My mouth stretches across my face. I must be grinning like a lunatic. This must be what bombshells feel like when they’re dropped into the Love Island villa, ready to cause chaos and drama and revel in it. “Let’s get married. But like, in a bit. Like next year or later.”

His answering smile could rival the sun.

And then we’re kissing.

The pull of the bond hums through my veins, answering his like a heartbeat. It’s more than simple want, it’s need, sharp and radiant and fused with love.

My fingers find the edges of his jaw, the curve of his neck. He makes a low sound, rumbly and pleased, and deepens the kiss.

Heat unfurls in my chest. In my fingertips. Everywhere.

The bond between us throbs as if it’s alive, feeding off our connection and wrapping us tighter together. There’s a shimmer under my skin, a golden thrum like sunlight and fire and something ancient, something inevitable.

“Cassie,” he whispers against my mouth. “You’re everything.”

I can’t think. I don’t want to.

His hands slide under the hem of my shirt, warm against my waist. I shiver, not from cold but from the thrill of his touch. It’s electric but familiar. Safe. Like coming home.

I tug his shirt over his head and he lifts mine in return. Skin meets skin, and the bond flares even brighter between us. The magic is wild and exultant, glittering through every nerve.

He scoops me up in his arms and carries me across the room. We fall back into the bed, wrapped in each other.

His hands are everywhere, tracing my skin like he’s learning me all over again. His mouth follows, brushing over my collarbone, down the slope of my shoulder. His lips are warm, tasting of jasmine and spice, the ghost of laughter still lingering in his breath.

I sink into him, fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer. Every kiss, every touch, ignites a sensation deeper than heat. It’s like pressing against the edges of a universe built just for us.

He murmurs my name like a prayer.

I answer it with a sigh, with a gasp, with my whole body.

When he slides into me, we still, savoring the connection for a long minute. Then we’re moving, together, like we always have. Like we always will.

The bond unfurls between us like a living thing, raw and radiant, a shimmering thread connecting nerve to nerve, thought to thought, soul to soul.

He surrounds me, and not just in body. Our connection intensifies with every movement, in the way his breath catches, the way his hands tremble against my hips, the rush of love blooming beneath his ribs, the awe, the near-disbelief that this is real, that I am his and he is mine.

My chest aches with the sheer fullness of it all, our emotions mirroring each other and rushing back and forth, intensifying. Each touch drives the breath from my lungs and fills me up in the same instant. We’re open to each other in a way that defies language. No shields. No fear .

His forehead rests against mine, and our rhythm is its own spell, old and sacred, as if the universe built us and brought us to this moment in time. It was inevitable.

My fingers dig into his back.

Pleasure builds, along with something quieter. A tether that stretches across this world and the next.

When release finally crashes through us, it’s not a firestorm—it’s a homecoming.

A breaking and a healing all at once.

Breathless and tangled beneath the sheets, he traces slow circles on my back. “You still want to wait until next year?”

I shift like I’m going to get out of bed. “Does your kingdom have one of those drive-through wedding chapels?”

He laughs, warm and low, and pulls me back into bed.

The afternoon sun slants through my bedroom window, soft and golden, catching on the floating dust motes like they’re little bits of magic still hanging in the air.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, Bennet beside me, half a duffel bag packed with books and sketchpads between us.

He turns a little beaded keychain over in his hand. “You want to take this?”

The metal charm dangling from his fingers is shaped like a saxophone, worn smooth from time.

I shrug. “Maybe. It’s kind of silly. I bought it after a Mardi Gras parade when I got lost and found my way back by following the sound of a jazz band. I was maybe nine?”

“The first time you used your magic, perhaps?” He turns the keychain over once more, thoughtful. “That’s not silly.”

I pause, struck by the idea. Was it? And how did he know? How does he just ... get me? How does he understand it’s not just the memory, but the weight of it? “I want a little piece of this place with me.”

He sets the keychain down gently on the nightstand, like it’s precious. “Then we take it with us. All of it. The silly and the sacred.”

Downstairs, Mimi and Jackie are making cookies, the scents of sugar and vanilla drifting up the stairs. Mom and Dad are down there playing board games with Kevin at the dining table.

The sound of their antics makes my heart swell. Jackie’s laughter is stronger now. She’s stronger. Color in her cheeks, energy in her voice. It’s like someone turned the lights back on inside her.

Nostalgia hits me right in the gut. I’m going to miss this.

Bennet turns toward me, propping his chin on one hand. “It’s a good home.”

Of course he knows exactly how I feel.

“It was. It is.” I glance around the room—my cracked mirror, the posters from high school, the shelf of books now half empty. “But I’m ready for something new. With you.”

His hand finds mine. “We don’t have to leave right away.”