Page 33

DELILAH

T he forest had always been her sanctuary.

Long before she’d left Celestial Pines, before Salem and circles of stone and endless books on botanical rites and alchemical bindings, the woods had been her first teacher. Her quiet refuge. It was where she learned to feel the difference between roots and rot.

And now it was where she went to run—not away, but inward.

Because if she stayed near Rollo any longer, she’d fall apart.

She moved through the trees in silence, skirts brushing moss, her boots damp with morning dew. Her hands were clenched into fists, tucked tight against her ribs. Not from anger. Not even fear.

But grief.

The kind that built quiet and slow, like ivy up a wall.

She didn’t need Hazel’s riddles or the spirits’ whispers to know something had shifted. She’d seen the way Rollo returned from the grove—shoulders bowed under weight he didn’t speak. His eyes darker. Not just tired, but fractured.

And he hadn’t told her what happened. Just a muttered, “He’s still out there,” and a kiss to her forehead like it might be the last time.

That’s when she knew.

He had confronted Garrick again. Alone. Because of her.

Because of the bond they shared now—deep and tangled and bright as fire—but double-edged. The more she poured into him, the more she tethered herself to this land, the more he saw her as something fragile. Something sacred, maybe. But not safe. Not for him.

And gods help her, he might’ve been right.

Her collapse at the market had sent a ripple through town. She’d heard Missy whispering to Junie. How magic like that didn’t belong in one girl’s chest. How maybe the bond wasn’t just saving her—it was draining her.

And Rollo?

He’d carried her out of that crowd like she was made of petals, not muscle. Held her too carefully, like if he squeezed too hard, she’d turn to dust.

But she wasn’t afraid for herself .

She was afraid of herself.

Of what she might have to do to stop Garrick. Of how far her power might pull her from the people she loved.

Of the ancient whispers that still echoed at the edge of her thoughts.

It’s almost time.

Delilah stopped in a clearing where the moonvine grew in lazy curls up an old stone altar. She sank to her knees and let her basket fall beside her.

Her fingers curled into the moss.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I didn’t ask to be the one who had to hold this together.”

The wind answered only with silence.

A stillness that wasn’t peace. A pause before a storm.

She blinked hard, willing the tears away. They burned anyway.

“I love him,” she said aloud, the words tasting like salt and iron. “But if I stay… he’ll bleed for me. And I can’t ask him to do that. Not again.”

The guilt clawed deep.

Rollo had nearly died because she wasn’t fast enough.

Wren was fading because her magic wasn’t strong enough.

The land was sickening because her bond made it easier for Garrick’s corruption to reach her.

And now Rollo thought he had to protect her.

From Garrick.

From the forest.

From himself.

Delilah buried her face in her hands. Her breath came out in jagged stutters.

“I thought the bond meant we were stronger,” she whispered. “But maybe it’s just making us easier to break.”

She stayed there a long while, letting the stillness swallow her.

Then she stood.

Steady. Quiet. Resolute.

She didn’t need saving.

And she couldn’t let herself become the reason he was always one step from the edge. Garrick had told Rollo that the bond was his weakness, and while Delilah had refused to believe it at first, the ache in her chest now whispered something she couldn’t ignore.

Maybe it wasn’t the bond itself—but what it asked of them. What it demanded.

If she had to meet Garrick herself—if she had to become something more than she’d ever dared to be to protect Wren, protect this town, protect Rollo —then she would.

But not as his mate.

Not if being bound to her meant Rollo walked toward every fire just to shield her from the heat. Not if it kept costing him pieces of himself because she knew she had no more of herself to give to save him.

She rose from the mossy altar with her heart breaking open inside her chest. But her spine stayed straight.

There was one more thing she had to do before she disappeared into the woods to save everything she loved.

Rollo was at the sanctuary, feeding the phoenix pup with one hand and rubbing his side absently with the other. His movements were slower now, that same haunted weariness back in his shoulders—more weight than he’d carried since she’d returned.

When he turned and saw her, his whole face shifted—softened, opened.

He set the feed bowl down. “Hey?—”

“We need to talk,” she said, voice too even.

Delilah stepped in slowly, carefully, like she already knew he’d break from whatever she was about to say.

“Something’s changing,” she said quietly. “In the forest. In me. You can feel it too, I know you can.”

“I do,” he said, gaze steady. “But we can face it together.”

She shook her head. “That’s just it. We can’t.”

He moved closer. “Delilah, no. Don’t do this.”

“I have to,” she whispered. “I’m not doing this because I don’t love you. I’m doing it because I do. Because if I stay—if we stay like this—you’ll keep trying to carry me. Shield me. And one day, I won’t be fast enough to stop the blow meant for me.”

He reached out, fingers just brushing hers. “Don’t ask me to stand still while you walk into something alone.”

Tears threatened, but she held firm.

“I need to do this,” she said, voice thick. “Not just for Wren. Or for the town. But for me. I have to know what I am without the bond telling me. And you have to live without breaking every time I stumble.”

A beat of silence passed. A long, painful beat.

“I love you, Rollo Steele,” she said, finally letting the tears fall. “But we need to end this. For now.”

He didn’t fight her. Just looked at her like the ground had slipped out beneath his feet.

She kissed his cheek, slow and lingering.

“Stay safe, bear,” she murmured. Then she turned and walked into the forest, alone.