Page 35

DELILAH

T he moment their lips met, the weight she’d been carrying—layer by layer, spell by spell—lifted.

Delilah melted into him, into the warmth of his mouth, the rough steadiness of his hands cupping her cheeks like she was something precious. His kiss wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed.

It was home.

And it shattered every wall she’d spent days building.

When she finally pulled back, her breath came in soft little gasps, forehead pressed to his.

“You stubborn, wonderful idiot,” she whispered.

His smile was crooked. “Takes one to love one.”

They stayed like that for a beat. The wind weaving through the trees in gentle sighs. The moon hung high above them now, casting silver across his lashes, catching in her hair like stardust. The clearing was quiet. The vines hummed but didn’t reach. The spirits, for once, were still.

She lifted her fingers to his face, traced the edge of his jaw.

“I thought I had to do this alone,” she said, her voice a little cracked around the edges.

“You don’t,” he murmured. “You never did.”

Delilah swallowed the knot in her throat. “You were right. About the bond. About what it is. It doesn’t make us weak.”

He kissed the back of her hand. “No.”

She stepped back and turned slowly, taking in the grove—once wild, now pulsing with calm. Her magic felt... different. Like the roots ran deeper, richer, more balanced.

Like him .

She turned back. “When I tied myself to the forest, I thought I was sacrificing love for duty. But now I think... I think the forest didn’t just accept me because I was strong.”

He raised a brow.

“I think it accepted me because we’re strong. Together.”

Rollo stepped forward, hands settling at her waist.

“Well, damn. That’s almost poetic.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing softly. “Shut up.”

He grinned. “Can’t help it. I just got my girl back.”

She leaned into his chest, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat anchor her. It was steady, sure—like the rhythm of the forest when it was healthy. And for the first time in what felt like ages, it didn’t feel like something was slipping out from under her feet.

It felt grounded.

Rooted.

Like maybe, they were ready.

To fight and win.

“We have to end it,” she said softly, the words laced with quiet resolve.

“Garrick?” Rollo asked, even though they both knew the answer.

She nodded, her cheek brushing his collarbone. “No more hiding. No more second-guessing. We take it to him. We make the town safe again. For Wren. For the forest. For us. ”

Rollo exhaled against her temple, the weight of everything they had been carrying softening, if only slightly. “Then we do it together.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him. “We’ll need more than bravery.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, curious.

Delilah turned and reached into her satchel, retrieving a round wooden bowl, no wider than her palm. It wasn’t much to look at at first glance—just carved walnut, stained with herbs and age—but it pulsed faintly with magic. Ancient. Waiting.

“I started it before you found me,” she said, brushing her thumb across its rim. “Something the spirits showed me. It’s not just a bowl—it’s a vessel. For focus. For bonding.”

Rollo took it carefully in his hands. “You made this?”

She nodded. “Part of the old rites. But unfinished.”

Her voice dipped lower. “It’s meant to hold the intention of two bonded forces. To unify them into one magic.”

Rollo stared at it for a long beat. Then he sank to the moss beside her and pulled out the bone-handled blade he always kept tucked in his belt.

He offered it to her.

“Let’s finish it,” he said.

She took the blade and carefully etched the first rune—an anchor, for steadiness—into the bowl’s edge. Then passed it back.

He added the next—a bear claw, symbol of protection.

Back and forth they went. Fire. Earth. Moonlight. Vine. Until a ring of runes circled the bowl’s rim like a crown.

Last, they carved their initials at the base. A mark not of ownership—but of promise.

When they were done, Delilah pressed both hands to the bowl. It flared warm beneath her palms, accepting the joint magic like breath into lungs.

Rollo placed his hand over hers.

The pulse between them wasn’t just love—it was purpose.

Power.

The kind only possible when two hearts beat as one.

And together, they stood.

Their path clear. Their bond unbreakable.

But just as she looked up, a ripple split the clearing. The temperature dropped— just enough to be felt. A low vibration rolled through the soil beneath their feet, the magic coiling taut in her chest.

Then the scent hit her.

Cinders. Charred bark. Something sour underneath. Her spine went rigid.

“Rollo,” she whispered.

He stiffened. Turned.

From the shadows, a figure emerged. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Eyes gleaming with corruption and delight.

“Well, well,” Garrick drawled, stepping into the moonlight. His grin was slow and serpentine. “I thought I smelt my future queen.”

Delilah’s stomach flipped.

Rollo stepped forward, low and growling, arm instinctively shielding her.

Garrick cocked his head. “Didn’t expect the little flower to have so many thorns.” His gaze slid to her. “But you always were full of surprises, weren’t you, Delilah?”

She didn’t flinch. But her hand found Rollo’s, fingers threading tight.

Because this time, she wasn’t facing the dark alone.