Page 16

SYLVIE

S ylvie stood at her kitchen window, watching storm clouds gather over the mountains beyond Echo Woods. The wind whispered against the glass, carrying the scent of impending rain. She closed her eyes, feeling the static electricity prickle across her skin, a witch's natural barometer.

"Just what I need," she muttered, turning back to her work table where several half-finished candles waited. "Like my magic isn't unstable enough already."

Her fingers traced around her wrist where the purple bracelet laid. It had grown warmer over the past few days, pulsing whenever Nicholas was near. Which was happening with alarming frequency since the night he'd shifted in her shop.

Lightning flashed outside, followed by a low rumble of thunder. Sylvie jumped as every candle in her kitchen flared simultaneously, their flames reaching unnaturally high before settling.

"Get it together." She shook out her hands, trying to dispel the excess energy that seemed constantly at her fingertips lately.

The shop phone rang, startling her again. She grabbed it, tucking it between her ear and shoulder.

"Moonshadow Apothecary, we're closed but?—"

"Sylvie." Nicholas's voice came through, sounding strained. "Are you feeling it too?"

Her heart stuttered. "Feeling what?"

"The pull. It's... stronger tonight." In the background, she heard another crack of thunder. "I can't focus. My tiger's pacing like he's caged."

Sylvie swallowed, unwilling to admit that she'd been fighting the same restless energy all evening. "It's probably just the storm. Shifters get twitchy during atmospheric pressure changes, right?"

"This isn't weather sensitivity." His voice dropped lower, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. "I keep seeing flashes of your shop. Your kitchen. You."

Sylvie glanced around nervously, half-expecting to see him materialize in her space. The violet band pulsed more intensely.

"What do you want me to do about it?" She winced at her defensive tone. "I've tried every counter-spell I know."

"I don't know." He sounded exhausted. "I just... needed to hear your voice."

The simple admission knocked the air from her lungs. He was becoming more open with her and every time, it threw her off.

She sank into a kitchen chair, suddenly aware of how much energy she'd been expending to keep her walls up around him.

"Nicholas, I?—"

A deafening thunderclap shook the cottage, and the phone went dead. Simultaneously, every candle in the room extinguished, plunging her into darkness.

"Perfect," Sylvie grumbled, fumbling for matches in the drawer. Her fingers closed around them just as exhaustion hit her like a physical wave. She barely made it to her sofa before her eyelids grew impossibly heavy.

The last thing she registered before sleep claimed her was the violet band glowing brightly in the dark room.

She knew she was dreamwalking the moment her bare feet touched dew-dampened grass. The landscape was familiar yet not. It was her cottage garden, but wilder, the plants more vibrant, the colors more intense. Above her, the storm raged, but the rain never seemed to fall on her.

"I thought I might find you here."

Sylvie turned to find Nicholas leaning against her garden gate. He wore a simple white t-shirt and jeans, his hair windswept. His eyes glowed faintly amber in the dreamscape.

"Are going to make this a habit of sharing dreams now?" She crossed her arms, pretending the sight of him didn't make her pulse quicken. "The spell's getting creative."

Nicholas pushed off from the gate and took a step toward her. "Is that what this is? A spell?"

"What else would it be?"

He moved closer, and Sylvie found herself rooted to the spot. "Maybe something that was waiting to happen."

The air between them seemed charged, crackling with the same energy as the storm above. The violet bands on their wrists pulsed in synchronicity.

"We can't keep doing this." Sylvie's voice came out softer than intended. "Fighting it during the day, getting pulled together at night."

"Then stop fighting." His hand reached up, hesitating a breath away from her cheek. "Just for tonight. In this dream. It makes it so much easier than in the light of day, don't you think?"

Lightning illuminated the dreamscape, casting his face in sharp relief. Sylvie saw something raw and honest in his expression that stripped away her defenses.

"I'm afraid." The admission slipped out and she blamed the drug-like affect of the dream.

"Of what?" His fingers finally made contact, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"Of wanting something I can't control." She leaned into his touch despite herself. "Magic should follow rules, Nicholas. This doesn't follow any rules I understand."

His smile was gentle, lacking its usual cockiness. "Not everything worth having comes with an instruction manual, Sage."

"Why are you so much more open in the dreams then when we are actually together?"

He shrugged. "This feels easier to say what I feel, to stop fighting and just be me… us. Doesn't it?"

Another roll of thunder, closer now, and Sylvie felt the dreamscape shift around them. The garden melted away, replaced by the interior of her cottage, but dreamlike with candles floating in the air, herbs growing from the floorboards.

Nicholas's arms encircled her waist, drawing her closer. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

Sylvie's hands found their way to his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palms. Strong, steady, real despite the unreality of their surroundings.

"I don't want you to stop."

The confession hung between them for a suspended moment. Then Nicholas lowered his head, and Sylvie rose on her tiptoes to meet him.

Their lips touched as lightning split the dream sky.

Heat coursed through Sylvie's body, radiating from the violet band on her wrist to every extremity.

Nicholas's mouth tasted of wild things—honey and woodsmoke and something untamed.

His hands tangled in her hair as the kiss deepened, drawing a soft sound from her throat.

The dreamscape swirled around them, responding to their emotions. Candles flared brighter, herbs bloomed out of season, and somewhere in the distance, she heard the rumbling purr of a satisfied tiger.

Sylvie awoke with a gasp, bolt upright on her sofa. Outside, the storm had passed, leaving behind the clean scent of rain-washed air drifting through her open window.

Her fingers flew to her lips, still tingling with sensation. The taste lingered—honey and woodsmoke, just as in the dream. The violet band glowed softly in the pre-dawn light, warm against her skin.

"Oh no," she whispered to the empty room. "This is getting way out of hand."