Page 27

NICHOLAS

N icholas stared at the sealed box on the table, his pulse still racing from the relic's attack. The black veins had faded from his arm, but he could still feel the echo of darkness that had tried to claim him and the fierce heat of Sylvie's flame that had driven it back.

"You two should probably talk," Mayble said, gathering her skirts with elegant precision. "Preferably somewhere that isn't my séance room. Emotional outbursts make the spirits jealous."

As if to emphasize her point, a nearby candlestick toppled to the floor.

Nicholas cleared his throat. "We'll get out of your way."

"Good idea. I'll keep this little horror locked in the deepest basement until I figure out a more permanent solution.

" Mayble lifted the box with surprising strength for someone who looked like she subsisted entirely on moonlight and dramatic sighs.

"Don't worry, I've contained worse. My ex-husband, for instance. "

With that cryptic comparison, she swept from the room, leaving Nicholas alone with Sylvie for the first time since their fight.

The silence between them felt both brittle and heavy. Nicholas rubbed the back of his neck, noticing how Sylvie tracked the movement with those stormy eyes that had haunted him for weeks.

"Your place or mine?" he finally asked, aiming for casual but landing somewhere near desperate.

To his surprise, Sylvie's lips quirked upward. "My apartment, I think. Your cabin probably smells like tiger and regret by now."

"Fair enough."

The drive back to town happened in two cars and complete silence.

Nicholas kept glancing in his rearview mirror to make sure Sylvie's car was still behind him, half-convinced she might change her mind and veer off in another direction.

But she followed him all the way to Moonshadow Apothecary, parking beside him in the small lot behind the shop.

The stairs to her apartment creaked under his weight as they climbed to the second floor. Her keys jingled as she unlocked the door, and Nicholas found himself holding his breath.

"Come in," she said, stepping aside to let him enter first.

Her apartment was undeniably Sylvie. Books stacked on every surface, herbs drying in bunches from the ceiling beams, and candles—hundreds of them—in various stages of completion. The scent wrapped around him, so distinctly her that his tiger rumbled with pleasure.

"Sorry for the mess," she said, though she didn't sound particularly apologetic. "I don't usually have visitors."

"It's you, no need to apologize."

Sylvie busied herself in the tiny kitchenette while Nicholas continued his examination of her space.

He paused at a small workbench near the window where a half-carved candle sat beside a jar of silver dust. The candle was etched with a familiar pattern, one he recognized from the sanctuary's historical records.

"Is this a bonding pattern?" He couldn't keep the surprise from his voice.

Sylvie appeared at his side with two mugs of tea, her cheeks flushed. "It's a clarity candle."

"And?"

"And it burned silver." She handed him a mug decorated with cartoon tigers—a gag gift from someone with a sense of humor, he suspected. "I came looking for you this morning because of what it showed me."

His tiger, usually restlessly pacing inside him, went utterly still—listening, waiting. "What did it show you?"

Sylvie set her own mug down on the cluttered table and raked a hand through her hair, loosening several strands from her messy bun. "That I'm in love with you. And I think I have been for longer than I want to admit."

The words hit him like a physical force. Nicholas set his mug down with a clatter, tea sloshing over the rim. "Sylvie?—"

"Let me finish." She held up a hand, her expression determined.

"I've spent my whole life believing that love should make sense.

That it should be rational and controlled, like properly measured ingredients in a spell.

But that's not how it works, is it? It's messy and terrifying and it makes you do stupid things, like binding yourself to someone who drives you absolutely crazy. "

"In my defense, you're the one who cast the spell," Nicholas couldn't help pointing out, his lips twitching.

"Because you walked in and completely threw off my concentration! Years of perfect spellcasting, and then you saunter in with your ridiculous smile and your tight shirts, and suddenly I'm creating magical disasters."

"You think my smile is ridiculous?"

"That's what you took from that?" Sylvie rolled her eyes, but there was warmth there now, a familiar spark of irritation that had always masked something deeper. "I'm trying to tell you that I don't regret it. The spell, the bond—it showed me something I was too stubborn to see."

Nicholas stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of silver in her eyes, to count the freckles dusting her nose. "And what's that?"

"That sometimes the heart knows what it wants before the head catches up." Her voice softened, vulnerability stealing across her features. "And my heart wants you, Nicholas Whitmore. Heaven help me."

His tiger surged forward, nearly forcing a shift with the intensity of its joy. Nicholas reached out, fingers hesitating just shy of touching her face. "Can I?—"

Sylvie nodded, and he cupped her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin beneath his calloused palm. She leaned into his touch with a sigh that shattered the last of his restraint.

"I've spent every day since I met you wanting this," he confessed, tracing the curve of her jaw with his thumb.

"Every date with someone else was just distraction because I never thought I could have you.

I know that know because of the bond. And I was too scared to listen to what my instincts were telling me. "

"You had me the night you brought that wounded fox to my back door at three in the morning," Sylvie whispered, her hand coming up to cover his. "I just didn't want to admit it. And I think that's why I wanted to hate you. I saw softness in you but you forced yourself to be this… play boy."

Nicholas brought his other hand up to frame her face, liquid gold flooding his eyes as his tiger pressed close to the surface. "I need to tell you something important. More about the curse, about why I tried to push you away."

"I know about the curse. Missy told me." A tear slipped down her cheek, catching on his thumb. "When I sought out Hazel, she showed me your ancestor, what happened to his mate."

"Then you know why I was afraid." Nicholas's voice broke. "I couldn't bear it if something happened to you because of me."

"Nothing is going to happen to me." Sylvie reached up, brushing away a tear he hadn't realized he'd shed. "We contained the relic. And Hazel told me how to break the curse."

"How?"

"By choosing love consciously—not because fate demands it." She smiled then, full and bright. "And I choose you, Nicholas. Not because of some spell or bond, but because my heart won't have it any other way."

The bond between them flared to life—but instead of the familiar purple spark, it glowed golden, lighting up the space between them with warmth that felt like sunrise.

Nicholas leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. "I choose you too, Sylvie Sage. My witch. My mate."

She tilted her face up, and their lips met in a kiss that tasted of tea and tears and something wild and sweet—like honey and smoke.