Page 3

NICHOLAS

N icholas pushed through the apothecary’s door and stepped onto the sun-drenched boardwalk of Main Street, wearing the grin he kept handy for emergencies.

Behind his teeth, his heart jack-hammered.

A violet ribbon of light, a whisper now, barely visible, circled his wrist like an inked promise he hadn’t meant to sign.

Laugh it off, Whitmore. Easy.

“Morning, Nick!” Old Mrs. Callahan waved from the post office stoop, her terrier trotting at her heels.

He flashed her his best lake-smooth smile. “Hey there, Mrs. C. Pup behaving?”

“Not a chance.” She chuckled and shuffled inside. The moment she vanished, Nicholas let the smile drop. His tiger—normally restless, playful, always pacing behind his ribs—had gone stone-still. The silence in his own head was deafening.

Mate.

It had become something he couldn’t ignore the moment he had become tethered to Sylvie.

Not because of the spell, but because he had always made sure to keep his distance from her due to her undying loathing of him.

The word thudded across his thoughts, final as a gavel.

Every shifter learned the sensation—an instant recognition that sank claws into bone.

Most spent years hoping for it. Nicholas had spent years outrunning it.

He rubbed the inside of his wrist, half expecting heat to bloom again. Instead, an answering pulse shimmered through the bond, subtle as a second heartbeat. Somewhere in town, Sylvie Sage felt it too and was probably cursing his name in that low, smoky voice of hers.

Great start to a Tuesday.

He jogged down the steps, the sachets he’d bought tucked under his arm.

Wind carried the smells of honeysuckle and fresh bread.

Celestial Pines wasn’t big, but every corner vibrated with quiet enchantment.

Chalk-white spells along shop doors, mossy sigils carved into gutters, fairy lights that refused to extinguish in daylight.

It all usually made Nicholas feel alive.

Right now it felt oppressively watchful, like the whole town was waiting for him to mess up.

Again.

His pickup—faded green, perpetually dusty—waited in the gravel lot behind The Spellbound Sip.

He swung into the driver’s seat and held the key at the ignition.

A low growl rumbled in his chest. The tiger didn’t want to leave.

It wanted to turn back, stalk into Moonshadow, and plunge into whatever alchemy had lassoed them to Sylvie.

“Not happening, big guy,” he muttered, jamming the key home. The engine coughed to life, protesting as much as the animal inside him.

He headed north, tires humming along the forest road toward Shifter’s Rest Wildlife Sanctuary.

Sunlight flickered through towering pines, and every mile he put between himself and the apothecary only twisted the bond tighter.

By the time he rolled past the sanctuary gate, sweat slicked his spine though the cab was cool.

“This is ridiculous,” he hissed.

The tiger purred. Mate is near? The question hummed at the back of his mind.

“Near enough,” he answered aloud. The bond had no distance rulebook as of now; it simply existed, thrumming like an invisible tether. And he had asked for none of it.

Shifter’s Rest sprawled across a mossy ridge, half rehab center, half private shifter hangout, all mayhem.

Nicholas parked beside the feed shed, hopped out, and nearly collided with Millie Grace.

The mute empath’s big brown eyes widened as she lifted a clipboard and pointed to the words she’d scrawled:

YOU’RE BUZZING

Nicholas forced a chuckle. “Just too much coffee, kiddo.”

Millie’s gaze dropped to his wrist; her brows rose. She tapped her own pulse point, then made a heart with her hands. Typical. Nothing escaped her.

“Not a word to Rollo,” he whispered. She sealed imaginary lips. He tousled her hair earning a dramatic eye roll then strode toward the main paddock.

Rollo Steele, six-and-a-half feet of bear shifter, waited by a temporary pen, wrestling a crate the size of a small car. A disgruntled mountain puma yowled inside.

“Took you long enough,” Rollo rumbled. “Cat’s crankier than a porcupine in a balloon shop.” He sniffed the air. “And you smell… weird.”

Nicholas tossed him one of Sylvie’s lavender-stitched sachets. “Got your miracle herbs. Sprinkle that around the fence line; should calm him.”

Rollo caught the pouch, but his gaze stuck on Nicholas’s wrist. “What in Luna’s name is that?”

“Fashion statement.”

“Fashion my ass. It’s glowing.”

Nicholas shrugged, turning away to unlatch the crate. “Long story.”

The bear stepped in front of him, massive arms folded. “Fine. I’ll tell mine first. Last night I dreamed you showed up mated, and by the look on your face, I’m thinking it wasn’t a dream.”

Nicholas barked a laugh, louder than necessary. “Mate? Me?” He jerked a thumb at his chest. “You’re delirious, big guy.”

The tiger inside snarled— Stop lying. It shoved against his ribs, furious at the denial. His knees nearly buckled.

Rollo’s eyes narrowed. “Want to try that again?”

Nicholas straightened, jaw locked. “Something… happened this morning. A spell misfired.”

“That yours?” The bear gestured toward the violet band.

“No. Sylvie Sage’s candle went haywire.” Saying her name flicked embers inside his chest. “Things got… messy.”

Rollo whistled. “Witch bond?”

“Looks that way.” Nicholas pushed past him, heading for the crate’s latch. “And before your matchmaking heart gets excited, she can’t stand me.”

“Yet you reek of pine sap and courtship pheromones.” Rollo ambled after him, grin widening. “Proud of you, Nick. Didn’t think you had it in you to settle.”

He shot the bear a withering look. “I’m not settling. I’m solving a problem.”

Rollo raised both hands in surrender. “Just remember—fated stuff doesn’t break easy. Deny it too long, your tiger’ll make life hell.”

“Noted,” Nicholas muttered.

He crouched by the crate, crooning low tigerish sounds to the puma. Usually his own cat helped soothe rescues. Today the tiger seemed distracted, ears pinned toward town. The crate door slid open an inch—and Nicholas’s vision spun. A lance of heat shot from wrist to spine, dropping him on one knee.

The puma lunged. Rollo yanked Nicholas back by the collar and slammed the crate shut, cursing under his breath. “You okay?”

Nicholas sucked in air. “Tiger’s off balance,” he said through clenched teeth. “Feels like half of me’s missing.”

Rollo knelt beside him. “Because your other half is two miles south making candles, maybe?”

“Don’t start.”

“Nick,” the bear said gently, “I’ve been where you are. Delilah nearly broke me before we worked our junk out. The longer you pretend it’s not real, the uglier it gets.”

Nicholas pressed a trembling hand to his forehead. He remembered Delilah’s return last year—how Rollo acted like a lovesick grizzly for weeks. And how he, Nicholas, had teased the hell out of him. It was a wonder he ever let him come work for him. Karma, apparently, was punctual.

“Even if… even if she is—” The word caught in his throat. Mate. He tried again. “—She deserves better than someone who can’t commit. I’m not exactly reliable in the romance department.”

Rollo’s laugh boomed across the paddock. “Understatement of the century.”

Nicholas rolled his eyes. “Thanks, bud.”

“Look, figure out how to lift the spell if that’s what you need. But don’t run because you’re scared. Tigers don’t run.”

“Tell my tiger that.” Nicholas hauled himself upright, dusting off jeans. “Right now he’d sprint back and camp on her doorstep.”

“Then maybe give him what he needs. Swing by, talk to her, bring food.” Rollo’s grin turned sly. “I hear witches like chocolate croissants.”

“She likes clove candy and—why do I know that?”

Rollo chuckled. “Bond’s already teaching you her favorites. Convenient, huh?”

Nicholas stalked to the feed shed, ignoring his friend’s laughter.

Inside, he pretended the mundane tasks—logging feed levels, refilling water barrels—could drown the bond’s tug.

They couldn’t. Every breath carried Sylvie’s scent memory: cedar smoke curling around a sweet clove.

The tiger rubbed against his ribs, restless.

He relived that moment in the apothecary—the flash of light, the look of stunned shock in her storm-gray eyes, the faint tremble in her lips. Even scared, she’d squared her shoulders like a warrior, ready to face consequences head-on. Not his type—and yet exactly his type.

“Damn.”

He slammed the ledger shut and went back outside.

Clouds piled over the mountains, grazing the blue in lazy masses.

Afternoon sun cast golden stripes across the meadow—patterns that would camouflage a tiger perfectly.

His skin itched with the urge to shift, to run under that dappled light, but the animal still refused.

“All right,” he growled to no one. Plan.

First: make sure the sanctuary didn’t fall apart.

Second: talk to Hazel Fairweather maybe—seer knew binding lore.

Third: figure out how to keep Sylvie from hating him long enough to solve this.

But a quieter voice whispered: Do you truly want it solved?

He shoved the thought aside and headed for the main office cabin. Halfway there, Millie intercepted him again, notebook held up.

WANT ME TO brING HER HERE? she’d scrawled, and below it, a doodle of a stick tiger hugging a stick witch.

Nicholas barked an incredulous laugh. “Absolutely not. And burn that drawing, Gremlin.”

Millie grinned, tore off the page, and tucked it into her overalls pocket, clearly intending to keep it forever. Then she pointed at his wrist and mimed a heartbeat, eyebrows raised in question.

“It’s… steady,” he admitted. “But weird steady. Like it’s listening for hers.”

She signed something quick— Happy steady —then blew him a kiss and skipped away. The kid had faith in the universe; must be nice.

Evening sidled in by the time Nicholas wrapped the sanctuary chores.

The puma finally settled, thanks to Sylvie’s sachets, and the rest of the rescues were fed.

But every hour amplified the emptiness inside his chest, like the bond’s radius grew tighter with the setting sun.

By twilight, it tugged so hard he could swear he tasted candle smoke on the breeze.

“Fine,” he muttered, climbing into the truck. “Round two.”

As he rolled back toward town, streetlamps flicked on, their globes imbued with will-o’-wisp magic that turned glass to soft moonlight. Crickets chirped under the hush of trees. The tiger inside perked up, ears pricked forward. Home, it insisted. Her.

Downtown, shops were closing. Spellbound Sip’s patio fairy lights flicked to life, scattering soft colors onto cobblestones. Nicholas parked outside Moonshadow Apothecary and stared at the dark windows. A warm amber glow flickered inside. Sylvie burning late-night candles.

He exhaled, palms sweaty against the steering wheel. For once, charm wouldn’t cut it. He needed honesty, an unfamiliar tool.

He stepped out, boots scuffing gravel, and the bond flared warm, encouraging. He raised a hand to knock, hesitated, caught in a moment where every choice ahead could rewrite his future. His tiger growled softly, impatient.

Nicholas lowered his hand, took a breath, and knocked twice.

Inside, footsteps approached. The door opened, revealing Sylvie in candlelight, blonde hair swept into a messy knot, smudges of ash on her cheek. Stormy eyes met his, wary but curious, and that violet ring brightened on both their wrists like a greeting.

He managed a crooked, earnest smile. “Thought you might want company while you research.”

A beat of silence, then she stepped aside. “Don’t touch anything that glows,” she said, voice dry as sagebrush.

“No promises,” he murmured, crossing the threshold.

The door clicked shut behind him, sealing them into a world of wax and spice and something new—something that felt suspiciously like hope.