Page 38

NICHOLAS

N icholas paced the small antechamber of the sanctuary, fingers fumbling with his cufflinks for the third time.

Morning light filtered through stained glass, casting prisms across the polished wooden floor.

His custom-tailored charcoal suit felt simultaneously too tight and too loose, the emerald green tie at his throat a silken noose.

"If you keep this up, you'll wear a path in that hundred-year-old hardwood," Rollo observed from his perch on a bench, already dressed in his best man's attire—a lighter gray suit with a matching emerald pocket square.

"Can't help it," Nicholas muttered, running a hand through his carefully styled dark hair, immediately ruining the effect. "Is it hot in here?"

Rollo's laugh was deep and rumbling. "Your tiger doesn't think so."

It was true. While Nicholas's human side was a swirl of jitters and anticipation, his tiger remained utterly, infuriatingly calm. The beast lounged contentedly in his consciousness, occasionally stretching with lazy satisfaction.

"Easy for him to say. He already claimed her months ago." Nicholas checked his reflection in the mirror, straightening his lapels. The suit was perfectly fitted to his athletic frame, designed to accommodate a partial shift if his emotions ran high. "He's not the one who has to remember vows."

"Speaking of which..." Rollo reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box. "You might want these."

Nicholas accepted the box, opening it to reveal two bands. One was a sleek platinum, the other a delicate silver vine intertwined with tiny emeralds that matched his tie.

"I can't believe I almost forgot the rings." He ran a finger over Sylvie's band, feeling the hum of protective magic embedded within the metal. "Some groom I am."

"The best kind—one who's actually showing up." Rollo stood and clapped him on the shoulder. "Unlike that cousin of yours who ran off to Brazil rather than face his mate."

"That was different. Garrett's mate was trying to hex him bald."

"And Sylvie hasn't tried?"

Nicholas's lips quirked. "She's been tempted."

A soft knock interrupted them as Hazel Fairweather entered, resplendent in flowing robes of midnight blue, her silver hair cascading down her back adorned with tiny stars that actually twinkled.

"It's time," she announced, her ageless eyes studying Nicholas. "The elements are aligned, the moon is in position, and your bride is ready."

Nicholas's heart hammered against his ribs. "Is she... how does she look?"

"Like the answer to a question you've been asking your whole life," Hazel replied, her voice softening. "Now come. We mustn't keep fate waiting, especially when it took such a circuitous route to get you two here."

They followed her through winding corridors until they reached the outdoor clearing.

The sanctuary's ancient grove had been transformed into something out of a dream.

Moondrops and tiger lilies formed an aisle between rows of wooden chairs filled with townsfolk.

Candles hovered in the air, their flames steady despite the gentle breeze.

At the far end stood an arch twined with flowers and vines that seemed to pulse with life.

Nicholas took his position beneath the arch, his tiger suddenly alert and attentive. The assembled guests quieted as string music filled the air—no traditional wedding march for Sylvie. Instead, the haunting melody of an old protection charm floated through the clearing.

And then she appeared.

Sylvie walked the path alone, as was witch tradition.

Her gown was unlike anything Nicholas had imagined—not white, but the color of moonlight on water, silvery blue that shifted as she moved.

It hugged her curves before flowing out in layers that resembled candle smoke.

Her blonde hair was partly up, secured with Missy's silver comb, the rest cascading in waves around her shoulders.

Around her throat gleamed a pendant that matched his tie, and in her hands, she carried not flowers but a slender white candle that burned with a golden flame.

Nicholas felt his claws extend slightly, pricking his palms. His tiger pushed forward, eager to see, to claim, to cherish.

"Easy," he whispered to himself, retracting the claws with effort.

By the time Sylvie reached him, Nicholas had forgotten his nervousness entirely. There was only her—her storm-gray eyes meeting his, her lips curved in that half-smile he adored.

"Hi," he whispered as she took her place opposite him.

"Hi yourself," she replied, her voice steady even as the candle flame in her hands flickered higher. "Ready to be gloriously doomed together?"

His grin was pure tiger. "I was born ready."

Hazel raised her hands, and the clearing fell silent. "We gather beneath ancient boughs and eternal stars to witness the binding of two souls who found each other against all odds—and despite themselves."

A ripple of knowing laughter passed through the guests.

"Nicholas Whitmore, tiger-shifter and protector," Hazel continued. "Sylvie Sage, witch and flame-keeper. You stand before your community to declare your choice, not fate's choice, not magic's choice, but your own."

She gestured to Sylvie, who raised her candle higher. "With this flame, I welcome both man and beast. I bind myself to your protection, your passion, your loyalty." Her voice was clear, unwavering. "When darkness comes, I will be your light. When storms rage, I will be your shelter."

The candle flame leaped higher with each word, casting golden light across her face. Nicholas felt something tighten in his chest—pride, love, awe.

Hazel nodded to him, and Nicholas found his voice.

"With fang and claw, I claim you as my own.

I bind myself to your wisdom, your strength, your magic.

" He felt his eyes flash amber as his tiger pushed forward, wanting to be part of this moment.

"When shadows threaten, I will stand between you and harm.

When doubt whispers, I will remind you of your power. "

As he spoke, Sylvie's candle flame turned from gold to blue, then to a deep purple that matched the color their bond had first manifested as.

"The flame acknowledges your vows," Hazel said, placing her weathered, bark-textured hands over theirs.

Her touch felt like ancient roots connecting them to something primordial and unshakable.

"Now, the rings, symbols of your unbroken circle, just as your souls have found their completion in one another. "

Nicholas reached into his pocket with steady fingers, though his heart thundered like a storm in his chest. He withdrew a delicate band of silver intertwined with gold, tiny amber stones catching the candlelight like captured flames.

The metal felt warm against his skin, almost alive with the magic Sylvie had infused into it during its creation.

Sylvie's eyes widened slightly as he took her hand. The witch who always had a sarcastic comment ready was momentarily speechless, her stormy gray eyes glistening with unshed tears. Nicholas slid the ring onto her finger, feeling the pulse of her magic jump to meet his touch.

"With this ring," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, "I honor the witch who tamed the tiger, not with chains but with understanding."

Sylvie then reached for the leather cord around her neck, pulling forth a broader band of burnished copper with intricate runes etched along its surface. The metal gleamed with protective spells she'd spent weeks perfecting.

"With this ring," she whispered, sliding it onto his finger, "I honor the man who showed me that surrender can be strength."

The moment the ring settled into place, their bond flared visible—a luminous purple aura connecting their joined hands.

Nicholas couldn't wait another second. He pulled Sylvie into his arms, one hand cradling the back of her head as his lips found hers in a kiss that sealed their vows more thoroughly than any words could.

Her candle flared brilliantly between them, casting their joined shadows as one against the forest floor.

The assembled guests erupted in cheers and applause as tiger-shifter and witch claimed each other completely, their kiss a promise of protection, passion, and partnership that would endure through whatever trials fate still held in store.