Page 14

JACE

J ace didn’t remember standing.

One second, he was rooted in his chair, watching Lyra cast a spell with her voice that cracked something open inside him.

The next, he was rising to his feet, coat slung over one arm, feet already moving toward the café’s door like the wolf in him had made the decision before his mind could catch up.

The applause still echoed behind him, her laugh twining with the sound like smoke over embers.

He waited by the cobbled walkway, the night crisp and soaked in starlight. The magic in the air still pulsed from her performance, humming low and lazy against his skin.

The door jingled open behind him.

“Hey.”

He turned.

Lyra stepped out, cheeks pink, curls bouncing with every movement. Her eyes sparkled, still warm from the stage, though there was a flicker of surprise when she saw him waiting.

“You leaving already?” she asked.

“Thought I’d walk you home,” he said suddenly, not even realizing what words chose to come out.

She blinked. “Oh. You didn’t have to?—”

“I wanted to,” he said, too quickly. Then, quieter, “You lit the whole room up tonight.”

Her smile wobbled a little. “That song was for me. I needed to get something out.”

“You did,” he murmured. “Got me, too.”

Her eyes widened slightly, but before either of them could stumble deeper into whatever this was, Calla emerged behind them, arms full of wrapped bundles and bottles she clearly hadn’t brought inside.

“I’m gonna hang back a while,” Calla said, raising a brow but keeping her tone innocent. “The café needs a few herbs restocked, and Petra asked for a late-night dreamroot tincture. Y’all go ahead.”

Jace gave a slow nod, and Lyra turned, mock-glared at her cousin. “You planned this.”

Calla grinned. “I plan everything.”

Lyra sighed, rolling her eyes, and stepped off the stoop. Jace followed, falling into step beside her as they left the glow of the café behind and headed down the quiet street.

Celestial Pines at night was a different kind of magic.

Shadows stretched long and soft. The old gas lamps flickered with charm-light. A gentle hush blanketed the town, like the trees themselves were listening in. The air was cool, but the space between him and Lyra was warm—electrified with the current he was refusing to acknowledge.

“You looked uncomfortable,” she said suddenly.

He blinked down at her. “When?”

“Earlier. When you walked into the café.”

He exhaled through his nose. “I’m not a karaoke kind of guy.”

“I noticed,” she teased gently. “But you still came.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

He hesitated, eyes on the path ahead.

“I owed you,” he said at last. “After what I said. How I acted. I wanted to– I want to apologize.”

She was quiet for a beat. “You didn’t owe me. But I’m glad you came anyway.”

He glanced at her and the ache that had been pressing behind his ribs all day shifted.

She was radiant. Not because of the spell she’d sung, not because of the attention she’d drawn, but because she was just… her . Chaos and warmth. Wit and vulnerability. A whirlwind wrapped in soft skin and sharp instincts.

“You were right,” he said softly.

Lyra blinked. “About what?”

“I’ve been pushing you away.” His jaw flexed. “I didn’t know how to let you close without everything else slipping.”

She slowed slightly, eyes searching his.

“And now?” she asked.

Now?

Now he wanted to kiss her until the world stopped spinning. Wanted to pull her into his arms and feel her melt into him like magic always had a home there.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he said, “I don’t want you to stop being you.”

Lyra stopped walking altogether, standing just beneath a flickering lamplight, the gold catching in her hair like fireflies.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she said, half-laughing.

“Probably.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the air thick with everything unsaid.

Then Lyra tilted her head. “You really don’t sing, huh?”

Jace smirked. “Only in wolf form. And only when it’s full moon and I’m alone in the woods.”

“Tragic,” she said. “You’re missing out.”

“Maybe next time, you’ll drag me up there.”

“Only if you promise not to bite.”

He stepped closer. “No promises.”

Her breath caught.

Not his.

Because he was still an alpha.

Still in control.

Mostly.

Her magic pulsed in the space between them, tugging at him, soft and wild. He could almost see the threads weaving between them—bondlines faint but present, waiting. Wanting.

He didn’t touch her.

But he was close enough to feel her exhale.

“Jace,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said.

Another step and they were almost chest to chest, eyes locked, the silence around them folding in like a cocoon.

He didn’t kiss her.

But stars, he wanted to.

“We’re here,” she said, voice too soft.

He blinked.

They were at the stairs to her loft. The green-painted apothecary beneath her window still had moonflowers climbing up the side. She rested one hand on the rail, the other wrapped around the banister like she needed the anchor.

He followed her up the first two steps, slowly. One hand on the railing. The other… aching.

She turned on the landing, breath visible in the crisp air.

He hovered there, staring at her lips.

“I should say goodnight,” he said hoarsely.

“You should,” she whispered.

He didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he leaned in, close enough to brush her temple with his breath.

She didn’t move. But her eyes burned.

And it was too much for him to bear anymore.