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LYRA

L yra had never known a town to sigh contentedly in its sleep, but Celestial Pines did just that.

She could hear it in the soft rustle of the Whispering Woods when the wind curled down through the pines, and in the way the cobblestone streets exhaled warmth in the early morning, chasing the mist like a sleepy yawn.

Even the mailboxes here hummed when touched, like they were happy to be included in someone’s daily routine.

“Enchanting little bubble,” Lyra muttered as she padded down Main Street in a pair of cherry-red boots that sparkled slightly every time her heel hit the ground. “Feels like I stepped into a dream that’s had way too much chamomile tea.”

Beside her, Milo the talking cat trotted with an infuriating sense of purpose. Black fur sleek, emerald eyes narrowed in that perpetually judgmental way that made him look like he’d been inconvenienced by existence itself.

“I’m just saying,” Lyra added, side-eyeing him, “you could’ve warned me that the mayor is actually a dryad who grows petunias when she’s lying.”

“I thought it was obvious,” Milo said, his voice crisp and vaguely British. “Also, I’m not your tour guide.”

“You followed me out of the office.”

“You smelled like lemon mist and confusion. I was intrigued.”

Lyra grinned. She couldn’t help it. Two days in, and Celestial Pines already had her heart dancing on tiptoe.

It wasn’t perfect, Jace Montgomery still glared at her like she was a misplaced hex but it was theirs , this strange, magical town with its gossiping shopkeepers and coffee that tasted like memories.

And she wasn’t going back. Not to the cold marble halls of her old coven. Not to their rules or judgment or constant attempts to “tidy up” her brand of magic.

Here, no one flinched when her enchanted pen decided to write in cursive on its own. No one told her she was “too much” or “not enough.”

They just gave her keys and muffins and a place to belong.

Later that afternoon, Lyra was back at Moonfang Keep , nestled in the dusty archive room with scrolls up to her ears and a cheerful hum on her lips.

The place smelled like oak, ancient magic, and something wild that never quite faded—like pine smoke and lightning. There were wards carved into every archway, some glowing faintly when she passed. But the magic didn’t bite. It watched. Curious.

She flicked a charm to unroll a stubborn scroll and leaned in, muttering, “If this turns into a fire elemental again, I swear?—”

“No fire today, I hope,” came a familiar voice.

Lyra looked up as Petra , the dryad from logistics, leaned against the doorframe with a cup of something fizzy and green.

“No fire,” Lyra confirmed, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Just bureaucratic nightmares and scrolls that whisper insults in Latin.”

Petra snorted. “That’s the property ledger. It’s cursed. Jace refuses to get rid of it.”

“Why?”

“Tradition.” Petra took a sip. “That and it bit Ezra Wolfe once. Jace said it earned its keep.”

Lyra’s smile faded at the name. She’d only heard whispers, but the rival alpha was already carving out space in her mental worry closet.

“So… you settling in?” Petra asked, kicking off the wall and stepping closer.

“As much as I can. Still trying to figure out which cabinet has the death threats and which one just holds expired permits.”

“The red one’s both.”

“Lovely.”

Petra leaned in with a grin. “So. Be honest. What do you think of the big, broody boss man?”

Lyra coughed on her tea.

Petra’s grin widened. “That bad?”

“It’s not that he’s bad,” Lyra said slowly, trying to find words that didn’t sound like “infuriatingly hot.” “He’s just… intense.”

“Mmhm.”

“And mysterious.”

“Uh huh.”

“And maybe smells like thunder during a summer storm, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Petra laughed, loud and delighted. “Oh, honey. You are so doomed.”

Lyra groaned, flopping backward into a cloud of parchment. “He probably thinks I’m a walking magical hazard.”

“Probably,” Petra agreed. “But he hasn’t fired you yet. That’s practically a marriage proposal by Jace standards.”

That earned her a crumpled receipt to the face.

That evening, Calla met Lyra at the Spellbound Sip, the town’s coziest spot for tea, town gossip, and flirtation-flavored coffee.

They sat in a corner booth with charm-dampening cushions and glowing menus that pulsed with their auras. Lyra’s cup shifted from orange zest to lavender honey with a sigh.

“You’re mellowing,” Calla said approvingly. “Last week, your drink tasted like fireworks and rebellion.”

“I’m trying,” Lyra said, cheeks flushed. “I like it here. The town’s weird, but the good kind of weird. The folks are strange in a way that fits.”

“And the boss?”

Lyra wrinkled her nose. “He’s… complicated.”

Calla’s brow lifted.

“He’s rigid,” Lyra continued. “Quiet. Probably allergic to compliments. Definitely allergic to me. But also… kind of noble? Like he’d throw himself in front of a hex bolt and then grumble about it for a week.”

“Sounds like Jace.”

“And I think he might be hiding something. Something big.” Lyra’s voice softened. “There’s pain there. I see it in his eyes when he thinks no one’s looking. Like he’s holding up a whole mountain on his shoulders, and if he shifts an inch, it’ll all come down.”

Calla’s face grew serious. “You always were quick at reading people. He’s had it rough. Took over after his father vanished. Packs don’t like uncertainty, and Jace… he never got to grieve. Just stepped up and never stepped down.”

Lyra’s chest ached. “That explains the weight in his stare.”

Calla smiled sadly. “Be careful, Lyra.”

“I always am,” she said, then winced. “Okay, I usually am. Sometimes.”

By the time Lyra returned to her little room above the apothecary, the stars were out, and the wind had picked up. She sat on the windowsill with Milo curled in her lap, watching the moon cast silver over the trees.

“You think he likes me?” she whispered.

“Jace Montgomery doesn’t even like himself, ” Milo replied.

“Comforting.”

“But he’s watching. I feel it.”

Lyra leaned her head against the window. Her heart beat a little faster than she wanted to admit.

Something had shifted the moment he looked at her. She hadn’t imagined the way the air had thickened. The way her magic had stirred like a cat stretching in sunlight.

Something was coming.

And whatever it was, a part of her hoped it started with a scowl and smelled like pine smoke.