Page 26

DEREK

T he world outside is still singing with new life, but all I can see is her.

Hazel, glowing from within, magic humming under her skin like a second heartbeat.

She turns to me, eyes wide, grinning like the chaotic miracle she is.

My heart—well, what used to be my heart before she rewired it with her messy, beautiful existence—squeezes tight.

"So, uh, what now?" she asks, breathless from laughter or magic or just being her.

"Now," I say, stepping closer, "we do what we should've done a long time ago."

Her brow quirks. "Start a support group for monsters who are terrible at feelings?"

I laugh, surprised by the sound. Since when do I laugh? Since her . "No. This."

I kiss her. Not a tentative, questioning kiss—but the kind that says, You're mine and I'm yours, and the whole Grove can burn for all I care. Hazel's response is immediate. She tangles her hands in my hair, pulling me closer, and I wonder how I ever thought I could deny this.

"Finally," she breathes against my lips.

I growl playfully, lifting her up and spinning her around until she giggles. The sound is a better spell than anything we cast here today.

We end up on the ground, in a circle of wildflowers, laughing and kissing and somehow getting grass stains in all the right places. Clothes are shed like old skins, and for once, neither of us are worried about who might see. The Grove is alive, and it feels like it's cheering us on.

"Slow," I murmur, tracing patterns along her ribcage with rough, unsure fingers.

"Yes," she agrees, looking up at me with eyes that reflect the stars above. "Slow is good. We've got time."

And we do. For the first time in centuries, I feel like I've got all the time in the world.

I take my hands—these weapons, these tools of survival—and I use them to worship her.

To map every curve, every scar, every freckle.

She does the same, her touch both hesitant and hungry, as if she can't believe I'm real.

Her skin is a canvas of moonlight and shadows, and I want to devour every inch of it.

I kiss my way down, following a path that's both new and achingly familiar—her collarbone, the valley between her breasts, the soft curve of her belly. She arches into me with a gasp, and I can’t help but grin against her skin.

"Are you laughing at me?" she asks, her voice breathless.

"I'm enjoying you." I press a kiss to each hip bone, feeling the way her muscles tighten beneath my fingers. "Is that allowed?"

She huffs a laugh. "Only if I get to enjoy you back."

"Deal." I stroke my thumbs along her thighs, pushing them further apart, and Hazel’s hands tighten in my hair. Anticipation coils in my stomach, sharp and sweet.

"You're... you're sure?"

"Can I?" she asks, voice a mix of playful teasing and genuine curiosity.

"Can you what?"

"Can I blow you?"

"Oh." The thought alone sends a jolt of electricity through me. I shift my gaze back to hers, fighting to keep my voice even. "Yes. I—God, yes."

"Good," she says, and she tugs me up to meet her lips again. "Because I've been wondering what you taste like."

"Are you going to make me beg?"

"Maybe." She rolls us over until she's straddling me, and I'm lost in the sight of her, hair a riot of curls, eyes dark and hungry. "But I've wanted to try this since you tasted my blood back in arts and crafts."

Her lips graze my skin, and then she’s moving lower, lower, until the warmth of her breath ghosts over my cock, and I have to close my eyes and grab a fistful of grass just to stay grounded.

Her touch is hesitant at first, teasing, as if she’s mapping unfamiliar territory. I’d tell her she can do whatever she wants, but I’m too busy not breathing, not moving. Then, just when I think I might combust, she takes my cock into her mouth, and I swear I see stars.

"Hazel," I gasp out, and she hums a response that ripples through me, tugging me back toward the edge of sanity. "God, that’s?—"

She pulls away, looking up at me with those eyes that are always too clever for their own good.

My thoughts scatter, replaced by the slick heat of her mouth and the feel of her hands gripping my thighs. I let out a choked sound, and Hazel hums again, sending vibrations through me.

"Fuck. Hazel.” My fingers thread through her hair, but I don’t push, because the most beautiful thing in the world is her taking me at her own pace.

She pauses, and I feel the loss of her like ice water.

"Hazel," I breathe, my grip tightening on her hips. The moonlight turns her eyes to silver as she shifts, straddling over me in a way that’s intimate and aching with want.

"If you’re—" I start, but she cuts me off with a kiss, fierce and demanding, and my words dissolve into a groan. When she pulls back, she’s guiding my cock inside her pussy, hot and slick and pulsing with life.

"I’ve wanted this again so bad," she whispers, as if sharing a secret.

"Trust me," I murmur, brushing her hair back from her face. "So have I."

She sinks down on my cock with a sigh, and I’m lost in the sensation. It’s more than just the physical—there’s magic, raw and primal, coursing between us, binding us in ways we’re only beginning to understand.

"How does it feel?" she asks, her breath hitching as she lifts herself up and then down again, taking me deeper.

"Like I’ve been waiting centuries for you," I say, barely able to form coherent sentences.

"You have."

She leans forward, rocking her hips against mine, and I fight to keep my eyes open because the sight of her, head thrown back, riding me like she was made for it, is almost too much to handle.

"You’re beautiful," I manage to say, hands roving over her body, learning every dip and curve in the half-light. And then, because it’s true: "I love you."

She leans forward again, her lips brushing my ear as she whispers, "Again."

"I love you."

Her movements quicken, and I meet her thrust for thrust, driving into her pussy, until we’re both gasping, out of sync with each other and the world, lost in a rhythm that’s always belonged to us, somewhere in a future that’s just now blooming.

"Faster," she breathes against my neck. "Please. I'm so close, Derek, please!"

"You’ve got me," I growl, and it’s not just about this, about sex that feels like the pleasure is being torn from our very bones.

It’s about who we are when we’re together, all masks and armor stripped away.

I sit up, still joined to her, and take her face in my hands, kissing her as if I can pour everything I feel into this moment.

"Come for me," I say lowly, watching her. "I need you to come with me.”

She shivers at my words, and it’s my undoing. I feel the climax building within her, tightening around me, her magic a live wire against mine. She cries out, and I follow, everything flaring white as we’re consumed by the heat of each other, our breaths mingling, our hearts pounding as one.

"I love you," she repeats, like a promise I’ve only ever dreamed of hearing, pressed against me, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of orgasm. And in that moment, I’m whole.

The centuries of loneliness, of loss, of fighting for each day—they melt into the grass beneath us. I have Hazel, and nothing else matters.

"That’s—that’s all I need," I choke out, taking her chin in my fingers, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Just you."

It takes a few moments for us to catch our breaths. Hazel rests her forehead against mine, and our gazes lock, our eyes filled with unspoken promises that have nothing to do with magic and everything to do with love.

In the distance, the camp bell rings, signaling the end of the night. We should probably care, but in this moment - we don't. This is enough, this is everything. We'll face the rest of the world together.