Page 22

Chapter 21

Carina

T he first thing I notice when I step into the living room is my sisters.

Dina and MJ are both standing like watchdogs, their eyes locked on me the second I appear.

I know I look like absolute hell—still wrapped in Horace’s oversized coat, wearing borrowed boxers and a T-shirt that isn’t mine.

My hair is a tangled mess, my skin is still warm from sleep, and I haven’t even had the chance to shower yet.

But none of that matters right now.

I have bigger things to deal with.

“Carina,” Dina says, her voice soft but wary.

MJ places a hand on her shoulder, as if warning her to tread lightly.

That’s when I notice the third man in the room.

I kind of recognize him— vaguely —from the pizzeria.

But his face is wrecked.

A massive white bandage covers most of his nose, and the bruises around his eyes look like someone clocked him hard enough to break something.

Ouch . That must have hurt.

I glance at Uncle Uzzi, who is already watching me carefully.

That old man sees things. More than he lets on. I can tell just by the glint in his sapphire-blue eyes.

But he’s not the one I need to talk to.

It’s the other one.

Horace .

He’s sitting there, watching me in that way that makes my heart trip over itself, like it’s forgotten how to beat properly.

A plain white T-shirt, like the one I am wearing, stretches across his broad chest, and his forest-green sweatpants make him look ridiculously comfortable for someone who just turned into a damn Grizzly Bear an hour ago.

His dark hair is a mess. Like he’s been running his fingers through it, restless.

And those eyes— deep, almost black, locked onto mine —burn with something I can’t quite name.

I walk closer. It’s like I am drawn to him.

Like he is holding a secret piece of me and the only way I am going to feel whole again is if I get closer.

So I do.

I don’t say anything.

I just reach out, pluck the glass from his big, warm hands, and take a sip.

The heat hits my throat immediately— sharp, fiery, like swallowing liquid sunshine with a vengeance.

I cough, wincing as the burn spreads through my chest, and my eyes immediately start watering.

“Wow. That is really intense,” I rasp, blinking back tears.

Horace’s lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smirk.

“Yeah,” the bruised guy— Doug? —chimes in. “Shit. Let me get you guys some water.”

“I’ll get it,” Dina cuts in at the same time, standing abruptly.

They both freeze, staring at each other in a weird, unspoken standoff.

Then, Dina moves first, disappearing into the kitchen.

She’s back seconds later with a glass of water and a small tote bag.

Her eyes flick to mine, then to Horace, then back to me again.

Oh no.

I know that look.

That is the “I’m about to make up an excuse to leave you two alone” look.

Dina, don’t you dare —I almost say it. Then I realize she has a point. I need to talk to him alone.

“Um, here,” she says, shoving the bag and glass at me like she’s handing off a live grenade. “We brought you some clean clothes. But no rush on when you’re coming home.”

Then, with zero subtlety, she glances at the nearest window and goes, “Wow, look at that. It’s getting late!”

It’s eleven-thirty in the morning.

MJ tilts her head, frowning. “What?”

Dina grabs her sleeve, yanking her up.

“Late for the pizzeria.”

“But the manager we hired is there?” MJ says it like it’s a question.

“Yeah. But you know we got that delivery coming. MJ and I are gonna head downstairs.”

MJ blinks clearly confused. “We do?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Dina nods enthusiastically, then turns to Doug. “You too, um, Doug. We have something to show you.”

Doug squints at her. “We do?” he mimics MJ.

Dina flicks her head to the side—the universal sibling look for “play along, you idiot.”

But Doug?

Doug is clearly slow on the uptake.

He just stares at her, his battered face blank, like he’s trying to process a different language.

Dina exhales sharply. Then, through gritted teeth, she enunciates, “Come. To. The. Pizzeria. We. Will. Feed. You. Now.”

Doug brightens immediately.

“Oh, free pizza? Sure, I can do that.”

I bite my lip, barely containing my smile.

Dina is ridiculous.

But I appreciate it.

I need to talk to Horace.

And I’d rather do it without an audience.

But we are not alone yet.

There is one person who apparently still has something to say.

I lick my lips, my heartbeat pounding too loud, too fast, and wait for Uncle Uzzi to speak.

His sharp, perceptive gaze settles on me, assessing in that way that makes me feel like he can see things I haven’t even figured out yet.

If Shifters are real, then maybe what I overheard about this man is real, too. He’s a Witch. One with real magic.

And if I am not mistaken, that little dating app he created has led me to my fated mate.

Oh my gah. I have a fated mate. I’m not going to be alone.

Because, let’s face it, that is the worst thing I can think of.

Never knowing true love.

Having to grow old alone.

The white-haired Witch interrupts my spiraling thoughts.

“Carina,” he begins, his voice gentle but firm, “are you okay with me leaving you here with Horace?”

The room feels too quiet.

I squirm, feeling put on the spot.

Horace stiffens beside me, his fingers twitching against his knee. His entire massive frame coiled tight like he’s preparing for a blow he can’t stop.

Uncle Uzzi continues, his expression unreadable.

“If you do not want to stay—either here right now, or in this mating at all—you only have to say the word. Seeing as how Horace forgot to explain what he was before he claimed you, you have every right to walk away.”

Horace makes a low sound, something half-growl, half-pained exhale, but he doesn’t speak.

He’s waiting.

For me to walk away.

Uzzi’s sapphire eyes hold mine, steady and unwavering.

“I swear,” he says, his voice thick with something ancient and powerful, “I will do everything in my considerable power to help you if that is what you choose.”

I believe him.

I let his words sink in, weighing them carefully, turning them over in my mind.

And the truth?

The truth hits me like a freight train.

I don’t want to leave.

Not this penthouse.

Not Horace.

Not now.

Not ever.

And is that crazy?

Have I completely lost my damn mind?

Because logically, I should be freaking out.

I should be running for the nearest exit, screaming at the absurdity of all of this.

Instead?

Instead, I feel safe.

Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

And that thought terrifies me more than anything else.

“Carina?” Uzzi’s gaze is unwavering.

“Thank you for everything, Uncle Uzzi,” I begin, and I can almost feel Horace’s despair and it hurts.

A lot.

I move closer to him, and as I place my hand on his shoulder, I continue speaking to the older man, “but I am right where I want to be.”

Horace’s exhale is audible.

Kind of like a gasp.

His brown-black gaze is on me, and I swear, he is trembling with emotion.

And so am I.

“Very well. Until we met again.” Uzzi offers a slight bow in my direction before pinning Horace with his sapphire stare. “Talk to her this time, dear boy. Talk first.”

“Yes, Uncle Uzzi,” Horace replies, but his gaze never leaves my face.

I hear the door close with an audible click.