Page 49 of The Cuddle Clause

Roman

The air had that cool, clean bite that came after a long day and made me want to breathe a little deeper. The grass along the border was still damp under my boots. Somewhere beneath it all, the wards hummed—a low, steady vibration, like they were listening.

The tracker sat in my hand, its soft blue glow brushing over my knuckles. Numbers flickered across the display, a quiet pulse against my palm.

It wasn’t officially the gathering yet. Just me and Maggie, walking the perimeter in a silence that didn’t need to be filled.

Every now and then, she’d say something just to mess with me—some jab about the “Kumbaya” name Lucien had slapped on tonight like this was a summer camp retreat instead of a last-ditch effort to save our magic.

I rolled my eyes. “If you say it too many times, I’ll make him print matching T-shirts.”

She grinned. “Do they come with marshmallows and a sing-along?”

My mouth twitched. “Absolutely not.”

We kept walking, our shoulders brushing every now and then. It wasn’t intentional, but each time it happened, the tracker’s numbers spiked sharply, like the damn thing was trying to prove a point.

“Is it working yet?” she asked, nodding toward the device.

I glanced down. Another spike. The glow brightened for a beat, holding steady until she stepped closer, her arm brushing mine again.

I tried to play it off, tucking the tracker closer to my side. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” She arched an eyebrow. “That’s very scientific.”

I shrugged, aiming for casual. “I don’t want to jinx it.”

Her smile was still there, teasing at the corners. I glanced at the tracker, then back at her. “Although… we could test it further.”

Before she could ask how, I slid an arm around her waist and pulled her in, fitting her against me like she’d always belonged there. The tracker’s glow brightened in my peripheral vision, but I didn’t care about the numbers anymore.

I kissed her slowly, unhurriedly. Not a question, not a claim—just something real. The world went quiet except for the faint hum of the wards and the steady rhythm of her breathing against me.

The tension I carried in my shoulders, my jaw, my chest—gone. My mind wasn’t a scattered mess of what-ifs and pack politics. Just her. The shape of her mouth, the warmth of her body, the way the night didn’t feel so heavy with her in it.

Connected. At peace. Regulated in a way I couldn’t fake, no matter how hard I’d tried before.

When I finally pulled back, I kept her close, my forehead resting against hers.

“Pretty sure it’s working,” I said quietly.

I heard him before I saw him. Lucien’s boots crunched through the damp grass, his stride loose like he was just out for a midnight stroll. But when he stepped into the glow of the tracker, his eyes sharpened, zeroing in on the numbers.

He stopped beside me, folding his arms. “Well? Are we winning, or am I here to drink away my disappointment?”

I tilted the display toward him. “It’s been holding steady in the high range since she got here.”

The numbers pulsed bright and sure, like they’d finally decided to show up for work.

Lucien’s gaze flicked between the tracker and Maggie, then back to me. His usual smug mask cracked, giving way to something I’d only seen a handful of times—pure, unfiltered giddiness.

“You’ve done it, cousin,” he said, voice warm and almost reverent.

Before I could step back, he pulled me into a hug.

Not the half-assed, back-thumping kind men gave when they were trying to look like they didn’t care.

It was full-on, arms-wrapped, borderline clingy.

I froze, my brain short-circuiting, then awkwardly patted him on the back like he was an overly affectionate golden retriever.

He pulled away grinning, already turning toward the tree line like the wards might light up in neon just to confirm it. “Do you feel that? The shift? It’s alive again. Oh, this is going to work.”

I glanced at Maggie. She was watching us with an amused, knowing little smile that made my chest feel too tight. And yeah, I felt it too.

The rest of the pack came in slowly, two or three at a time, the crunch of boots or paws and low murmurs carrying across the clearing.

I recognized some faces instantly—wolves I’d grown up with, run patrols with, fought beside.

Others I hadn’t interacted with in years, pulled back to the border tonight either out of curiosity or because Lucien had made it very clear they didn’t have a choice.

Some hung at the edges, arms crossed, assessing. A few were already talking in low, tentative tones, eyes darting to the wards like they were waiting to see fireworks.

Lucien moved through the growing crowd like he’d been born for it, all charm and quick hands on shoulders, the kind of grin that made people lean in.

But I knew the truth—he was still buzzing from the tracker readings, holding himself together with that showman polish so no one would see how close he was to cracking wide open.

I stepped toward the firepit. It wasn’t lit yet, but the stacked wood was waiting for the right moment. The tracker hung loosely at my side, its soft glow brushing my knuckles.

When the noise quieted, I didn’t try to stand taller or project like Lucien did. I just spoke.

“There’s no expectation tonight,” I said.

My voice was steady, but I let it stay low, like we were already in on something together.

“Nothing to prove, nothing to perform. No posturing. Just try to connect with each other. Have a real conversation. Walk the border if you want. Share food, share wine. Build something that actually matters to you.”

I looked around at the faces in the crowd, some guarded, some curious, some softening.

“I think the magic wants unity,” I said. “So let’s give it unity. Real unity. Not the kind we pretend to have for a ceremony. The kind we feel when we remember we actually belong to each other.”

No rousing closer. No applause. Just silence, then a few nods, the slow lift of someone’s mouth into a smile, a ripple of movement as they started to drift toward one another.

Conversations began in low voices. Someone uncorked a bottle of wine.

The wards hummed faintly under my boots, like they’d heard every word.

The change was slow, but it was there. Someone else pulled a loaf of bread and a block of cheese from a basket like they’d been waiting all week for an excuse.

On the far side of the clearing, two younger pack members started stringing up fairy lights they’d brought “just in case,” winding them through low branches until soft, golden light glowed in the trees.

Maggie settled into a circle near the unlit firepit, knees pulled up, laughing at something I couldn’t hear. It carried over the night anyway—light, easy, real.

I took the long way around the clearing, greeting people I knew, introducing the ones who didn’t, nudging a few awkward pairs into conversations they might not have started on their own. Nothing forced. Just a little push.

The tracker at my side kept climbing higher than I’d ever seen it.

Every time someone clicked—a hug between two pack members who hadn’t spoken in years, a shared joke that doubled them over, the kind of quiet listening that meant you were actually hearing the other person—the glow spiked like it was celebrating with us.

And it wasn’t just the device. I could feel it in the air, a warm buzz under my skin, the wards humming faintly through the ground as if the whole territory had taken a deep breath for the first time in months.

Then there was Lucien.

He moved through the crowd like an eccentric wedding host who’d had too much champagne and made it his personal mission to ensure everyone felt something.

Tissues in one hand, he’d clap someone on the shoulder with the other and say things like, “Yes! Tell her about your childhood trauma! That’s bonding, baby! ”

At one point, he spotted a pair leaning against the firepit and called across the clearing, “Sing about your feelings!”

I caught his eye and gave him a look that said if he didn’t dial it back, I’d toss the tracker into the fire. He grinned like he knew exactly how far he could push me. And for once, I didn’t mind.

Because tonight, it was working. All of it.

Across the firelight, I spotted Maggie. She sat with her knees pulled in, leaning toward the circle, her hair catching the glow of the flames like it had its own halo. She was smiling—really smiling—and it lit up her eyes and softened every line in her face.

For a second, I forgot about the tracker in my hand. Forgot about the wards, the politics, the whole damn point of tonight. All I could see was her.

The device pulsed hot against my palm, the numbers climbing so high I was half convinced it might short out. The magic was screaming its approval, practically singing through the air around us.

But for once, I didn’t need the proof.

I slipped the tracker into my pocket, its glow dimming against the fabric, and started toward her. Because whether the magic liked it or not, I was choosing her.

I cupped her face and kissed her. Her hands slid up my arms like she knew I needed the contact as much as the wards did.

When we broke apart, she smiled against my jaw. “It’s going well.”

“It’s going better than I thought it would,” I said, brushing a thumb across her cheek. And it was true—everywhere I looked, people were talking, laughing, leaning in. The air felt different. Fuller. More alive.

Her gaze rose over my shoulder, and I felt her go still. I turned just enough to see what she saw—Seraphina, sitting off to the side on a low stone wall, wine glass dangling from her fingers, her expression a little too blank to be casual.

“I’ll be right back,” Maggie murmured.

I didn’t stop her.

Even over the low hum of voices, I caught Seraphina’s dry reply when Maggie asked if she was okay. “Like you care.”

“I do,” Maggie said, her voice steady but not defensive. “I imagine this is hard for you. You wanted to be the one who fixed the magic. You wanted a seat at the important table. And…” She hesitated. “You wanted Roman.”

Seraphina huffed. “Thankfully, I’m starting to actually like Dwight,” she said, swirling her wine. “But I don’t know if I know how to genuinely connect with someone. Not like this.” She gestured around her.

Maggie smiled. “This is a good start. Just opening up and being real.”

There was a beat of quiet between them before Seraphina nodded, her mouth pulling into a small, reluctant smile. “Yeah… maybe you’re right.”

Warmth and pride surged through my chest.

Maggie came back and sank into the spot beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. I was still replaying her conversation with Seraphina in my head when Lucien strolled past, riding the high of whatever the magic was doing to him.

“I think we should all move into a giant commune,” he announced to no one in particular. “Sleep in a pile. Eat only things we grow. Never wear pants again.”

Maggie leaned toward me, her voice low. “Is he serious? I never can tell.”