Page 55 of Where the Roses Bloom

—and something in the grovechanged.

The pressure in the air cracked, lightning splitting the clouds above us. The earth didn’t shake, but itinhaled.

And Willow was screaming my name, sobbing, trembling so hard I thought she might collapse. Her whole body locked around me, and I roared right along with her, loud and unrestrained, as I spilled inside her, buried to the hilt.

I didn’t stop.

Couldn’t.

Held her to me as the aftershocks rolled through us both, my face in her neck, my hands splayed across her lower back.

The rain lessened…slowed to a drizzle. A shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds and lit every rain-soaked inch of Willow’s skin in gold.

Eventually, she looked down at me, her eyes soft again. All the wild magic had gentled into something achingly human, and I knew without a doubt that she was here for a reason.

She stroked my cheek. “Do you think it worked?”

I didn’t know what exactly she meant—if we’d broken the curse, if the land accepted our offering…if she was pregnant.

God, I hoped she was pregnant.

“I don’t know,” I croaked. “But that…it wasn’t just sex. I felt it.”

She nodded slowly, her hair falling around our faces as she lay against me. I stroked her hip, thumb sliding over the curveof her waist. “If that was the curse,” I went on. “If that was the thing that just broke…”

“…then maybe we let it die with pleasure instead of pain,” she finished.

We’d given the grove something it hadn’t felt in centuries: desire without fear. Love without loss.

Willow leaned down and kissed me—soft and unhurried. A kiss that wasn’t about claiming or desperation.

Just presence.

Just us.

When she finally pulled back, I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You okay?”

She gave me a sleepy, crooked smile. “I just had sex in the dirt under a haunted tree, so I think I’m somewhere between transcendent and filthy.”

I huffed a laugh. “Let’s get you dressed. I don’t want you catchin’ cold.”

Reluctantly, we pulled apart, helping each other with damp clothes and stolen glances, hands lingering. The storm had passed, leaving the air fresh and new. The whole grove smelled like turned earth and something green—a wound starting to heal.

As we packed up, I watched her glance back toward the tree.

“You think we need to come back?” she asked.

I followed her gaze. The willow branches swayed gently now. The spell bottle she’d unearthed still rested near the roots where we’d left it…but the glass was clear, like it had been polished clean.

And roses bloomed in the wounded tree trunk.

Yeah…something had happened, even if I didn’t yet understand what it was.

“No,” I said after a beat. “I think this place got what it needed.”

She nodded.

But still, before we left, she knelt again by the tree and whispered something I couldn’t hear—something soft and private. When she stood, she looked…settled. Brighter.