The werewolf wraps a set of strong arms around his mate’s waist and holds her tight against him—a clear command to stay put.
I wish I could hold Ophelia like that.
I gaze at the firebird, who now strokes a purring Lucky under the chin. Ophelia has on a soft smile and leans close to the cat to whisper something only the animal can hear. The familiar purrs louder and butts her head against Ophelia’s hand.
Once again, the woman is at ease.
The topic of discussion turns away from trapped beings and toward Niko’s plan to open a new restaurant in town, then the happenings at Ramla during the summer months, and next what Halloween Ball dress designs Anthony is working on with Esme—a local harpy who runs a tailoring business—even though the celebration is still months away.
The more we chat, the more I notice Ophelia relaxes out of the corner of my eye. It’s a struggle not to stare at her constantly, but I don’t want to unnerve her. She only drinks the one cider, savoring it, and when her bottle is done, she switches to water. Lucky stays in her lap the entire time, eventually curling up and falling asleep.
I try not to be jealous of the cat.
When the sun is just about to sink below the horizon, Ophelia finally removes Lucky from her lap. She brushes cat hair from her dress and offers a soft smile to the group.
“I should go. I don’t like to drive in the dark.”
“Of course.” I hurry to stand beside her, but she doesn’t move to leave yet.
“I have something. Tokens. I made them.”
In the twilight, I can still see the way a blush creeps over her cheeks.
Ophelia reaches into her bag and pulls out a small box, which she hands to Mor. “For contributing your power to break the curse. And for gathering the grimoires.”
Ophelia offers a tiny, wrapped gift to Niko, which he accepts with cradled hands. “For assisting the attack. The rescue.”
She pulls out another box for Ame. “For your power. And for finding the spell in the first place.”
The firebird digs out one more gift and extends her offering to Jack, who holds out a large palm to accept. “For coming back,” she whispers. “And for ending him.”
Before anyone can respond, Ophelia turns on her heel and hurries off the dock.
I follow her, jogging to keep up. But I don’t call out because I have no idea what to say. The words she spoke were simple and profound. Full of pain and graciousness.
When we reach her truck, she doesn’t immediately climb in. Instead, Ophelia whirls to face me, her white-knuckled fingers clutching another small container with a tiny bow.
“For you.” She presses it into my chest. “I was horrible to you that night. I regret it. You bled for me. You saved me.”
“It was nothing,” I mutter.
“It waseverything.” Ophelia steps in close, her chin lifting, her golden eyes taking mine hostage. “Can I … can I hug you?”
She wants to touch me?
“Yes,” I rasp. “Anytime. Anywhere. For as long as you want.”
Ophelia leans fully into me, wrapping her arms tight around my torso. Her arms are strong and warm. She smells like cinnamon and ginger and fireplaces on cold winter nights.
“Can I hug you back?” My entire being aches with the need to gather her close to me.
“Please,” she whispers.
Thank The Dark One.
I enfold the firebird in an eager embrace, one hand splayed on her lower back, the other grasping a shoulder. And for too short of a time, she allows me to hold her close.
When Ophelia finally pulls away, I’m horrified to see tears streaming down her face.
