The waiter arrives with chilled water and a basket of hot, crackling scallion pancakes. Slade tears one open with reverence, steam rising. He dips a piece into the soy-ginger sauce, then lifts it to my lips.
“You’re spoiling me,” I tease, accepting the bite.
“Youdeservespoiling,” he replies simply. “You deserve more than you know.”
I choke back the sudden tears, smiling sweetly and divert the conversation to another topic.
We talk about nothing and everything. Newt’s criminal tendencies. Elle’s dramatic retelling of their childhood. Rhea’s ironclad ability to hex people without technically hexing people. The Yule Ball and how my dress nearly made Slade combust.
He listens like each word I say is part of some ancient instruction manual meant only for him. He asks questions, and tucks each answer away like a treasure.
Dinner arrives—Spicy beef noodles for me, Mongolian chicken for him, and an order of crab rangoons that he absolutely didnotshare evenly. Dessert is sesame balls filled with molten red-bean sweetness, eaten between slow smiles and soft, teasing kisses.
By the time we step back out into the night, my heart feels full in a way that terrifies me and soothes me at the same time.
Snow drifts lazily through the air—soft, delicate flakes melting instantly on Slade’s coat. He wraps his arm around me, pulling me flush against his side as we stroll home through the glowing street.
There’s no rush.
No fear.
Just us—a witch wrapped in winter layers. And the demon lord who worships her quietly, fiercely, without apology.
As we walk, hand in hand under drifting flakes and twinkling lights, I feel it settle deep inside me.This is magic too. Not the dangerous kind. Not the cursed kind. The gentle, quiet…foreverkind.
A magic I didn’t know I needed, and one I don’teverwant to lose.
Chapter 33
Slade
Normalcy feels strange.
Not unwelcome—just…new. A rhythm I’ve never known but instinctively fall into, as if the bond has carved a groove between our lives and I simply step into it eachmorning.
Three days after Yule, the world softens around us again.
Piper wakes tangled in my arms, warm and bright against my chest. She presses a drowsy kiss to my jaw before slipping out of bed, hair a riot of black curls haloed in early light. She brews coffee, and I pretend I don’t notice the obscene amount of sugar she adds. Newt claws at my ankles. She curses at her curling iron. I steal her toast at breakfast, and her laugh settles deep within my marrow. Ordinary. Perfect.
After breakfast, our day diverges. She heads to the shop bundled in scarves and determination, and I return to hell.
My estate is already lit with preparations, staff moving like rippling shadows beneath vaulted obsidian arches. The Ninth Realm hums with anticipation and curiosity. Every demon with a tongue is talking about the Yule Ballorthe witch who shattered a five-hundred-year curse with a kiss anda vow.
I ignore the stares. The whispers. The smug grin on Draven’s face when he asks how I’m “enjoying domestic life.” I check in with the tailors, confirm the final touches on a few arrangements, inspect the wards around my estate—everything I can do to ensure the night I plan for her will be flawless.
But even here, even surrounded by my own power, my thoughts drift back to her. To the way she smiled when she saw the charmed snowglobe I left on her nightstand, how she whispered I’m yours like it was truth she’d been waiting centuries to say. And my favorite part? The way her magic curls around mine now—quiet, instinctive, content.
By the time I return to the mortal realm, dusk is settling in, painting the city in shades of gold and violet. Piper is in our living room, arranging bundles of crystal towers and cinnamon sticks for winter blessing kits.
She looks up, eyes brightening when she sees me, like light blooming behind her ribs. “Perfecttiming,” she says, sweeping over and kissing me once, soft but sure. “Ineedyou.”
Those three words ignite me even when she’s not meaning them in the way I’d prefer.
“For what, little witch?” I murmur against her mouth.
She pulls back, rummaging through her tote until she finds her phone. “You, myveryserious, very intimidating demon lord, are about to help me make social media content.”
I blink, totally confused. “I’m sorry,what?”
