We lay there for a long time, the only sound the crackle of the fire and our ragged breathing. Finally, I move, sliding out of her slick, spent body. I’m still hard, still possessive, but the immediate, sharp hunger is replaced by a deep, protective satisfaction.
“Come here, little witch.”
I lift her, carrying her toward the washroom. The water for the enormous stone tub is already running, hot and infused with salts and oils that smell of earth and calm. I’m not letting her do a single thing for herself, not when I can take care of her. I settle her into the bath, washing the sticky evidence of our chaos from her body. Her eyes are half-closed, heavy with exhaustion. She’s completely trusting me, and my heart twists painfully at the realization.
When she’s clean and wrapped in a thick, sable-lined robe, I carry her to the massive bed. Ipull back the heavy furs, tucking her against the linen sheets, and kiss her forehead with a soft reverent press of my lips. “Sleep, Piper. I’ll be right here.”
I sit in the chair next to the bed, watching her face soften into deep sleep. I’ve broken her wide open, filled her with my power, and then put her back together again.
It’s the most satisfying work I’ve ever done.
She ismine. And tonight, the bond sealed it…forever.
Chapter 39
Piper
Breakfast in Slade’s estate feels like something stolen out of a myth—warm, indulgent, and too intimate to catalog. Steam curls from the plates he’s prepared, the air sweet with ember-honey and cinnamon, the hearth casting a soft glow across the obsidian floors.I’m wrapped in one of his robes, my legs tucked beneath me, deliciously sore in ways that make heat crawl up my throat whenever Slade looks at me for too long.
He watches me eat like it’s a private pleasure, one he savors slowly.
“More?” he asks, offering another slice of fire-glazed fruit with his fingers.
“I swear you’re trying to keep me from leaving this bed ever again,” I murmur, taking the bite.
Slade’s smile is all wicked promise. “I don’t need to try.”
Before I can respond, Newt hops onto my lap with the dramatics of a dying opera singer. He plants his fluffy butt firmly on me, tail flicking, ears flattened in full betrayal.
Slade lifts a brow. “He knows we’re getting ready to leave.”
“He’s pouting,” I say, scratching under his chin.
Newt emits a tragic groan, the sound vibrating through his entire body. It’s the same noise he made the last time he was forced through aportal—right before he tried to climb Slade’s leg like a tree and failed spectacularly.
Slade shakes his head. “Hehatesportal travel.”
“Hates is generous,” I sigh. “I’m pretty sure he believed he saw the afterlife.”
At the mention of another portal, Newt crawls up my chest, shoving his face under my jaw as if attempting to physically anchor me to the realm. Slade watches the scene unfold, something amused but undeniably soft warming his expression. “He’s made his preferences clear.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, holding Newt close, “he really has.”
Slade steps behind me, placing one hand on my shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly over my skin. No pressure. No persuasion. Just presence.
“You could stay here,” he says quietly—not as a command, not even as an invitation. More like a truth he’s finally speaking aloud. “Portal to work. Come and go when you want. This place… it’s yours as much as mine.”
I freeze—not in fear, but in the kind of stillness that arrives when something clicks perfectly into place.
Newt wriggles off my lap then, trotting proudly across the room toward the ridiculous miniature throne Slade had crafted for him. All polished blackwood, crimson cushioning, and carved paw motifs that make Slade look embarrassingly proud of himself. Newt hops up and settles into it with a satisfied chirp.
Slade glances between us, smirking faintly. “I believe the cat has spoken.”
I exhale, my heart expanding in my chest until it feels too full, too bright. The realization washes over me—not a lightning strike, but a sunrise. I already chose. Somewhere between the bond, the laughter, the last couple of nights spent tangled in his sheets, the Ninth, and the way Newt struts through these halls like a tiny tyrant, this place became home.
“I think…” I run my fingers along Slade’s jaw, pulling him closer until our foreheads touch. “…I’d like that.”
His breath stills. “You would stay,” he says, voice dropping into something raw and reverent, “by choice?”
