Newt blinks at me with offended resignation.
Slade grabs the suitcases with ease, all three in one hand like they weigh nothing. “We’ll leave these here for when we return.”
“Tomorrow?” I ask softly, stepping beside him.
“Tomorrow,” he promises. “Tonight we celebrate. The mortal realm gets you for one more holiday.”
Newt meows dramatically.
Slade deadpans, “And then we go home.”
The word home settles around us—warm, certain, inevitable.
I thread my fingers through Slade’s, Newt tucked between us like a furry little prince.
“Ready?” Slade asks.
I smile. “Always.”
Chapter 40
Slade
The Bellamy manor rises before us like a living constellation—balconies lined with gold-twinkling lights, frost glittering across carved stone, warmth spilling from the windows in soft amber ribbons. The last time we were here, the halls held themagic of Yule.
Tonight, the air feels different. Charged, expectant, heavy with everything I’ve planned—and everything I’m terrified she’ll see before I’m ready.
Or maybe that weight is simply my heart trying to beat its way free.
Beside me, Piper adjusts the midnight-blue velvet of her gown, the gold thread catching in the lantern light as she turns. Her eyes flick down to my hands just as I adjust my collar for the fourth time.
“Nervous?” she asks, smirking.
If she knew why, she’d be the one nervous.
“Bellamy gatherings are… unpredictable,” I say smoothly.
She laughs softly. “You love unpredictable.”
I love her. The rest is insignificant.
Her fingers slip around my arm, warm and sure. Newt perches on my shoulder wearing his gold bow tie as though he’s descended from royalty. His tail flicks—imperious, dramatic—as if he personally approves tonight’s aesthetic.
The great doors open before our hands touch them.
Warmth crashes out—music, laughter, clinking glasses, and the layered chorus of too many conversations happening at once. A celebration of endings and beginnings, drenched in magic.
We step inside—and Piper stops.
“What the hell?” she whispers. “Slade… this was supposed to be immediate family.”
I scan the crowd, realizing she’s right.
Aunt Petunia’s “little gathering” looks more like a magical summit. Cousins. Great-aunts. Matriarchs. Families I’ve never seen. People I would swear aren’t even fully human. Bellamy’s have multiplied like enchanted rabbits.
Piper’s brows shoot up. “Petunia said small. This is not small.”
I lean closer. “Your family must have a different definition.”
