The words shouldn’t make my stomach flip—but they do.
My breath trembles out in a cloud of frost. “So you’re bound to this because of some ancient Bellamy witch and a choice she made five hundred years ago?”
“Not just bound,” he murmurs. “Entangled.”
I shake my head, trying to make sense of it. “You keep saying the curse responds to me. But if your bloodline was part of the original break—why isn’t it destroying your life every Christmas, too?”
A slow, dangerous smile curves his mouth. “Because demons don’t break the way humans do.”
My heart stutters.
“And because,” he adds, voice dipping lower, “the curse wants something from us. Something it didn’t get last time.”
I swallow. “What?”
His gaze burns hotter. Older. Hungry. “The completion of the bond.”
The snow seems to hush around us. My pulse thunders. “No,” I whisper. “You can’t just—no. I didn’t sign up for that.”
“You summoned me,” he reminds gently. “Magic answered. Fate followed.”
“I didn’t summon fate,” I protest.
He steps close enough that the cold can’t reach me. Close enough that his breath warms my cheek. “That may be true… But it still summoned me.”
The night closes in—quiet, heavy, alive. And with his bloodline tied to mine, with Veda Bellamy’s shadow looming behind us and the curse beginning to stir…
For the first time since Slade walked into my life, I’m not confused. Not overwhelmed, or annoyed.
I’mafraid.
Chapter 8
Piper
The next morning begins with exactly three goals… Run my shop. Pretend everything is normal. Keep Slade at least ten feet away from me at all times.
Goal one is questionable. Goal two dies before breakfast. Goal three was alwaysdelusional.
I fling the front lightswitch with a little more aggression than intended. The shop hums awake—twinkling fairy bulbs, lingering incense, soft chimes near the window. Comforting, familiar, safe.
Unlike the demon currently leaning in my doorway.
Slade’s silhouette fills the frame, arms crossed, posture loose and predatory, green eyes bright with amusement like he’s already won some argument I haven’t started yet. “You’re scowling,” he says.
“I’m TRYING,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“To scowl?”
“Topretendyoudon’texist.”
He steps inside. “I can help.”
“No.” I point at the floor. “Stay there.”
He raises a brow. “You’re giving a demon boundaries?”
“Yes,” I snap. “Healthy ones.”
