“Slade. No,” I whisper.
He steps toward me—just one step—but it’s enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
“The curse wants what it lost five centuries ago,” he murmurs.
“And what was that?” Rhea asks, and I dread hearing the answer.
Slade’s gaze burns through me. “You,” he says softly. “Or rather—the Bellamy meant for myancestor.”
My heart lurches painfully. Rhea gasps. And for a moment, the whole shop holds its breath.
Chapter 9
Slade
Rhea spins around so fast her brown curls whip across her shoulders. Her amber eyes flare—bright, sharp, witch-lit—and she points a finger right at my chest.
“Oh, absolutely NOT,” she snaps. “You do not get to stand here and tell us that our ancestor doomed ourentire bloodline because she rejected your ancestor. That isn’t how the curse works.”
Around us, the shop hums with dormant magic. Piper stands between us, curls bristling, blue eyes flicking back and forth like she’s watching a tennis match she did not consent to participate in.
I fold my arms—not because I need the stance, but because it seems to irritate both of them. “You don’t know how the curse works, little Bellamy.”
Rhea sputters. “Oh, you smug—overgrown—hellspawn—”
“Accurate,” I cut in smoothly.
Piper shoots me a glare that could have cracked obsidian. “Slade, don’t antagonize her.”
I look at Piper. Really look. Her cheeks flushed from anger. Her chest rising too fast. Her power tugging at the air like an unstable heartbeat. She’s perfect—mine. And she’s walking blind toward a truth that should have been hers from birth. I exhale once, slow, a demon’s version of restraint. “Your curse is not about punishment,” I say quietly.
Rhea stops mid-rant. Piper goes still.
“It’s not?” Piper asks hesitantly.
“No,” I answer. “And it never was.”
Rhea folds her arms. “Then what exactly do you think it was about?”
I meet her gaze without blinking. “A lie.”
The air in the shop tightens—like invisible fingers pulling everything taut.
Piper’s brows knit. “A… lie?”
“Yes.” I look between them. “Veda Bellamy lied about the curse’s origin. Lied to your coven. Lied to mine. Lied to the entire magical world.”
Rhea swallows hard. “That’s impossible. Bellamys don’t lie about bloodline magic.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “They do when they must.”
Piper steps closer, fingers trembling against her skirt. “What did she lie about?”
Everything in me goes still—ancient memory rising like smoke from a dying fire. “Veda wasn’t the victim,” I say. “She was the architect.”
Rhea stares. Piper’s breath catches, and the magic in the store ripples like a chord being plucked.
I continue, voice low, edged with truth older than their entire bloodline. “Your ancestor didn’t reject my ancestor because she feared him… or because fate forced her hand.”
