A long exhale drags through the line. “Slade…gods.You actually care for her.”
The truth lands like a blade between ribs—precise, undeniable.
More than I should. More than she knows. More than either realm would forgive.
Silence speaks for me.
Draven’s voice shifts—less furious, more grim. “Then listen carefully. If she’s cursed, she’s yourmate,andyou’re helping her? Whatever coils through her bloodline is now wrapped around yours.”
I already know. Still… It doesn’t make it easier to hear.
“And if she goes to the Ninth Realm—”
“She hasn’t decided,” I say, though even I can hear the doubt. Though, I’m sure she won’t learn anything new with Rhea.
“She will.” Draven sounds certain in a way only older brothers and prophets ever are. “Mortals always come to us when they want answers. Especially answers they shouldn’t have.”
Newt rolls onto his back, exposing his belly. I scratch lightly, and he purrs like a damn engine.
Draven continues, tone tightening. “And you need to remember something. The Ninth Realm may look like heaven. Peace. Warmth. Gardens and golden air. It fools mortals—makes them feel safe.” A long pause that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “But it’s still hell, Slade.And your mate will be surrounded by beings who would take her power, her curse, or her life if it gave them an inch of advantage.”
My magic coils, dark and lethal. Protective. Possessive. “No one touches her.”
Draven makes a tired, resigned noise. “Yeah. I knew you’d say that.” Another pause. “I’ll prepare for your arrival.Quietly.”
The line crackles—soft static, then nothing. I lower the phone. Newt shifts, crawls higher into my lap, and presses his warm little face against my chest with surprising trust.
I stroke his fur and stare toward the front door—toward where Piper walked into the world, still cursed, still stubborn, still so heartbreakingly mortal.
“She has no idea what she’s walking into,” I murmur. Newt purrs, a low, steady sound. “But… She won’t walk into it alone.”
Not ever again.
Chapter 13
Piper
Iwake to an unsettling quiet. Not bad, or even, cursed quiet. Just… different. Like the air is holding its breath.
I push myself upright, blurry-eyed, curls falling into my face. My room hums faintly with leftover magic—warm, simmering, restless.The kind that usually spikes when Slade is far too close for comfort.
Except—that feeling isn’t heat.
It’s weight. Calm, heavy, dangerous weight.
Somethingin him changed last night.
I hurriedly pull on black leggings, a cream-colored oversized sweater, and pull my wild curls back into a clip, adjusting the pendant at my neck. When I’m done, I grab my socks and head out the bedroom door. I almost trip, yanking on my thick Christmas themed socks, as I creep down the hallway.
“Newt?” I call softly.
A thump. The sound of paws hitting the floor. He appears—stretching, tail flicking, but… unusually alert. Eyes wide, and ears perked. Like he felt whatever shift Slade did. I scoop him up. “Okay, buddy. What happened?”
Newt headbutts my chin, which is reassuring… until he twists in my arms and stares toward the kitchen with an almost warning flick of his tail.
“Great,” I mutter. “Love that. What a vibe.”
Slade is standing at the counter. And I freeze. He’s… radiant. Not glowing, or sparkly. Just…more.
