We settle onThe Holidaybecause I refuse to lose that battle and Slade refuses to admit he enjoys watching Jude Law be charming.
Halfway through, the room shifts. Warm. Quiet. Lights twinkling across my walls in soft gold. My curls falling forward until he gently sweeps them back behind my shoulder.
His fingers linger. My magic sparks — soft, pink-gold, fluttering beneath my skin. The garland above the window rustles. The lights flicker in a low pulse.
Slade notices. Of course he does. “Your magic’s responding,” he murmurs.
“I can’t help it.”
“You don’t want to.” I turn my head to argue, but he’s already watching me.Reallywatching me. Like I’m somehow heat, gravity, and inevitability all wrapped into one.
His hand lifts, brushing the curve of my jaw—slow, reverent, with a restraint that shreds me. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers.
I can’t. I don’t. So he kisses me. And gods—it’s nothing like the accidental first kiss. The charged, frantic thing we clung to between worlds.
This kiss isdeliberate. Slow enough to unravel me. Deep enough to ruin me.
He kisses like he knows exactly how I’ll taste. How I’ll melt. How I’llfeel. Slade’s mouth coaxes heat out of my bones, his hand cupping the back of my neck, thumb stroking the line of my throat.
I gasp. Slade swallows it.
My magic surges—lights flaring, ornaments shimmering, the whole room tuning itself to the sound of my pulse.
When he finally draws back, my chest is rising too quickly, my cheeks flushed, my lips tingling, my pendant blazing hot against my skin like a warning I want to ignore.
Slade rests his forehead against mine. “You let me in tonight,” he says softly.
I want to deny it. I can’t. “Maybe,” I whisper instead.
His mouth curves—a dark, devastating smile. Newt meows impatiently, reminding us he exists.
I laugh shakily at his rudeness. Slade chuckles against my cheek. And for the first time since this curse began, I feel something warm, steady, dangerous—hope. Want… Trust.
And maybe Iamjust a little bit…his.
Chapter 20
Slade
Piper is still asleep. Curled on her side, hair a dark spill across her pillow, her amethyst pendant resting against her throat like a star that forgot it should be cold. Newt sleeps on her ankles, paws twitching in feline dreams. Theroom hums faintly—her magic smoothing the air in slow, rhythmic pulses.
She looks… peaceful. Which is a lie. I can feel the curse moving under her skin, restless even in slumber. It beats against my senses like a second heartbeat, faint but insistent.
Piper’s phone vibrates on the nightstand. It’s Rhea—calling from Prague. At dawn. This can’t be good.
I step out of the bedroom and shut the door behind me.
“Piper,” she snaps the moment I answer, “wake up. We have a problem.”
“We have many,” I murmur. “Clarify yours.”
“You’re not Piper,” Rhea says with mild curiosity. “Where’s Piper?”
“Asleep.” I answer, tone clipped. I’m impatient, beyond ready to hear what is so…problematic.
She sighs heavily, “Fine. I suppose you’ll have to do. I met with my contact.”
That gets my attention. The antiquarian witch with a penthouse full of cursed books and very few survival instincts. If Rhea reached her at all, it means she’s already pulled favors that cost her something.
