Warm water fills the tub in a slow, steady cascade, steam rising in curling tendrils. I infuse the water with enchanted salts—Bellamy-safe herbs woven with my power, crafted to soothe her magic, loosen tension in her limbs, and coax every last flicker of doubt into quiet submission.
The foam rises thick and velvety. The air smells of jasmine, bergamot, and heat. I imagine her sinking into it, sighing as the water kisses her skin.
Magic stirs low beneath my ribs. I continue.
Food comes next. A seduction in its own right.
I dice garlic, listening to the soft scrape of the knife against the board. The aroma blossoms instantly—warm, rich, honeyed with butter. Basil bruises beneath my fingers. Tomatoes simmer, while I grill the chicken. I choose a dish mortals have always equated with romance because they are not wrong. Cooking for someone is an act of devotion. Cooking with intention is an act of claim.
By the time the creamy cheese sauce thickens, the kitchen smells like promise.
Newt pads into the room, tail flicking, gaze narrowed in deep feline suspicion. He circles my feet once. Twice. Then bumps his head into my shin with a sound that clearly means,if you screw this up, I will pee in your shoe.
“I’m aware,” I tell him.
He meows again, louder.
To avoid further criticism, I pull out the small collection of gifts I acquired for him earlier. A plush bed he will ignore. Toys he will pretend to disdain. Treats he will inhale. I set them near the tree, where several wrapped boxes already wait—some for Piper, some for her cousin, one questionable one for Draven.
Newt inspects his pile with grave importance, then sits directly on top of the softest blanket like he has just accepted the throne he deserves.
Only one thing remains unfinished.
The tree.
I step toward it, and the ornaments hum—responding to Piper’s presence even without her here. I breathe out, letting my magic thread through the branches. Lights brighten gently, glowing like embers. Snowflake charms sway. A single glass star shifts into place at the top, catchingthe candlelight and spinning the reflection into soft halos around the living room.
When I step back, the room feels transformed. Warm. Sensual. Inviting. Like the inside of a heartbeat. Like a place where a choice could be made.
A soft pulse moves through the apartment—Bellamy magic responding to mine. The curse, sensing intention. Not flaring. Not resisting. Simply watching.
It knows something is coming. So do I.
I check the clock.
Piper will close her shop soon. She’ll lock the door, pull her coat tight around her shoulders, tuck her curls behind one ear, and walk toward home with the exhaustion of the season weighing on her.
But tonight—tonight she’ll open the door to warmth, to candlelight, to rose petals, to a bath drawn just for her, to food waiting on the table, to a demon lord ready to worship her withouthesitation or restraint—and she’ll understand exactly what choosing me would feel like.
Not a demand, or command. Not a bargain.
A truth. A promise. And if she lets me—if she steps into my hands willingly—the bond between us will not just hum.
It will ignite.
I glance at the window again, at the soft snow beginning to fall, at the faint glow of holiday lights outside, and I feel something dangerous unfurl in my chest. Something close to anticipation… desire… hope.
“Come home, Piper,” I murmur to the empty room. “Let me show you what you’ve been running from.”
Behind me, Newt hops into one of the gift bags and rustles around like a gremlin. I let him, because it’s adorable and I’m tired of fighting him to stay out of them. It doesn’t matter anyway.
Everything is ready.
And when she crosses that threshold… she will never doubt the bond again.
***
The lock clicks. It’s a soft sound—barely a whisper of metal—but my entire body answers it like a command written into bone.
