Newt perks up on his velvet blanket-throne, ears forward, tail curling. The candles flicker in the living room. Even the tree seems to pause, lights pulsing once in quiet anticipation.
Then the door opens, and Piper steps inside.
She doesn’t notice me at first.
She just stands in the doorway, holding her tote bag, curls tossed by the winter wind, cheeks flushed from the cold. Her sweater is dusted with snowflakes that glitter under the warmcandlelight, and her amethyst pendant glows faintly—reacting to the magic suspended in the room.
Her lips part. Slowly. Barely breathing.
She sees the rose petals first. Then the soft glow. Then the faint steam coming from the bathroom. Then the table—set for two. And the tree—haloed in gold.
Her eyes soften in a way that hits me like a blade slid between ribs. “Slade,” she whispers, so quietly I almost miss it.
I step forward from the kitchen. Her gaze snaps to mine, pupils expanding in a single dizzying heartbeat.
“Welcome home,” I murmur.
She doesn’t move. She just stares at me, breath trembling, as though every carefully stacked defense she built this week is threatening to slide apart all at once. “What… what did you do?” she manages.
“Everything,” I answer. And it is the truth.
Her fingers curl tighter around her tote strap. Piper’s throat bobs. Her magic rushes to the edge of her skin—soft, warm, curious—brushing against me the way a candle tests the air before catching flame.
She takes one step toward me. Just one. But it’s enough to make heat coil at the base of my spine.
“I made dinner,” I say quietly. “A bath is drawn. And the rest…” I gesture around us. “The rest is simply because you deserved to come home to warmth instead of dread.”
Her breath catches. “I—Slade, you didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.”
The truth hangs between us, warm as the candlelight.
She looks at the rose petals leading to the bathroom, at the table set with soft linen and wine, at the ornaments swaying lazily on the tree as if held aloft by the hush settling over the room.
Then her gaze drifts back to me—slow, deliberate, burning.
“What is all this?” she asks.
“A seduction,” I say simply. Her pulse jumps, I see it in her throat, and the way she darts her eyes. “But only if you want it.”
The air thickens with longing—not frantic or wild, but deep and certain, like a tide drawing her toward me.
I extend a hand. She doesn’t take it. Piper steps closer instead. Her sweater brushes my knuckles. Her breath warms my throat, her magic pressing against mine, shy but insistent.
She lifts a hand and touches my cheek, barely—just the edge of her fingertip, feather-light as a promise she’s afraid to speak aloud.
The single point of contact makes my power roar through me so fiercely I clench my jaw to keep myself from dragging her into my arms.
Her voice is soft, but not uncertain. “Show me.”
Gods, she will undo me.
I take her hand gently, letting my thumb trace the line of her palm.
“Dinner first,” I whisper, because if I don’t maintain some kind of order, I will take her against the nearest wall without hesitation.
She blushes, color blooming beneath her pale skin in a way that makes my control strain. “I can eat after,” she murmurs.
