“Darius needs to know,” I say. “Mary needs to see this. If they’re building something, if witches and shifters are finally working together, I need to be part of it. Not just as someone touched by the Seal. As a witch with real bloodline power.”
Rafe looks at me for a long time. His eyes are full of conflict, protectiveness, maybe fear—but beneath all of that, I see something else now.
Pride.
“You’re stronger than any of us ever realized,” he says softly. “And you’re still growing.”
I grip his hand tighter. “So are you.”
The sun climbs higher through the windows, light spilling over the scrolls and papers, bathing us in that same soft glow I’ve come to associate with awakening.
I don’t feel like something strange is happening to me.
I feel like I’m becoming who I was always meant to be.
24
RAFE
Night feels alive tonight, electric and raw, and I can taste the storm in my lungs before the first bolt cracks across the horizon. The villa’s walls tremble in the flash. Lightning splits the sky and I flinch backward, heart hammering—not at the thunder, but at her. Kaleigh. She’s in the courtyard, standing beneath the open sky, arms folded over her chest as the rain begins to spit down in thin threads. Her hair, damp and loose, glistens. The light under her skin pulses faintly, richer now, brighter, like the power underneath her has settled.
I want to storm out and pull her inside, shield her from everything. But fear holds me in place. Fear that once she’s seen what she’s capable of—once she’s used it and tasted the magnitude of it—she’ll want a different life. One without me dangling at the edges of danger just to keep her close.
I step into the courtyard, boots clinking on stone, and she doesn’t turn. She doesn’t flinch. Even soaked in rain, she stands like something carved out of storm.
“Don’t do that,” I say, voice low and hoarse.
She shifts, water sliding down her cheeks, glowing softly with every drop. “Do what?”
“Stand out here like you’re made to be seen. Like you’re trying to make the lightning strike you.”
Her lips curve, a small smile. “Maybe I want it to.”
Something rolls through my chest—heartcords tightening, old nightmares unraveling. I close the distance in two strides and grab her arm gently, fingers burning through fabric. She doesn’t pull away. She tilts her chin at me, sister of storms, goddess of light.
“I’m scared,” I admit, though the words feel ragged. “Scared you’ll see how powerful you are and find someone who’s not me. Someone safer.”
She catches my gaze, something deep and fierce and unwavering. “You think I don’t know what I could be without you? But you’re in here.” She nudges my chest with her knuckles. “You’re part of me now.”
Thunder rumbles overhead. She pulls her hand free and lifts it slowly, palm out, and the glow spills upward in a wave, not blinding, just warm. The arc across the sky mirrors it. Light meets light. She steps closer. Even soaked, even trembling, she looks like heaven broken open.
My skin hums. The bull inside me whines. The curse, the Seal’s heat, the old weight on my bones. It’s all there, flaring. She doesn’t flinch. She steps forward, reaches up, runs her fingers through the short hair at my temples. Rain slides down the back of her hand.
“Let me,” she whispers.
I don’t argue. I close my eyes, standing still, knowing what she’s about to do. Feel the ghost-fire under my skin, the internal scorches, the old curse burning in the marrow.
Her hand presses to my cheek, then moves to my neck, then to the line of my collarbone where I carry the deepest scars. She lays both hands flat, light pouring outward, spreading through me. The heat spreads slower than pain, searing in gentle waves,washing over me. Her power doesn’t burn—she soothes. It draws away the burn, softens the curse’s claws, edges of it recede under her fingers.
I gasp. My knees want to buckle, and I press into her until she holds me upright. Rain drenches us both. Lightning splits the sky again, bright as revelation.
She murmurs something I can’t catch against my skin. I press my forehead to hers. The light glowing under her skin spills into mine now, edges shading into each other, the lines between us blurring.
“Don’t leave me,” I say, voice raw. “No matter what this becomes, don’t?—”
She silences me with a kiss so fierce I’ve forgotten what it means to breathe. The rain pounds on our shoulders, the wind hisses around the courtyard. Her lips burn. Her hands burn. She tastes like wild storms and everything broken and everything worth saving.
I wrap arms around her, hands sliding under her shirt where warmth radiates. My skin feels torn open and she presses light into it. I want to curse the sky, burn it, tear it, so no one sees us here.
