"I love you too." He kissed her forehead, her nose, her mouth. "My wife. My forever."
40
MAREN
Six Months Later
Maren knelt in her garden, hands deep in soil that smelled of spring and possibility.
The herbs were coming back stronger this year, fed by magic that had finally stopped fighting itself. Shadowbane grew thick near the fence, its dark leaves glossy in the afternoon sun. Frost-wort climbed the trellis Tristan had built last month, white flowers already blooming despite the lingering chill. And her shadows undulated across the ground like living things, coaxing seedlings from winter-dormant earth with touches that were gentle instead of desperate.
She'd learned to work with her magic instead of against it. Had stopped viewing her shadows as weapons or threats and started seeing them as tools. Extensions of herself that could heal as easily as they could harm.
The change had been gradual. Small victories building on each other until one day she'd woken up and realized she felt settled. Content. Like maybe she deserved the happiness that had somehow found her despite everything.
The town had warmed to her presence slowly. Not everyone—Thomas Wells still crossed to the other side of the street when he saw her, guilt and fear warring on his face. Some people held grudges like treasured possessions, nursing old suspicions even after truth had been laid bare.
But enough had changed their minds that she could walk through the square without hostile stares. Could shop at the Mercantile without Rufus checking her purchases for dark magic components. Could sit at Griddle & Grind while Twyla served tea and gossip in equal measure, treating Maren like any other customer instead of a threat to be monitored.
Freya had convinced her to start selling remedies at the weekly market. Simple things at first like headache teas, sleep tonics, muscle salves. But people bought them. Came back for more. Started asking if she could make stronger versions for chronic problems.
Last week, a mother had brought her sick child, begging Maren to try when Freya's herbs hadn't worked. The fever had broken within hours of Maren's shadow-infused remedy. The mother had cried with relief and paid double what Maren asked.
Progress. Real, tangible progress.
Moira stopped by twice a week now, asking questions about shadow magic that went beyond academic curiosity. They'd become friends in truth instead of just allies of convenience. Had started a tradition of tea and research every Tuesday afternoon, comparing notes on protective spells and theorizing about bloodline magic.
Even Bram had stopped actively trying to exile her. He'd never apologized properly, never admitted he'd been wrong. But he nodded when their paths crossed. Voted with Emmett when Council decisions affected her. Stopped fanning flames of suspicion whenever her name came up.
It counted as progress. Maybe not forgiveness, but acknowledgment that she belonged here whether he liked it or not.
And Tristan.
Her mate. Her husband. The man who'd dived into a frozen lake because losing her wasn't an option he'd consider.
He appeared from the tree line now, carrying firewood stacked high in his arms. He'd been out checking traps with Kieran, helping maintain the boundary wards that kept Hollow Oak hidden. The late afternoon sun caught his dark hair, highlighting the silver that had started threading through it. The spell-circle over his heart pulsed faintly, visible through his open collar.
Still there. Still binding them together in ways that went beyond physical.
"Your garden's thriving," he said, setting down the wood near the cottage door.
"It is." Maren stood, brushing dirt from her hands. The motion was automatic now, comfortable. "Almost like my magic stopped fighting itself and started growing things properly."
"Almost like you're happy." He crossed to her, pulling her against him despite the dirt coating her clothes. His arms circled her waist like they belonged there. "Like you finally believe you deserve good things."
"I'm working on it." She rose on her toes, kissing him. The mate bond hummed warm between them, constant and grounding. "Having you around makes it easier to believe."
The mark on her neck tingled where his lips had sealed it six months ago. Silver scarring that caught sunlight, declaring to anyone who looked that she was claimed. Chosen. Loved by someone who'd stood between her and violence without hesitation.
The matching scratches on her hip had faded to white lines barely visible against her skin. But she felt them sometimes when she moved certain ways. Physical evidence of the night they'd sealed their bond completely, becoming mate and wife in every way that mattered.
"Come inside," Tristan said, his voice dropping to that tone he used when he wanted her. "I have something to show you."
"What kind of something?"
"The kind that involves our bedroom and you naked."
Heat pooled low in her stomach. Six months married and he could still make her want with just words. "Very persuasive argument."
