He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. The kind of laugh he'd started making more often as winter had turned to spring and they'd both learned what it meant to be happy.
He led her inside, to the cottage that had once felt like a prison. Four walls and isolation, chosen because keeping distance was safer than risking connection.
But it felt different now. Warmer. The fire Tristan had laid that morning still burned low, casting everything in gold. His books sat stacked beside her spell tomes on the shelf they'd built together. His clothes hung next to hers in the wardrobe. His scent of pine and winter had soaked into the walls until the whole place smelled like home.
Their home. Not just hers anymore.
"What did you want to show me?" she asked as he pulled her toward the bedroom.
"Patience." But his hands were already working at her clothes, stripping away dirt-stained layers. "We have all afternoon."
"Do we?"
"Emmett gave me the rest of the day off. Said something about newlyweds needing time together." Tristan's smile turned wicked. "Who am I to argue with my boss?"
"We've been married six months. That hardly counts as newlyweds."
"It does when I still can't keep my hands off you." He pushed her gently onto the bed, following her down. "When I still wake up every morning grateful you chose me. Let me show you." His mouth found hers, cutting off whatever she'd been about to say. The kiss was slow and deep, lacking the desperate urgency of those first weeks but carrying something deeper. Certainty. Commitment. The knowledge that this wasn't temporary.
Her shadows danced across the bed, wrapping around them both. They'd learned to respond to her desire, adding sensation without overwhelming. Enhancing instead of consuming.
Tristan's hand slid between her thighs, finding her already wet. "Always ready for me."
"Always wanting you." She arched into his touch. "Even after six months of this."
"Good." His fingers worked her slowly, building heat that had nothing to do with magic. "Because I plan on wanting you for the next sixty years at least."
"At least," she agreed, and pulled him down into sensation and pleasure and the kind of intimacy that came from knowing someone completely.
Later, when they lay naked in tangled sheets together in afternoon light, Maren traced the spell-circle over his heart with one finger. The magic pulsed under her touch, responding to her presence.
"I never thought I'd have this," she said quietly. "A home. A partner. A place where I actually belong."
"You deserve it." His hand covered hers, pressing her palm flat against his chest. "You've always deserved it. You just needed to believe it yourself."
"I'm starting to." She looked around the bedroom, at the life they'd built in six months. "Some days it still feels like a dream. Like I'll wake up alone in a safe house somewhere, running from another town that decided I was too dangerous to keep."
"Not happening." His voice carried absolute certainty. "You're staying. We're staying. This is home now."
"Home," Maren repeated, testing the word. It felt solid. Real. "Yeah. It is."
Her shadows curled contentedly around the furniture, no longer searching for threats or escape routes. Just present. Relaxed. At peace in a way they'd never been before Hollow Oak, before Tristan, before she'd learned that belonging was something you could fight for and win.
"I love you," she said. Not the first time. Not even the hundredth. But it still felt important to say. To remind him that choosing each other was a daily decision she'd keep making.
"I love you too." He kissed her forehead, her nose, her mouth. "My wife. My mate. My forever."
Outside, Hollow Oak continued its daily rhythm. The Veil shimmered protective over hidden streets, keeping the town safe from prying eyes. Magic hummed through ancient trees, fed by centuries of supernatural presence. The square would be filling with people preparing for evening market, voices carrying on spring air.
And in a small cottage at the forest's edge, a shadow witch who'd spent years believing she didn't deserve happiness finally understood that she'd been wrong.
That even the darkest magic could find light when given the chance.
That fear could transform into love with courage and stubbornness and the willingness to stay when running felt safer.
That belonging wasn't just for people born into it. Sometimes it was fought for, earned, chosen deliberately despite every reason to walk away.
Maren Pitch—no, Maren Ash now—had found her place. Had claimed it and been claimed in return. Had proven to herself and everyone watching that happily ever after wasn't just for fairy tales.
Sometimes, with enough courage and stubborn determination and a mate willing to dive into frozen lakes, it was real.
Beautifully, impossibly, perfectly real.
