“No,” I said instantly.
Her breath hitched. I took a slow, shaking breath and turned to face her fully.
“Hanna,” I murmured, voice cracking, “I meant it.”
She blinked. “Meant what?”
I lifted her hand to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her fingers.
“I love you,” I said in a low voice, that I knew could still beheard by everyone in the room.
Her breath trembled out of her and she leaned in.
“I love you, too,” she gasped, her eyes wet with tears.
And this time—in full view of the clan and the coven—with Ribbon croaking like a cheering stadium and with everyone holding their breath—I kissed her. Slow, sweet and certain.The bond lit up like a sunrise after a cold night.
And nothing hadeverfelt more right.
Chapter 36
Hanna
Savla’s workshop had always felt like a sanctuary the clan didn’t speak about aloud—like a place held together by quiet magick and the careful hands of a male who lived too much inside his own mind.
But now it felt different. It felt likeours.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking, because after everything—after being held in his arms all night, after the kiss and the whispered promises—I couldn’t stop seeing the world differently. Seeinghimdifferently.
He sat beside me on the low couch, one of my legs draped over his as we leaned together, drowsy and warm. Ribbon snored on the floor like a guardian boulder. Sunlight streamed through the skylight, illuminating dust motes and half-finished sculptures scattered across the room.
Savla cleared his throat once, quietly, and I didn’t catch it at first. But then he shifted andfidgeted. Which was... new. His movements were usually efficient and controlled.
“Are you okay?” I tilted my head, brushing my fingers along his arm.
His ears went faintly pink. “There’s something I should show you.”
He didn’t move right away. Instead, he hesitated—this huge, stoic warrior suddenly acting like a youngling hiding a secret drawing in his backpack.
“Savla,” I whispered, brushing my knuckles along his jaw, “whatever it is... you can show me.”
He met my eyes for a long moment before he rose, crossing the room to a workbench in the corner. The one he always kept covered in a cloth, tools arranged neatly beside it. The one he’d moved away from impatiently the night the bond surged.
He grabbed something wrapped in cloth and held it carefully, almost reverently. When he turned, his expression was raw enough to make my throat tighten.
“Just… don’t laugh,” he muttered.
I blinked at him. “Why would I laugh?” I asked, completely confused.
He didn’t answer—he just came back to me and sat, placing the bundle in my hands. The weight of it told me it was wood, but his breathing, which was too quick and too shallow, told me it was important to him.
With slow, gentle care, I unwrapped it. And that was when I saw it for the first time. Two figures, back to back, carved with such precision and tenderness that I felt the breath leave my chest.
One was unmistakably Savla—broad shoulders, the curve of his proud face carved subtly into the grain of the wood, hair sweeping to one side in familiar waves. The other wasme. Not overdone or polished in the way hewantedme to look—justme.
My curls were tumbling down my back, and my stance was slightly angled as if I was ready to defend us. My fingers glowingwith soft magick he’d carved as delicate wisps in the wood.
Our backs touched, and our heads were tilted slightly toward each other. It showed unity between us—trust and partnership. A future he’d seen even before I dared imagining it.
