Beck, bless him and also damn him, said nothing. His grin was loud enough.
Theo dove.
He disappeared beneath the surface, and Avine had a moment of pure panic—the water was dark, choked with magic, and he’d gone under like it was nothing—before she felt it.
His magic. Rising from below.
It was nothing like witch magic. Where hers flowed like water, his burned like banked fire—not aggressive, but present. Ancient. The kind of power that came from generations of pack running these shores, protecting this land, bleeding for it.
Pack sigils began to glow beneath the surface. She could see them through the murky water—golden lines spreading from where Theo worked, wrapping around the foundation, pushing back against the external threads.
“He needs an anchor.” Beck had moved to higher ground but was watching intently, all humor gone from his face. “The sigils will fade without stabilization. That’s you, witchy.”
Avine didn’t hesitate.
She fought her way to the central ward stone—the largest, the one that connected to all the others—and pressed both palms flat against it.
Come on. Take what you need.
Theo’s magic touched hers.
It was?—
Oh.
She’d expected a collision. Fire meeting water, opposing forces clashing. What she got was more personal than anything she’d prepared for. His power didn’t fight hers—it recognized it. Wrapped around it. Invited it deeper.
For one breathless moment, she felt him. Not his magic alone, but the shape of the person wielding it. Determination like bedrock. Loneliness he’d learned to ignore. The fierce, protective instinct that drove him to dive into dark water for a woman he’d only started knowing.
And beneath that—a response to her. Recognition. Wanting.
Hello. His magic seemed to say, or maybe she was imagining it. There you are.
The ward stones flared. Every single one, blazing with combined light—turquoise and gold, sea and pack, witch and wolf—and the malicious magic screamed.
It fought back viciously. Avine felt the assault in her bones, pressure building, trying to tear apart what they’d woven. She gritted her teeth and held on. Beneath the water, she could feel Theo doing the same.
The foreign threads snapped.
One by one, the disruptive magic recoiled and dissolved, unable to hold against the combined force of their power. The water stopped rising. The groaning faded. The wards stabilized, humming with renewed strength—not her magic or his alone, but a weave of both.
Avine pulled back from the ward stone, gasping. Her arms felt hollow, wrung out. She’d given more than she knew she had, and the bill was coming due.
Theo broke the surface.
He came up gasping, water streaming from his hair and shoulders, and for a moment all Avine could do was stare. His chest heaved with exertion. Pack sigils glowed faintly on his skin—temporary marks, fading even as she watched, but undeniably beautiful. And his focus was entirely, intensely, on her.
“You held.” Wonder roughened his voice. Or maybe relief. “I wasn’t sure you could hold that long.”
“Neither was I.”
The exhaustion hit her all at once. Her legs buckled. Theo caught her arm before she went under, steadying her until she found the stairs.
Beck stood at the top of the stairs, a bag of chips in one hand—where had he gotten chips?—and an expression of pure, delighted mischief on his face.
“Chips?” He offered the bag. “I found them in your pantry. The stress baking section, I think.”
“I don’t have a stress baking section.”
