She knelt where he’d been kneeling. The stone held the residual heat of his magic, and when she pressed her palms flat against it, she could feel his power beneath the surface. Waiting.
Their magic found each other easily, the way it had in the basement flood—turquoise weaving through gold without fighting it.
“Good.” Theo’s voice was close behind her. “Slower on the outer rings. Let the magic hold before you push deeper.”
She adjusted. He corrected. They found a rhythm.
Hours passed. They moved from the central stone to the smaller anchors scattered throughout the basement, each one requiring the same careful layering of pack and sea magic. Avine’s back ached. Her magic reserves depleted and slowly refilled as they took breaks for water and the sandwiches Theo had brought.
The work created a strange intimacy. Not the forced closeness of small talk, but the quiet space of two people focused on the same goal. Theo moved around her with an awareness she tried not to analyze—always making room, never crowding, but present. Always present.
She caught herself watching his hands more than once. The way they moved with surprising gentleness over the stone. The way his fingers traced sigils with the same careful attention he brought to everything.
They didn’t talk much. Not about anything personal. Only the work.
“Here.” She reached for a carving tool at the same moment he did.
Their fingers brushed.
Both froze.
It was nothing—the most casual contact imaginable—and it still took her a moment to reach for the tool.
Theo pulled his hand back. His voice had gone husky. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Avine grabbed the tool, not looking at him. “Let’s keep going.”
They kept going.
Neither mentioned that neither of them had moved away fast enough.
FOURTEEN
AVINE
Day Two
Beck arrived at noon with a cooler full of food and a grin that made Avine immediately suspicious.
“Lunch delivery.” He set the cooler on the parlor floor, where she and Theo were reinforcing the anchor behind the reception desk. “Also moral support. Also—” He pulled out a bag of chips and dropped into an armchair. “—supervision.”
Theo’s voice went flat. “We don’t need supervision.”
“Debatable.” Beck crunched a chip, watching them with undisguised interest. “Someone needs to make sure you take breaks. And eat. And don’t accidentally burn down the inn with repressed feelings.”
“Beck.” A warning.
“What? I’m helping.”
Avine bit back a smile and returned to the anchor. She was starting to appreciate Beck’s particular brand of chaos. It cut the tension, made the long hours feel less charged.
“Also,” Beck added, more quietly, “Garrett’s been asking pointed questions about where the Alpha’s been spending his time.”
Theo’s jaw went rigid. He didn’t answer.
The work continued. First floor, second floor, back to the basement for deeper reinforcement. The rhythm they’d established on day one had solidified—Theo laying pack sigils, Avine weaving sea magic over them, their powers learning to recognize each other.
Theo explained pack ward traditions while they worked—stories of wolves who’d protected this coastline for centuries, magic passed down through bloodlines and earned through loyalty.
