“Your magic,” Theo said after a moment, “is different than I expected.”
“How so?”
“Stronger. Deeper.” A pause. “Like the sea. The surface looks calm, but there’s power underneath that could pull ships down.”
She met his gaze. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”
“Both.” His mouth curved slightly. “Definitely both.”
Her breath caught. The attic felt too close, suddenly. Too intimate. The magic humming between them had nothing to do with ward stones and everything to do with the way he was looking at her—like she was vast and dangerous and worth drowning in.
“Here.” Theo’s hand covered hers on the stone. “The last sigil needs to spiral inward. Let me guide you.”
She should pull away. She didn’t.
His hand was rough and calloused from work she hadn’t asked about. His fingers curled over hers, dwarfing them, guiding her in the pattern with a gentleness that made her stomach flutter. Their magic hummed where their skin touched, warmth spreading through her like a current she already knew.
The sigil spiraled inward, their combined light braiding tight, and Avine forgot how to breathe.
She could smell him. His chest was close enough to her back that she could feel the heat radiating off him, could imagine leaning back and finding solid strength.
“Avine.” Her name was barely a whisper.
She peeked up.
They were inches apart. Close enough that she could see the flecks of darker gray in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his gaze dropped to her mouth and stayed there.
A lightbulb popped.
From downstairs, Beck’s voice floated up: “Is it hot in here, or is that your unresolved sexual tension shorting out the wiring?”
They sprang apart.
The smell of pizza drifted up a moment later, Beck’s peace offering left at the top of the stairs. Neither of them went to get it immediately.
Avine grabbed a slice, mostly to have her hands occupied.
FIFTEEN
AVINE
The sun had set by the time they finished the last anchor.
Avine’s hands were cramping, her magic reserves running on fumes. Three days of intensive work had left her wrung out, exhausted, and paradoxically more alive than she’d felt in years. The wards hummed through the inn with stable, strong energy—not patched anymore, but genuinely reinforced. Witch and wolf magic bound so tightly that separating them would be impossible.
She stood from where she’d been kneeling, and the world tilted sideways.
Theo’s arms caught her before she could fall, pulling her against him with an ease that suggested he’d been expecting this. “Easy. You pushed too hard.”
“I can stand.”
“Not convincingly.” He didn’t let go. If anything, his grip became firmer, steadying her against him. “Stop arguing and let me help you.”
She wanted to push back. Wanted to prove she didn’t need steadying, didn’t need him holding her up like she was fragile. But she was tired, and he was solid, and his arms around her felt less like rescue and more like shelter.
His heartbeat was steady against her ear. Strong. Reliable. The kind of rhythm she could fall asleep to, if she let herself.
“You’re the strongest witch I’ve ever met.”
