The relief that crashed through him nearly buckled his knees. Two days of fear, of bargaining with a universe that didn’t listen, of imagining every terrible outcome—and here she was. Awake. Looking at him. Alive.
“What…” Her voice was a rasp. She swallowed, tried again. “What happened?”
“You saved Dahlia. Destroyed all the constructs.” He set the water down and reclaimed her hand. Couldn’t help it. “Burned yourself out doing it.”
She processed that, her brow furrowing. Her gaze tracked around the room—the candles Narla had left burning, the evidence of the vigil he’d kept, the plates of half-eaten food. Finally, her attention came back to him.
To the exhaustion carved into his face. The stubble along his jaw. The rumpled clothes he hadn’t changed in two days.
“You stayed.” Not a question.
“Yes.”
“The whole time?”
“Yes.”
Her fingers curled around his, holding on with more strength than he’d expected. “That’s… a lot.”
“I know.”
She didn’t look away. Neither did he. An acknowledgment of what his presence meant, what it said about feelings neither of them had put into words passed between them. He could have sent someone else. Could have checked in periodically, kept his distance, maintained the careful separation between alpha duties and personal wants.
He’d stayed. For two days. Because leaving her had never been an option.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Don’t thank me.” His thumb moved absently over her palm, the motion unconscious, soothing.
Theo met her gaze. Brown eyes, soft even in exhaustion, looking at him like he mattered. Like he was the one who’d done the remarkable thing, when all he’d done was sit beside her and pray to gods he didn’t believe in.
“Stay,” he said, barely audible. “Don’t—don’t do that again. Don’t leave.”
Her expression eased. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His exhale shook more than he wanted to admit. He brought her hand to his lips again, pressing a kiss to her knuckles that was as much gratitude as affection.
“You mean that?” he asked, and he meant it as a joke, a way to break the intensity of the moment.
But Avine didn’t smile. Her fingers gripped his harder. “I do.”
It wasn’t a declaration. It was bigger than that.
TWENTY-SIX
THEO
Over the next few hours, the witches descended.
Dahlia arrived first, bursting through the door with a tray of food and tears streaming down her face. “You absolute idiot.” She sobbed, setting the tray down so she could grab Avine’s free hand. “You threw yourself in front of a—you could have—I can’t believe you?—”
“I’m fine.” Avine’s voice held clear amusement despite her exhaustion. “Dahlia, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, you’re in bed after nearly dying, and I am never speaking to you again.” Dahlia sniffled, wiped her eyes, and immediately started arranging pillows. “Eat this soup. It has healing properties. I will stand here and watch you eat every bite.”
Junie came next, her usual manic energy subdued into a quieter intensity. She didn’t cry, but her voice was thick when she said, “Next time you want to play hero, maybe give me a heads up so I can make you an invincibility potion first.” She pressed a vial into Avine’s hand. “Drink this. It tastes like death but it’ll help.”
“Ringing endorsement.” Avine drank it anyway.
