“You almost weren’t.” The tears spilled over. She couldn’t stop them—couldn’t maintain the armor she’d worn her entire life, not now, not after watching him nearly die. The jokes wouldn’t come. The deflections fell away. There was only this: raw fear, overwhelming relief, and a love so fierce, it terrified her. “You almost?—”
And there it was. The word she’d been dancing around for weeks, maybe longer. Love.
She loved him.
Not the comfortable affection she felt for her friends, not the nostalgic devotion she held for her grandmother’s memory. This was entirely different—consuming and terrifying and so damn inconvenient she wanted to scream. She loved his control and the way laughter transformed his face when she surprised it out of him. She loved how he’d walked into her chaos and decided to stay. She loved that he’d thrown himself between her and danger without a moment’s hesitation, like her safety mattered more than his own.
She loved him, and she’d almost lost him before she could say it.
All those years of keeping people at arm’s length, of deflecting with jokes, of convincing herself that alone was the same as safe—and for what? To protect herself from exactly this feeling? This overwhelming, gut-wrenching terror of losing someone who had become essential?
Leo had gotten past all of that. He’d seen through her armor. And now she was sitting in the wreckage of her shop, covered in blood and potion residue, crying harder than she had since her grandmother’s funeral, and she didn’t want to be anywhere else. Because he was here. He was alive. And that was all that mattered.
He pulled her into his arms.
She went willingly, burying her face against his chest—the uninjured side—and letting herself break apart. His heart beat steady beneath her ear. His arms wrapped around her, solid and alive. His scent—blood and sweat and that masculine musk that was purely Leo—surrounded her.
“I’m here,” he repeated, pressing kisses to her hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“Promise me.” She pulled back enough to meet his eyes—those brown eyes that had been cold when they first met and now held a tenderness that made her ache. “Promise me you won’t do that again. Promise me you won’t die for me.”
“I can’t promise that.” His thumb brushed away her tears, the gesture achingly gentle. “But I can promise I’ll always fight to come back to you.”
It wasn’t enough. It would have to be enough.
Junie kissed him—desperate, hungry, needing to feel him alive under her hands. He kissed her back with equal intensity, his arms tightening around her, his body pressing against hers as if he needed the contact as much as she did. She tasted bloodand salt and Leo, and she didn’t care about any of it except that he was here, he was alive, he was hers.
“I choose you,” she whispered against his mouth. “I choose you, Leo Castellan.”
He went still.
“Junie—”
“No, let me say this.” She pulled back, meeting his eyes. Holding his gaze with everything she had. “I’ve been scared. Of the bond, of the claiming, of everything it means. I’ve been telling myself I wasn’t ready, that I needed more time, that I couldn’t trust it to last.” She took a breath—shaky, unsteady, utterly honest. “But watching you throw yourself between me and Victor—watching you almost die to protect me—I realized what matters.”
“What?”
“That I’d rather have you for whatever time we get than spend my life being safe and alone.” She touched his face—the strong jaw, the usual tension now eased into vulnerability. “I choose us.”
He looked at her for a beat, his expression shifting through surprise, hope, and an emotion so raw it stole her breath.
Then a smile broke across his face—genuine, unguarded, the kind of smile she’d only seen a handful of times.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” She kissed him again—softer this time, a promise rather than a plea. “I’m sure.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, and she felt the tension drain out of him. The Alpha, the control freak, the man who’d spent two decades rebuilding everything his father destroyed—he let it all go. For a moment. With her.
“Then let’s go home,” he said. “And when I’m healed, when Victor is dealt with, when the chaos settles?—”
“The claiming.”
“The claiming.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “If that’s still what you want.”
“It’s what I want.” She helped him to his feet, sliding under his arm to take some of his weight. He leaned on her more than he probably wanted to admit. “It’s what I’ve wanted since the tide pools. Maybe longer. I was too scared to admit it.”
“My cousin Rosemary is going to be insufferable about this,” Junie said after a moment. “She’s been telling me for years I’d fall for someone impossible.”
