“She’s not alone in this.”
Cal’s voice came from behind her. Dahlia felt him before she saw him—felt the heat of his presence, his solid bulk stepping up to her side. His hand found the small of her back, and the touch sent heat radiating through her entire body.
Magnus’s expression didn’t change. “Callum. I was wondering when you’d insert yourself.”
“Dahlia is a member of this community. Her bakery operates under Ursa protection. Any threat to her business is a threat to my sleuth.” Cal’s voice was barely controlled. Dahlia could feel the tension vibrating through him, the bear pressing against his skin.
“How noble.” Magnus’s smile returned—sharper now, edged with cruelty. “The prodigal bear defending a witch he’s known for what? A week? Two?”
“Long enough.”
“The Ursa line.” Magnus shook his head, false pity crossing his features. “You’re so predictable. So protective of things you can’t keep.”
Cal went rigid against her. Dahlia felt his hand flex on her back, felt the barely-leashed violence coiling in his muscles.
“Your father was the same way.” Magnus continued, his tone almost conversational. “Convinced he could hold onto things that were never his to begin with. Look how that ended.”
“My father has nothing to do with this.”
“Doesn’t he?” Magnus stepped back, straightening his jacket. “Think about my offer, Ms. Moon. You have until the Regional Council makes its decision. After that...” He shrugged. “Well. I’m sure you’ll make the right choice.”
He turned and walked away, his enforcers falling into step behind him. The doors swung shut, and they were gone.
TWENTY-FOUR
DAHLIA
Dahlia’s legs gave out.
Not dramatically—she didn’t collapse or crumple. She stopped being able to hold herself up. The adrenaline that had been keeping her upright drained, leaving nothing but exhaustion and fury and a fear so vast, she couldn’t see the edges of it.
Cal caught her.
His arms came around her without hesitation, pulling her against his chest. Solid. Safe, in a way that had nothing to do with physical protection and everything to do with the simple act of being held.
“I’ve got you.” His voice was a rumble against her hair. “I’ve got you.”
Dahlia pressed her face into his shoulder and let herself shake. Let the fear out in trembling breaths and the tension out in muscles that finally, finally relaxed.
They stood there in the empty meeting room, holding each other. It should have been awkward. It should have been strange—they’d known each other less than two weeks. They’d held hands once, shared one charged morning in the mountain meadows.
But this felt like coming home.
“He’s lying.” Dahlia spoke into Cal’s shoulder, her voice muffled. “The surveys. They’re fraudulent. I don’t know how yet, but I know they are.”
Cal’s arms tightened around her. “What makes you so sure?”
“The boundary stones.” She pulled back enough to look at him, her hands still fisted in the fabric of his sweater. “The original markers. They’re warded to show the true territorial lines—magic can’t be altered the way paper can. If Magnus’s claims don’t match the stones...”
“Then we have proof.” Cal’s features shifted—the anger giving way to focus. Hope, maybe. Or determination. “Do you know where they are?”
“Some of them. My grandmother showed me a few when I was young. I’ll need to do research, find the others, figure out how to read the wards properly.” She took a breath. “But it’s a start.”
Cal’s hand came up to cup her face. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, gentle despite the calluses, and heat bloomed through Dahlia at the tenderness in his touch.
“You’re amazing.” His voice was churned gravel. “You know that? He threatened to destroy your livelihood, and you’re already plotting how to take him down.”
“I’m terrified.” The admission slipped out before she could stop it. “I’m absolutely terrified. But being scared doesn’t mean I have to give up.”
