“No.” Cal’s thumb traced another slow path across her cheek. His pupils had darkened, his pulse visible at his throat. “It doesn’t.”
The air between them shifted. Charged. Dahlia became suddenly, acutely aware of how close they were standing. Of his hand on her face and her hands on his chest and the heat of his body seeping into hers.
She should step back. Should put distance between them before this became something they couldn’t undo.
She didn’t move.
“Cal...”
“I know.” His voice was strained. “I know, we shouldn’t. The timing is wrong, there’s too much going on, you’re overwhelmed right now, and I’m?—”
“Stop.” She pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing him. “Stop trying to be noble.”
He stopped breathing. His eyes locked on hers, dark and unreadable.
“I’m not fragile.” Dahlia dropped her hand, but she didn’t step away. Didn’t break the charged space between them. “I’m furious and scared and overwhelmed. But I’m not fragile, Cal. Don’t treat me like I am.”
His careful control cracked. Just enough to show the raw need underneath.
“I wasn’t trying to?—”
“Yes, you were.” She rose up on her toes, closing the distance between them until her lips were a breath away from his. “So stop.”
Cal made a sound—half groan, half growl—and his mouth found hers.
The kiss was nothing like she’d imagined. Not gentle, not tentative, not the careful first exploration she might have expected. It was heat and hunger and a desperation that made her dizzy, his hands pulling her closer while her fingers dug into his shoulders.
He kissed her like he’d been starving for it. Like she was air and he’d been drowning. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting her, claiming her, and Dahlia gave back as good as she got. Her teeth caught his lower lip. Her body arched into his. Thesound she made when his hand slid into her hair was somewhere between a moan and a whimper.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard. Cal’s forehead rested against hers, his eyes dark and wild, his chest heaving.
“Dahlia.” Her name on his lips sounded like a prayer. Like a promise. “We can’t—not here. Not like this.”
She knew he was right. They were standing in the middle of Town Hall, anyone could walk in, and they had a battle to fight that required clear heads and focused attention.
But God, she wanted to ignore all of that. Wanted to drag him somewhere private and finish what they’d started.
“Soon?” The word came out breathless.
Cal laughed—a rough, broken sound—and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Definitely.”
He stepped back, putting space between them. Dahlia felt the loss of his heat immediately, but she understood. They needed to think clearly. Needed to plan.
“The boundary stones,” Cal said, visibly pulling himself back under control. “We need to find them. Verify the truth.”
“Then we start there.” Dahlia smoothed down her hair, trying to look like a woman who hadn’t been kissed senseless in a public building.
They walked out of Town Hall, side by side, not touching, but the air between them still crackling with possibility. The fight ahead would be brutal. Magnus had decades of preparation and resources they could only imagine.
But Dahlia had something Magnus didn’t expect: a community that refused to be bullied. A coven of witches digging through ancient grimoires. A network of alphas who’d chosen integration over isolation.
And a bear shifter who looked at her like she was everything.
Magnus had underestimated Haven Shores. He’d underestimated her.
That would be his biggest mistake.
TWENTY-FIVE
