She wanted to. God, she wanted to. She had forty-seven anxiety croissants in her freezer. She had a Paris residency waiting. She had friends who loved her, a bakery that needed her, a familiar who would never forgive her for dying.
And she had Cal. This man who loved her. Who saw her. Who wanted her to want things for herself.
She had so many reasons to stay.
But the gray was winning. The cold was spreading from her wounds outward, numbing her fingers, her toes, the tips of her ears. Her heartbeat was slowing—she could feel it, each thump taking longer than the last.
Cal’s face was the last thing she saw. His dark eyes, filled with terror and love and desperate hope. The gray at his temples. The scar on his jaw. The tears cutting tracks through the blood on his cheeks.
She tried one more time to tell him. Tried to shape the words I love you too with numb lips.
Then the gray swallowed everything.
And Dahlia Moon let go.
FORTY-SIX
CAL
Two days after Dahlia almost died in his arms, Cal sat at her bedside and felt his lungs seize.
The healers had done their work—three witch healers working in tandem, burning through their reserves to counteract the rage-magic in Magnus’s claws. The wounds were closed now, pink and healing, wrapped in enchanted bandages that glowed faintly with protective spells. Dahlia was alive.
She was alive, and Cal hadn’t left her side except to shower and change when Avine physically pushed him out of the room. He’d eaten when people put food in front of him. Slept in snatches, his head on the edge of her mattress, waking at every small sound she made.
Now he sat in the chair he’d claimed as his own, watching her breath, counting each inhale and exhale like it was precious. Because it was. Every single one.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Cal was on his feet before he registered moving, leaning over the bed, his hand finding hers. “Hey. Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe.”
Dahlia blinked up at him, hazel eyes hazy with sleep and healing magic. Her gaze traveled over his face—the stubblehe hadn’t bothered to shave, the shadows under his eyes, the tension written into every line.
“You look terrible.” Her voice was a rasp, rough from disuse and healing potions.
A laugh punched out of him—broken and relieved and utterly without humor. “You almost died.”
“But I didn’t.” Her fingers curled around his, weak but present. “I’m here.”
Cal brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Something raw and fierce had settled in his chest the moment her fingers curled around his. He understood the feeling.
“I thought I lost you.” The words came out raw. “In the chamber, when you went still—I thought?—”
“Shh.” She tugged weakly at his hand, and he went, sitting on the edge of the bed, letting her pull him close. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in. She smelled like healing herbs and antiseptic, and underneath it all, faintly, honey. Still her. Still his.
“What happens now?” Her breath was soft against his lips. “With Magnus. With the hearing.”
Cal pulled back enough to meet her eyes. “The council ruled in our favor. Magnus’s claim is dismissed. His witnesses are in custody, awaiting a tribunal.”
“Narla also confirmed the ley-line disturbance has settled.” He watched her absorb that. “Whatever was amplifying your magic during the hearing—it stabilized once the ruling was recorded. The ward network read it as a restoration of the natural boundary. You’re back to normal.”
He paused. “Wyatt’s investigation confirmed something else too. The cursed honey required sustained exposure—months ofdaily doses to do real damage. That’s why Bran was the only one affected. Anyone who tasted it once was never in danger.”
Something in Dahlia’s face eased at that. She’d been worrying about that, he realized. Of course, she had.
“I also called my CFO.” He kept his voice even. “She’s been running the day-to-day for months anyway. I’m handing her the reins officially. I’ll stay involved remotely, fly in when something actually needs me in person. But Haven Shores is home base now. I’m not commuting back to Seattle to disappear into an office.”
