“You are not expected to carry this burden alone.” Ezra’s voice cuts through my spiraling panic, firm and uncompromising in a way that stops my mental crash out before it can fully take hold.
He closes the book in front of him completely, his hand resting flat against the worn leather cover as he turns to look at me directly, his eyes serious behind his glasses.
“We are here,” he says simply, but there’s an ocean of meaning in those three words. “Whatever happens, however this unfolds, you don’t face it by yourself.”
Maceo leans toward me without warning, his strong hands sliding under my arms to lift me from my chair as if I weigh nothing at all. Before I can protest or even fully process what’s happening, he’s settling me into his lap with the kind of easy strength that still takes my breath away. One of his hands comes up to rest at the back of my neck, fingers threading through the end of my braids, grounding me with his solid presence.
“We’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and certain, the words rumbling through his chest where I’m pressed against him. “You don’t carry this weight by yourself, beautiful. Not anymore.”
The tension I’ve been carrying all evening, hell, for weeks, maybe my whole life, tightens for a moment like a band about to snap, then gradually begins to loosen as I let myself lean into his strength. The burden that felt impossible to bear just moments ago seems lighter somehow when I remember that I don’t have to shoulder it alone.
Lucien finally abandons his post at the window, setting aside the grimoire he’d been searching through and moving to join us fully at the table. His eyes are soft when they meet mine, filled with an understanding that comes from having lived long enough to recognize the weight of destiny when he sees it.
“You believe this crisis rests entirely on your shoulders,” he says, his voice maintaining that calm, measured quality I’ve come to associate with his Fae wisdom. “It does not. The responsibility belongs to all of us, to the entire community that calls Ruby Springs home.”
“I don’t want to fail,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper now, but somehow more honest for its softness. “Not the town, not any of the people counting on me to figure this out.”
My throat tightens with emotion I’ve been trying to keep at bay, but I force myself to push through it anyway, to give voice to the fear that’s been eating at me since this whole nightmare began.
“And I definitely don’t want to lose. . .”
The words stick in my throat, too big and too terrifying to say out loud, even here in the safety of the manor with three men who’ve already shown me more acceptance and care than I ever thought I deserved.
Maceo isn’t having any of my emotional retreat. His hand tightens slightly at the base of my neck, not painful but insistent, demanding my attention.
“Hey,” he murmurs, moving so his hand drops from my neck to wrap his arm securely around my back while his free hand comes up to cup the side of my face, his thumb brushing just beneath my eye with infinite gentleness. “What else do you stand to lose, baby? Tell me.”
“This,” I whisper, the single word hanging between us, heavy with the absolute truth.
This time the admission doesn’t feel fragile or tentative. It feels exposed and raw and real as I lay my heart bare to the three of them, admitting to fears I’ve barely acknowledged to myself.
Because now it’s not just about saving the town or protecting the supernatural community or living up to my family legacy. Now it’s about us, about whatever extraordinary thing we’re building between the four of us, this impossible connection that feels both brand new and inevitable at the same time. I look between them, really look at each face in turn, and something fundamental shifts in my chest in a way that makes it temporarily hard to breathe.
“Oh, sweetness,” Lucien says, his voice warm with affection and absolute certainty, that knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t you know by now? The four of us, this connection we share, it’s inevitable. Written in the stars and the magic that flows through this place. You couldn’t lose us if you tried.”
“I think our little Witch needs reassurance,” Ezra says, pushing his glasses up his nose with one finger, and there’s something in his tone, something bold and decidedly un-Ezra-like, that makes heat rush to my cheeks.
The brazen comment makes me whip my head in his direction, eyes wide with surprise.
“Ez—”
Before I can finish his name, before I can even process what’s happening, Ezra leans forward and kisses me, his lips firm and sure against mine, effectively wiping the shocked expression right off my face and replacing it with something much more interesting entirely.
Chapter
Eighteen
ALL BETS ARE OFF
Ezra’s mouth is on mine, warm and deliberate. His lips part just enough to let me taste the faintest hint of bergamot tea he was drinking lingering on his tongue. His glasses press cool against my cheek for the briefest second before he tilts his head, deepening the kiss with a precision that steals my breath. My brain short-circuits, synapses firing in chaotic bursts. I’ve kissed this man before, the memory of last night still fresh, still electric, but this is different. This is Ezra. Quiet, careful Ezra, who speaks in measured sentences and senses magic like it’s a blueprint he’s memorized by heart. Ezra, who has never once given me the impression that he’s the kind of man who would just suggest they ‘reassure’ me, but here he is, his hands cradling my face like I’m something fragile, something precious. His kiss isn’t hesitant. It’s hungry. It’s starving.
A groan vibrates against my ear, low and rough, and I realize with a jolt that I’d forgotten,completelyforgotten I’m still in Maceo’s lap. His thighs are solid beneath me, his hands steady on my waist, my back, my thigh, keeping me close like he refuses to let me slip away. Then there’s the hard press of his cock underneath me, thick and insistent, leaving no doubt abouthow much he enjoys the sight of Ezra claiming my mouth. The sweater dress I’m wearing feels like too much fabric and not enough all at once. It’s soft against my skin, but I’m hyperaware of every place Maceo’s fingers press into the knit, of the heat of his body seeping through the layers, branding me.
Ezra’s kiss isn’t just confident; it’s consuming. There’s a focus to it, a single-minded intensity —he wasn’t lying when he said he’d been waiting a long time to do this. His tongue strokes desperately against mine, his fingers quiver just slightly against my cheekbones. His thumbs brush my skin like he can’t believe I’m here, and I melt into him, intothis, because I don’t have to wonder if I’m wanted. Not by him. Not by any of them. The want is right here, in the way Maceo’s grip tightens on my hips, in the way Ezra’s breath hitches when I nip at his lower lip.
There’s something else too, a hollow ache in my chest, a pull so strong it’s almost painful. It’s Lucien. His presence is warm and steady, like sunlight breaking through clouds after a storm. He’s not distant, not detached, just observing, choosing to step into this moment with us. When I finally open my eyes and meet his, there’s no amusement there. No teasing. Just quiet certainty.
There’s no confusion about what this is. This isn’t some random accident, some fleeting moment of weakness. This is them choosing me. This is me choosing them.
