As the sun begins to dip toward the horizon, giving the sky that sweet cotton candy look, Wick and Ethan shoo us away. “Go. Enjoy the festival. We’ve got this.”
“We can’t just leave again—” Talon starts.
“You absolutely can.” Wick fixes him with a look. “When’s the last time you actuallyattendedone of these things instead of working through it?”
Talon’s jaw works, but he doesn’t answer.
“Exactly.” Wick turns to me. “Take him to the lantern lighting in the garden.”
The lantern lighting. I’d nearly forgotten. As darkness settles over Hex, the townsfolk release hundreds of paper lanterns into the sky, each one carrying wishes and hopes into the star-scattered night.
Talon’s hand finds mine again, his calloused palm warm and sure. “Would you... would you like to see it? With me?”
“I’d love that very much.”
We walk through the festive streets as the booths begin to close, the energy shifting from bustling commerce to something more intimate, more magical. Strings of fairy lights illuminate the pathways between stalls, and somewhere in the distance, a fiddle plays a slow, sweet melody.
Talon stops at a game booth, winning me a small stuffed griffin with an embarrassed flush when the vendor teases him about his aim. I tuck it into the crook of my arm, laughing when he tries to take it back.
“It’s ridiculous,” he mutters.
“It’sadorable. Like you.” I boop his nose with the beak of the griffin plush.
He groans, but he’s smiling, and my heart feels too full for my chest to contain.
We find a spot in the community garden, on the seats overlooking the stage where the wood nymph performs theirbeautiful haunting music. The first lanterns begin to rise, painting the darkening sky with warm golden light, I lean into Talon, feeling the solid warmth of his body against mine.
“Make a wish,” he whispers.
I close my eyes, but I don’t need to wish for anything. Everything I want is right here, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, his heartbeat steady against my back.
When I open my eyes, dozens of lanterns drift above us like captured stars, and Talon watches me instead of the sky.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“You’re beautiful,” he says simply.
The words hang between us, fragile and precious as the paper vessels floating overhead. I turn in his arms, facing him fully, and cup his cheek in my palm. His beard is soft against my skin, and I feel him lean into my touch, eyes fluttering closed.
“Kiss me,” I whisper.
He does. It’s so sweet and slow, unhurried now that the urgency of danger has passed. His lips taste like honey and sugar, and I lose myself in the warmth of him, the solid reality of his presence after so many weeks of dreams and shadows.
When we finally break apart, the sky is full of drifting light, and the festival has begun to quiet. Bonfires light all around the town. Everyone’s ready for ghost stories and quiet reflection.
“Your place or mine?” I ask, my voice breathless.
Talon’s eyes darken, his grip tightening at my waist. “Mine.” And we’re there in seconds.
His cottage is small but warm, filled with the scent of baking spices and something uniquely, intoxicatinglyhim. He lights candles with trembling fingers, and I cross the space between us, stilling his hands with my own.
“Nervous?” I ask.
“Yeah.No.” He huffs a laugh. “I’ve wanted this—wantedyou—since that first morning I saw you. But I don’t want to rush. I don’t want to?—”
“Hey.” I rise on my toes to press a kiss to his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “We go at your pace. Whatever you need.”
He groans, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the truth of his desire pressed hard against my hip. “I need you,” he admits, the words rough. “I need you, Wren. But I’m... I’m not always easy. The anxiety, the panic?—”
