Page 44 of Alpha Charmed

I crumple the note and consider setting it on fire.

The morning passes in a blur of routine tasks I don’t need to think about. Inventory checks. Potion preparations. The endless paperwork that accumulates when you’re both a business owner and a political leader. I work through all of it on autopilot, my mind circling back to the same questions.

What happens now? With the investigation. With the council. With Caius.

Around noon, Sunny appears at my door with a basket of what she calls “comfort pastries” and what I recognize as mood-enhancement muffins. Biscuit the toad regards me from her apron pocket with his usual expression of profound judgment.

Sunny’s smile is warm and entirely too knowing. “Marcus and Thalia said you walked through the square holding hands. Holding hands, Anouk. In public.”

“We were walking.”

“While holding hands.” She sets the basket on my counter with deliberate care. “After a public claiming. In front of the entire coven.” Her eyes sparkle. “Grandmother Peach stopped by the bakery this morning. She was triumphantly smug. Even for her. She said, and I quote, ‘I’ve been cultivating this particular pairing since before either of them knew how stubborn they were going to be about it.’”

“Cultivating.”

“Her word.” Sunny pulls out a muffin—lavender and honey, by the smell of it—and presses it into my hands. “Eat this. It’s good for processing overwhelming emotions.”

“I’m not overwhelmed.”

“You’re claiming a wolf alpha, surviving a coup attempt, and trying to expose a centuries-old conspiracy. You’re overwhelmed.” She pats my arm with cheerful certainty. “The muffin helps. Trust me.”

She’s gone before I can argue.

I eat the muffin. It does help.

The afternoon brings more visitors—Ember stopping by to drop off candles and accidentally singeing my doorframe (“So sorry, it happens when I get excited, and everyone’s so excited about last night!”), Berry Thornwick appearing with a stack of “relevant research materials” that turn out to be paranormal romance novels featuring wolf shifters (“The shop insisted. It was very adamant. It’s never steered anyone wrong about these things.”), my apprentice returning with a detailed update on the gossip network’s latest speculation.

Marcus even sends a note via courier bat—a rare gesture from the vampire who prefers to observe rather than participate: “Congratulations on finally resolving what we’ve all been watching for years. Thalia wants you to know the 3 AM coffee will be ready whenever you need it. She suspects you’ll have a lot of sleepless nights ahead. Not entirely because of romance.”

The cryptic addendum is pure Marcus. He sees more than he says, and says more through silence than most people manage with words.

By evening, I’m exhausted in ways that have nothing to do with magic.

A knock at my front door. Heavier than the others—deliberate, confident, familiar.

Caius is in practical clothes—dark shirt, worn pants, boots designed for forest terrain. His hair is slightly disheveled, as if he’s been running his hands through it.

He looks like he hasn’t slept any more than I have.

He looks perfect.

“The vote failed.” He says it without preamble, crossing the shop toward me.

“You know about that?”

“Elio has sources everywhere. Also, you’ve been radiating satisfaction all day. I could sense it from The Den.” He stops close enough that I have to tilt my head to meet his gaze. “Rhodes had thoughts. He always has thoughts.”

“Of course, he does.”

“Aslan wanted to storm the council chamber and make dramatic declarations. Torin talked him down. Barely.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Leire sent approximately forty more exclamation-heavy messages. I’m told the punctuation was excessive even by her standards.”

“Speaking of The Den.” I lean against my workbench, aiming for casual and probably failing. “How was your morning? Besides sensing my political victories from across town?”

His expression shifts—amusement mixed with what might be embarrassment. “The alphas were exactly as insufferable as you’d expect.”

His mouth twitches.

Despite myself, I laugh. “The universe should be concerned.”