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I grin. Her eyes narrow.

Then she turns back to her guests.

I'm so fucking happy I could explode.

For her. Not because I did this. I didn't.

She did.

Belinda took a falling-down haunted Victorian filled with ectoplasm, ghosts, vampire bats, and enough supernatural problems to make a sane person bulldoze the place and turned it into something beautiful.

People are here. Actual paying guests.

The Halloween weekend bookings are full. More reservations are coming in. Someone called this morning asking about a Christmas stay.

My mate built this. And I'm ridiculously fucking proud of her.

Mate.

That word means something different today. My Little Witch claimed me right back last night.

My hand rises to my shoulder. The mark is still there.

Belinda Ramos fucking bit me. The memory makes my Devil rumble with satisfaction.

Mine.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “I know.”

And, fuck, if she didn't put some force behind it.

I've been claimed before in the magical sense. The matebond locked into place the first time my teeth sank into her skin.

But this? This feels different.

Reciprocal.

Chosen.

Complete.

And the magic that ripped through the room afterward? That definitely wasn't normal.

Belinda's gold magic has been growing stronger since my claim, but last night there was something else inside it.

Red.

Powerful.

Old.

For one split second when she bit me, I could have sworn I felt something answer from inside her.

Not my magic. Not the Devil's.

Hers.

Which has me wondering whether magic isn't the only thing I woke up inside my Little Witch.