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I poke him in the arm. “Vincent.”

“It’s true.” His mouth quirks. “It was Halloween. I’d already wasted half the day trying another spell that didn’t work, and I passed a tattoo shop. I had never gotten one before.”

“So you got claw marks?”

He shrugs. “I thought it was funny. Trust me, Kate. There wasn’t much for me to laugh about back then, and I didn’t even know I was only halfway through waiting at that point.”

Halfway… because it’s been thirty-nine years and he’s convinced that he’s found the key to breaking his curse because he’s found me.

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat.

“Do you hate them?” I ask quietly.

“My tattoo? I mean, it didn’t tickle, but it still makes me laugh to see it all this time later… but if you don’t like it⁠—”

I shake my head. “I like it,” I say, and I mean it. “But I wasn’t asking about your tattoo.”

“Oh. You mean the witches.”

This time, I nod, and Vincent is silent long enough that I’m beginning to think he’s not going to answer me—until he does.

“I did.”

“Did?”

“Don’t misunderstand me. Susan is still an asshole. But I don’t hate her anymore.” His gaze drifts toward the crowd once more before coming back to me. “I was thirty-one when she cursed me, Kate. If she hadn’t… You’re right. I would be seventy now.”

Part of me wants to quip, You are seventy, but I can tell he’s being serious now, so I don’t.

“You’re thirty-three. I don’t know how much I would’ve aged by the time I found you… if I found you… but despite warlocks living longer than mortals, I would’ve been seventy. I might have missed my chance at making you mine. At least now… there is a chance.”

Vincent turns toward me. Despite all of his earlier confidence, I see both hesitation and fear written on his handsome face as he says, “I have a chance with you, Kate… don’t I?”

For a moment, I just stare at him. At the desire he can’t hide. At the cat ears poking out of his shaggy blond hair. At the way his lips are slightly parted, and his breath is quickening as I slowly, slowly move my mouth toward his.

Did I plan on kissing him? Not really… but with the sunset behind him and the magic of the Fall Festival around us, I couldn’t help myself. I close the gap between us because something is telling me that this virgin warlock—despite all of his earlier bravado and claiming that I’m his—will never be the one to make the first move until I show him that I’m receptive of him first.

Does he have a chance at the two of us forming a mate bond? Before, I would’ve been able to answer that decisively with a firm no. Now? I… I don’t know.

But I want to kiss him, and it seems like he wants me to do just that, and the next thing I know, I’m brushing my lips against his.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. It hits me a moment too late that this could quite possibly be his first kiss ever, but before I can break it and apologize for making all sorts of assumptions, the gorgeous blond warlock is kissing me back.

He’s also making that sound again. The one that’s not quite a purr but close enough that I feel it against my lips, and something about it makes me smile.

He must feel that because he pulls back and smiles, too. But our kiss is only broken for a moment. I guess I made the first move, and that’s all the encouragement Vincent needed because, this time, he’s the one who dives back in.

There isn’t anything remotely funny about the second one.

His hand slides into my hair as mine lands on his upper arm, my fingers curling over the claw marks tattooed there. His mouth moves over mine with more confidence now, nearly pulling me off of the bench and onto his lap, but there’s still something almost careful about the way he holds onto me. It’s like I’m something he’s wanted for so long that he doesn’t quite trust himself with me yet.

That thought destroys whatever restraint I have left.

I throw my arm around his neck, fully leaning into him as the kiss deepens.

Heat curls low in my stomach.

Oh.