Page 146 of De-Witched

“What were you just thinking about?”

“A Cauldron Cosmo.” Unease slicked her insides at his expression. “Gabriel, that’s not a cosmo.”

“But it’s an element. The smallest, easiest one.” Pale, he picked up the cocktail stick between finger and thumb. “Let me see if I can get an energy signature.” When his eyes flashed open, locked on her face, she shook her head at the answer she saw there.

“I don’t have magic. I’m human. How could that possibly have been me?”

He scrubbed his face with his free hand. “Honestly, I have no...” He trailed off. Understanding, consternation, resignation all played over his features. He dropped his hand. “You died.”

“Okay, but—”

“I willed you to live. I breathed into you and willed you to live.” His throat worked. “We must have bonded out of sheer desperation.”

“Bonded?”

“If a witch decides their life mate will be a human, the High Family bonds them in a ceremony. It can’t be undone. I don’t actually know anyone that has done it. It allows the human to take a small segment of magic to link them to their partner, extend their life, their health. It means we’re linked.”

Uncertainty had her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Are you okay with that?”

Something lightened in his expression and he cupped her cheeks. “Yes. I told you you’re my future; I meant it.” He paused. “But nobody is meant to bond without the High Family’s permission.”

Well, shit. Those two words rang in Leah’s head as she worried her lip. “Do we tell them?”

He exhaled. “No. You’re not about to become all-powerful, and we can hide one secret.”

“Well, what about—”

“Enough.” He lowered his head, catching her in a soft kiss. “Enough. Whatever comes, we’ll handle it. But for now, all I want to do is celebrate. We made it.”

They’d made it.

Music suddenly played, the soft sounds of jazz filtering in with the fading light.

“You’re going soft,” she teased as he began to sway her. “What will people say about the Goodnights when they see Gabriel being a fool for love?”

He curled an arm around her waist, swirling her in an intricate turn. As she whirled, her simple shift disappeared, replaced by her flowing pink evening dress, either mended by magic or completely new. He smiled at her surprised pleasure, drew her close. “They’ll say I’m one hell of a lucky warlock.”

“Damn right.” And she kissed him on a balcony at sunset while a Labrador panted happily at their feet. Followed closely by a fourteen-year-old’s loud, excited, “Hell, yeah!”