Page 66 of Impawssible Magic

“Then we spring it on our terms.” His jaw sets. “We don’t let her dictate the engagement.”

“That’s a terrible plan.”

“Got a better one?”

I look at the Warding Line. At Iskra, steps away from crossing. At the mist swirling around us, golden in the fading light.

“Actually.” I pull the last crystal from my pocket—the clear quartz, her talisman now, worn smooth from how often I’ve turned it over in my hand. “I might.”

I grab his hand. Press the crystal between our palms. And push.

Not sharing emotions or thoughts—we don’t have that. But through the crystal, using it as a focus, a bridge, a way to channel both our energies into something greater than either of us could manage alone.

Power surges. His and mine, intertwined through the quartz, amplifying each other in ways I don’t fully understand. The crystal blazes white-hot between our palms, energy spiraling outward.

I aim everything we have at Iskra.

The blast catches her three steps from the Warding Line. She screams—real pain, real fear—as the combined force slams into her shields. They crack. Shatter. And she goes down, thrown backward by power she never expected us to wield.

Silence.

The mist settles. The screaming stops. Somewhere behind us, I hear the sounds of the Network mopping up the remaining Preservers.

Iskra lies motionless on the ground, her dark crystal shattered beside her.

“Is she—” I can’t finish the sentence.

Aslan checks her pulse. “Unconscious. Alive.” He looks at me, eyes wide. “What did you just do?”

I look at the crystal in my hand. It’s cracked now, the energy we pushed through it more than it was designed to handle. But it worked.

“I don’t know.” The honest truth. I have no idea how I did that, or if I could do it again. “But I think I’m starting to understand what mate potential really means.”

He pulls me close. His arms wrap around me, solid and warm and real. I bury my face in his chest, breathing in his scent—woodsmoke and pine and the copper tang of blood.

“This part’s over.” His voice rumbles against my ear. “This group, at least.”

I think about Iskra’s words. About the binding she wanted to perform. About centuries of conspiracy designed to keep witches and shifters apart.

“It’s not finished.” I pull back, meeting his eyes. “This was one cell. One cluster. The Preservers are bigger than this.”

“I know.” He cups my face in his hands, thumbs brushing away tears I didn’t realize I’d shed. “But tonight? Tonight we won.”

Behind us, Caius is coordinating the cleanup with brisk efficiency. Rhodes is organizing prisoner transport, looking distinctly put-upon by the chaos of it all. Torin is checking on the wounded, his massive hands surprisingly gentle. Veren appears from nowhere, looking far too pleased with himself.

“That was spectacular,” the fox announces. “The bit with the crystal? Absolutely cinema. I’m going to be telling that story for decades.”

“Not now, Veren,” Caius growls.

“But the dramatic timing! The explosion! The⁠—”

Rhodes grabs him by the back of his shirt and physically moves him away. “Go be useful somewhere else.”

“This is me being useful! Morale is important!”

Aslan’s arm tightens around my waist. The town settles into the quiet aftermath of battle.

EIGHTEEN