Page 70 of Roaring Spell

“We should absolutely stop.”

Neither of us moves.

His mouth finds mine again. This kiss is slower—savoring rather than desperate. His hands map the curve of my waist, my hips, like he’s memorizing the shape of me. I grip his shoulders, feeling the muscle shift beneath my palms, imagining what it would be like to feel that skin against mine without barriers.

When the town is safe. When we have time to do this properly.

But right now, in this moment, I let myself have this. Let myself want without fear. Let myself fall without trying to catch myself.

The weather outside has gone perfectly calm. No storms. No lightning. Just peaceful, settled weather that mirrors the strange new quiet inside my chest.

FOURTEEN

TORIN

Idon’t remember the walk home.

One moment, I’m locking her studio door behind me, making sure it holds. The next I’m at my own, key already in hand, the taste of her still on my mouth.

I want her here. Want her chaos and her crystals and her arguments about organizational systems. Want to wake up to her weather patterns and fall asleep to her breathing.

Want is a dangerous word for someone who’s spent years being what others need rather than asking for what he wants.

But she kissed me. Pressed against me like I was the only solid thing in a spinning world. Ran her fingers through my hair and gasped when I⁠—

Focus.

Sleep, when it finally comes, is easy. For once.

The Den is quieter than usual—mid-afternoon lull before the evening crowd arrives. Bruno nods from behind the bar, already pouring my usual before I reach the counter.

“The others are in the back. Been there an hour already.” He slides the drink across. “Fair warning—they’re in moods.”

“What kind of moods?”

“The kind that involves questions about your romantic life.”

The Stone Circle is occupied when I push through the door.

Elio is smiling.

That’s never good.

“The bear arrives.” Elio’s tone is amused. “Looking rested. Relaxed. Almost… satisfied.”

“I’m here for the meeting.”

“Of course, you are.” He gestures to my seat. “We were just discussing the remarkable weather patterns over the Hollow last night. Very unusual. Very calm.”

“The mist does strange things sometimes.”

“The mist reflects magical activity. Specifically, the emotional states of powerful witches.” Elio’s smile widens. “A witch who has been creating increasingly dramatic weather for weeks suddenly produces hours of perfect calm? That’s not the mist being strange. That’s the mist being very, very informative.”

I take my seat. Say nothing. Hope my expression reveals nothing.

Aslan laughs. “You kissed her.”

“That’s not⁠—“