Page 45 of Alpha Charmed

“The universe should be very concerned.” His expression softens. “How are you? Really? Beyond the political victories and the gossip network and the apparently endless stream of townspeople offering opinions?”

“I’m…” I pause, searching for the right word. “Processing.”

“Same.” He steps closer. “I just wanted to be here.”

“Why didn’t you come earlier?”

“Because you needed to handle the council meeting yourself. And because if I’d shown up during the vote, I would have done something inadvisable.” His jaw tightens. “Like challenge Cordelia to single combat for insulting my mate.”

The word ‘mate’ lands between us, heavy with meaning.

He doesn’t move away. “I didn’t plan it.”

“Neither did I.” I let my hands rest on his chest, feeling the hum of awareness where the claiming mark sits beneath his shirt. “But I’m not sorry it happened.”

“Neither am I.”

Silence stretches.

“What do we do now?” I ask.

“Now?” He steps closer. I let him. “Now we find out who killed Mathilda. We expose Cordelia. We stop the Preservers.”

“That’s the investigation. What about…” I hesitate. The word feels strange in my mouth, vulnerable in ways I’ve trained myself to avoid. “What about us?”

“Us.” The word is warm in his voice. “I’ve been circling ‘us’ for far too long. I can handle a bit longer while things settle.”

“What if I don’t want you to handle it?”

His eyes darken. The room heats another degree.

“Then you need to tell me. Clearly. So there’s no misunderstanding.”

I close the distance between us. My hands fist in his shirt. My body presses against his with a desperation I’ve spent years suppressing.

I meet his gaze. “I want this. Whatever it means. However complicated it gets.”

He kisses me.

He kisses like a man who’s been starving and finally allowed to eat. I match his intensity, my carefully constructed walls crumbling under the assault, my magic surging with joy instead of chaos.

His hands slide into my hair, loosening the updo I’d assembled this morning. Strands fall around my face. I don’t care. His mouth moves from my lips to my jaw to the claiming mark on my shoulder, and the sensation sends sparks racing through every nerve.

“That’s new.” His voice is rough, wrecked.

“I can’t help it.” I’m laughing—actually laughing, the sound foreign to my own ears. “You do things to my magic.”

“Good.” He pulls me close again, his forehead pressing against mine. “I’ve been hoping for years to see you lose that iron grip.”

“Then you should stop being so damned restrained.”

His response is another kiss—deeper this time, more thorough. His hands map the curves of my back like he’s memorizing territory. I arch into his touch, letting myself want without calculation for the first time in years.

We end up on the small sofa I keep in the corner of my workroom, tangled in each other in ways that make rational thought impossible. He’s warm and solid and real, his hands gentle despite their strength, his mouth devastating in ways I hadn’t let myself imagine.

“Stay.” The word slips out between kisses. “Tonight. Stay with me.”

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “Are you sure?”