“Is she right?”
“Completely.” Junie glanced up at him. “I should call her. Tell her to come down for the ceremony. She’s been asking to visit Haven Shores for months.”
“You’re not scared anymore?”
“Oh, I’m terrified.” She laughed, the sound watery but real. “But I’m done letting fear make my decisions for me.”
They walked out of the ruined shop into the cool evening air. The sky was streaked with orange and purple—a beautiful sunset that seemed almost absurd given the violence that had occurred. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. The gossip network was probably already spreading news of the attack—seagulls and familiars carrying word across town faster than any phone tree could manage. Tomorrow, there would be questions, statements, cleanup, insurance claims, and probably a lot of explaining to do.
Tonight, there was only this: two battered people holding each other up, walking toward a future they’d chosen.
THIRTY-SEVEN
LEO
Two weeks.
Of healing, of planning, of watching Junie rebuild her shop from the wreckage Victor had left behind. Fourteen days of waking up beside her every morning and falling asleep with her every night, of lazy breakfasts and stolen kisses and the quiet domesticity Leo had never known he wanted.
Of watching the West Coast Coalition begin the legal process of dismantling Sable Acquisitions, one shell company at a time. Of filing his coalition report at last—finding that the mating surge had been artificially amplified by Victor’s siphoning arrays, its intensity fading as the ley lines stabilized.
“Natural phenomenon,” he’d written. “Deliberately weaponized.” Of learning, when Victor’s captured lieutenants finally talked, that Haven Shores’s so-called traitor had never been a spy at all—just a struggling shopkeeper who had sold gossip without understanding what it was worth, already relocated by the time anyone thought to look.
Leo had been waiting for this moment.
The Siren’s Rest garden was transformed. Fairy lights wove through the ancient oaks, casting soft golden light across the gathering. White flowers bloomed along the stone pathways—roses, jasmine, moonflowers that only opened at dusk. The wardstones hummed with anticipation, their magic responding to the emotional energy building in the air.
Leo stood at the garden’s center, wearing a suit that cost more than most people’s cars—charcoal gray, perfectly tailored, the only concession to Haven Shores being the absence of a tie. Theo flanked him as a witness, the wolf alpha looking almost approachable in his own dark suit.
“Nervous?” Theo’s voice was pitched low, meant only for Leo’s ears.
“No.” And it was true. Leo had spent his entire adult life controlling every variable, planning for every contingency. This was the one thing he’d never planned for—and the one thing he’d never been more certain about.
“Good.” Theo’s mouth twitched. “Because she’s been ready for twenty minutes and Avine’s threatening to hex anyone who makes her wait longer.”
The gathered crowd shifted, murmuring with anticipation. Leo saw familiar faces: Beck near the back, expression carefully neutral; Dahlia clutching tissues she was already using; Cassia with her dark curls wild and her eyes suspiciously bright; Narla watching with that knowing smile that said she’d seen this coming since the beginning.
Elder Sue Tidewell sat in the front row, looking smug enough to be insufferable. She’d been taking credit for this match since the welcome dinner, never mind that she’d had nothing to do with it.
But Leo’s attention snagged on other familiar faces scattered through the crowd. His pride. They’d arrived from San Francisco three days ago—twenty-three lions who’d followed him for years without ever truly knowing him. They looked uncertain, these polished city predators in their designer clothes, standingamong wolves and witches and the cheerful chaos of Haven Shores.
He’d called them here to witness his mating. But he’d also called them here to show them what home could look like. What community could be, when you stopped trying to control it and started trying to belong to it.
The music shifted—a soft, Celtic melody that Avine had chosen—and the crowd rose.
Junie appeared at the garden’s entrance.
She was radiant. Vintage lace in ivory, fitted through the bodice and flowing to the ground. Her hair was piled in an elaborate arrangement that Glimmer had claimed as territory, the snake’s scales shifting through shades of gold that matched the fairy lights. She was crying already—silent tears tracking down her cheeks—and she’d never looked more beautiful.
Avine walked beside her, but Leo barely noticed. His entire world had narrowed to the woman approaching him, the woman who’d spilled potion on his suit and called him an uptight control freak and somehow, impossibly, become everything he never knew he needed.
She reached him. Her hand found his. Steady. Home.
The ceremony was simple by shifter standards. No elaborate rituals, no blood oaths, no ancient invocations. Two people standing before their community, making promises they intended to keep.
Elder Sue officiated—her right as the senior witch on the council, though Leo suspected she’d volunteered primarily for the bragging rights. She spoke the traditional words, blessing the union with coven magic, acknowledging the bond between species.
Then it was Leo’s turn.
