I had a mystery to solve, my aunt—no, my mother—to avenge, a flower shop to run.
And I had Owen.
I closed my eyes and let that sink in.My life had changed so drastically in the last few weeks it was hard to fathom—but I realized, with a strange calm, that I could accept it.Even the parts that had made me want to run.
The Crossroads had chosen me.The grimoire had chosen me.
And, it seemed, Owen had chosen me too.
Deep in my chest, something stirred.Emotion—yes.But something else.Something sharper, brighter.
My eyes flew open.
Magic.
It was magic inside me.
And it wasn’t alone.
Next to me, it sensed Owen’s druid magic—recognizing it the way the Sun Disk had recognized my touch.The way the grimoire warmed like it knew my name.
I turned my head to look at him.
His eyes were open.He was awake, watching me.
“You feel it,” he said, voice rough with sleep.
“Yes,” I whispered.
The magic in me reached toward him like it had at Neon Cowboy when we danced—like it couldn’t help itself.
“Why does it… do that?”I asked.
“Magic calls to magic.”He nuzzled my neck.“It means you fit me.”
He planted one featherlight kiss against my skin.
“It means you’re mine.”
Oh.
Oh.
“It’s too early for you to be this romantic, McAllister.”
He chuckled against my throat.“It’s never too early for that, missy.”
And then he wrapped me closer like he had no intention of letting go.
Maybe it was the magic humming between us making me dizzy.Or the fact that he’d brought me to his cottage, handed me clean clothes—his—and let me shower off the stench of the Crossroads.Or the way his leg slid over mine and we were still tangled together like we belonged that way.
Whatever the reason, the feeling rose in me—hot and unsteady—threatening to spill over.
“Owen?”I asked quietly.
“Mmm?”
“I…” The words died.
