It’s life, with all the blank spaces removed, only the beautiful parts remaining.
And through every bite, through every peal of laughter, through every story told and retold, all I keep thinking is…
After everything we’ve overcome to get here, how could anything that feels so perfect, so right, so fuckingincrediblebe smashed to bits by a curse without a cure?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
WESTLYN
As we gather in the study for post-pigout cocktails, the crackling fire replaces the boisterous conversation from the dinner table, and the mood inevitably shifts.
After the amazing meal we just shared, I know none of us means for it to happen. It just does.
Because no matter how much laughter we fill up the manor with, no matter how many wild stories we tell, no matter how many dreams we share… Deep down, everyone in this room knows the bitter truth.
Our time togetherdoeshave an expiration date. And the sweeter our nights of revelry and joy, the heavier and more painful our inescapable truth becomes.
Curled up on the leather sofa with Jude, I lean back against his outstretched arm and close my eyes, fighting back tears.
Against the craziest odds, we defeated our enemies. We destroyed a vicious fae tyrant who’d murdered his own people for a shot at power. We vanquished a prince of hell, a demon army, and an evil coven of shadow mages who would’ve gladly ushered in an age of terror on earth.
And after all that, we made it back home alive with our new witch allies.
By all rights, tonight should be the happiest of my life—the happiest of all our lives.
Yet now, in the peaceful aftermath of all we’ve accomplished, all I feel is dread.
I don’t want any credit for what we did. I don’t want fame or glory or riches, or some magical crown bestowed upon me like a hero in some ancient fairy tale. Hell, I don’t even want a dinky little trophy to display on my bookshelf with a plaque that says #1 Witch.
I just want achance. A fucking chance to save the men I love from eternal damnation. A chance for us to build a life together—a life filled with laughter and love and delicious meals and wild sex and walks through the orchard and late-night fires and stiff drinks and apple muffins and road trips and just…Goddess. All of it. I want all of it. All those crazy, boring, exciting, amazing, terrifying, beautiful things that make life on this crazy planet so damn magical.
But with every breath I take, that chance slips further out of reach.
“What’s got you so quiet all of a sudden, scarecrow?” Jude brushes a kiss to my temple, his voice soft and full of concern. “What are you thinking about?”
I suspect he already knows the answer. We’re all thinking about it. Feeling it.
The ticking clock looms large.
Snuggling in close, I rest my cheek against his chest and close my eyes.
“Time,” I whisper. The one word that comes closest to encapsulating it.
When we were waiting out the storm in Wintermoon, Draegan told me that time itself was the cruelest monster he’d ever endured. That after his long immortal life, all he wanted now was just a little bit more of it.
But he couldn’t have it—the curse made sure of that.
Never have I understood his words more deeply than I do tonight.
Because if I had just a little bit more time, I could keep working with Tatiana, Laney, and Fleur on a spell—maybe not the Spell of Unmaking, but a different one. An as-yet undiscovered one.
If I had just a little bit more time, maybe Rook and I could uncover something in the occult or seminary databases that would unlock whatever part of my magic I’d need to cast it properly.
If I had just a little bit more time, I could somehow—somehow—go back through all the lore, the legends, the prophecy, my mother’s diaries, Verrick’s mysterious half-truths, and finally connect all the dots on out how to break this terrible curse—a curse he tied to his immortal bloodline to ensure itcouldn’tbe broken.
Not unless our line ended.
He’s gone now, but I remain, ensuring my gargoyles… cannot.
