The Siren’sRest was exactly the kind of place Lunaria had spent years avoiding.
Warm. Welcoming. A bed-and-breakfast that invited you to stay for a cup of tea, and before you knew it, you’d been there for hours, spilling secrets you’d sworn to keep locked away. The building itself seemed to radiate hospitality, perched on a hillside overlooking the harbor, its windows glowing with lamplight in the gathering dusk.
“Avine’s suite is on the top floor,” Junie said, practically dragging her up the stairs. “She hosts Girls’ Night every week. Wine, snacks, emotional support. Sometimes crying. Frequently yelling. It’s great.”
“You’re really selling it.”
“Just wait. You’ll love them. They’ll love you. It’ll be disgustingly wholesome.”
The door at the top of the stairs was already open, spilling light and laughter into the hallway. Lunaria caught the scent of wine and baked goods—pastries, or fresh bread—and underneath it, the unmistakable hum of gathered magic. Multiple witches in one room, their powers resonating against each other in frequencies only another witch could sense.
A woman appeared in the doorway before they reached it. Dark hair, kind face, an aura of warmth that seemed to precede her physical presence. She was already holding two glasses of wine.
“You must be Lunaria.” She pressed a glass into Lunaria’s hand before she could object. “I’m Avine. Welcome to Haven Shores. Welcome to chaos. Please come in and tell us everything.”
“Everything might take a while.”
“We have time.” Avine’s smile was infectious. “And more wine.”
The suite was comfortable in a lived-in way—mismatched furniture that somehow worked, bookshelves overflowing with everything from romance novels to magical theory texts, a large window seat piled with cushions. Three other women were already arranged around the room, watching Lunaria’s entrance with varying degrees of curiosity.
“That’s Cassia.” Junie pointed to a woman with striking features and an energy that practically crackled against Lunaria’s senses. Storm magic. Strong storm magic, barely contained beneath a veneer of composure. “She’s mated to Aero—one of the dragons. Don’t let the intensity scare you. She’s secretly a softie.”
“I am not,” Cassia said, but there was no heat in it.
“And that’s Narla.” A woman with a quieter presence, observant in a way that made Lunaria want to check her defenses. She was curled in the window seat, a glass of wine balanced on her knee, watching Lunaria with an expression that suggested she saw more than the surface. “She makes the candles. You know—the mate-revealing ones that have been causing all the chaos.”
“The chaos wasn’t my fault,” Narla said mildly. “The candles just reveal what’s already there.”
A laptop was propped on the coffee table, its screen showing a video call. A blonde woman waved from what appeared to be a Parisian apartment, a massive bear of a man visible in the background pretending to read a newspaper.
“Dahlia!” Junie bounced toward the screen. “This is my cousin. Luna, this is Dahlia. She’s back in Paris finishing her pastry residency. They came home briefly to help with Narla, then went back to Paris. That’s Cal behind her, pretending he’s not eavesdropping.”
“I’m not eavesdropping,” a deep voice rumbled from off-screen. “I’m providing moral support.”
“He’s definitely eavesdropping,” Dahlia said, her smile warm even through the screen. “Welcome to Haven Shores, Lunaria. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“All good things, I hope.”
“Mostly that you never stay anywhere longer than a season and you have commitment issues that rival Cassia’s.” Dahlia’s grin took the sting out of it. “So basically, you’ll fit right in.”
“I resent that,” Cassia said. “I’m very committed now.”
“After running away approximately six times.”
“Seven,” Avine corrected. “But who’s counting?”
Lunaria found herself deposited on a comfortable couch, wine in hand, surrounded by women who seemed determined to absorb her into their group whether she wanted it or not. It was overwhelming in a way she hadn’t prepared for. Not hostile. Not even challenging. Just... present. Insistently, warmly present.
Two hours. You agreed to two hours. You can survive two hours.
SIX
LUNARIA
“So.” Junie’s voice had taken on a particular tone—casual in a way that was anything but. “How was your meeting with Hux?”
Lunaria nearly choked on her wine.
