Two warnings now. His father’s cryptic concern. Aero’s ancient caution. Both pointing toward Lunaria Reed and whatever she was about to uncover.
Outside, the night air was cool against his skin. Salt and pine and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs. Haven Shores at night, peaceful and sleeping, unaware of whatever dark things might be stirring beneath its surface.
Hux walked to his car and sat behind the wheel without starting the engine.
And now there was a witch in his town with bright eyes and a mouth that seemed designed specifically to drive him insane. A witch whose star-blooming flowers had started sprouting across the dead gardens as if they were reaching for something.
For her.
The way his lion was reaching.
Mine.
He started the car.
His assistant had lefta stack of messages on his desk. Building permits, zoning disputes, a strongly worded letter from the Continental Council about Haven Shores’s “unprecedented accumulation of mated pairs.” Standard mayoral business.
And at the bottom of the stack, a handwritten note on paper that smelled faintly of night-blooming jasmine.
Mayor Clipboard?—
Found a discovery in the gardens. Meet me at the pavilion tonight, 8 PM. Bring your skepticism and your nice shoulders.
—L
Hux stared at the note.
His lion roared with what could only be described as triumph.
NINE
LUNARIA
The moonflower came back first.
Lunaria had her hands buried wrist-deep in soil when she felt it—a thin thread of green life pressing upward through compacted earth, reaching toward the pale morning light. She held her breath, feeding the thread a careful pulse of celestial energy. Not too much. Just enough.
The stem broke the surface and unfurled in a long, slow exhale.
There you are.
She knelt in what had once been the Entry Gardens, the earth practically vibrating beneath her fingers. Power thrummed up through her palms, into her arms, settling somewhere behind her sternum. The gardens weren’t just responding to her magic—they were drinking it. Absorbing every drop of celestial energy she could spare and begging for more.
Easy. She pulled back slightly, rationing her power. I can’t restore you if I’m passed out in the dirt.
The soil seemed to shiver with disappointment.
Around her, evidence of the past week’s progress spread in every direction. Pathways that had been choked with invasive weeds now lay clear, the ancient stones gleaming pale in themorning light. Flower beds that had been tangles of dead vines now sprouted with life—moonflowers unfurling their pale petals, constellation orchids stretching toward the sky, sun-roses tracking the dawn with botanical determination.
The Celestial Pavilion emerged more fully each day, its cocoon of overgrowth falling away to reveal intricate stonework carved with star patterns. Lunaria had spent an hour yesterday tracing the constellations etched into the pillars. Whoever had built this place had understood the heavens in ways that made her own knowledge feel like a child’s scribbling.
She sat back on her heels, wiping dirt from her cheek. Her muscles ached. Her magic reserves felt scraped thin. She hadn’t slept properly in days, hadn’t eaten a real meal since?—
Since you left that note on his desk like a lovesick teenager.
She shoved the thought away. The note had been practical. Straightforward. She’d found a discovery, and as mayor, he had a right to know about developments in a significant municipal project.
The fact that she’d mentioned his shoulders was... well. A minor lapse in judgment.
