“I need you,” she heard herself say. “Not just your resources.You.I can’t do this alone.”
His eyes met hers. And for a moment, the investigation and the curse and the looming catastrophe all faded, and there was only this—the two of them, standing in a dusty archive, choosing to face impossible odds side by side.
“You won’t have to.” His thumb traced circles on her palm. “Whatever happens, Luna. I’m staying right here.”
She kissed him.
Not his cheek this time. His mouth. The kiss she’d been wanting since the gardens, since the diner, since the moment she’d realized that running from this man was no longer an option.
He responded instantly. His free hand tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. His mouth opened against hers, and the kiss deepened, and everything else disappeared.
Heat. Want. The desperate hunger of two people who’d spent their lives starving for everything they’d been told they couldn’t have. His body was hard against hers, his grip almost bruising, and she wanted more—wanted everything—wanted to drown in him until neither of them remembered what it felt like to be alone.
But not here. Not now. Not with Deia’s evidence spread across the table, the Hollow King stirring, and a whole town counting on them to save it.
She pulled back. Her lips were swollen. Her breath came in ragged gasps. His eyes had gone fully amber, the beast very close to the surface.
“Later.” Her voice was rough. “When this is over.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He released her slowly, reluctantly, his hands sliding from her hair to her shoulders to her arms. Even that—even just his hands leaving her body—felt like loss.
You’re in so much trouble.But it was too late for warnings. Too late for running.
EIGHTEEN
HUX
The taste of her lingered on his lips as they climbed the stairs from the archives.
Lunaria’s hand was warm in his, her fingers threaded through his own, and Hux couldn’t remember the last time he’d held someone’s hand. Couldn’t remember if he ever had—not like this, not with this desperate need to stay anchored to another person.
Georgia’s revelation echoed through his mind. His father had been silenced. Had known the truth for decades and been magically forbidden from speaking it. Had watched Hux grow up aching and incomplete.
“We need to talk to him,” Lunaria said as they emerged into the evening air. “Tonight. Before anyone realizes what we’ve found.”
Hux nodded. The Holt family estate was a fifteen-minute walk from Town Hall—the same route he’d taken a thousand times, the same Victorian mansion that had never felt like home. Tonight, the walk felt like a march toward execution.
His father wasin the study when they arrived.
Isandro looked up from his desk as they entered, and emotion flickered across his weathered face. Recognition. Fear. A desperate, wordless plea that Hux had never seen before.
“Son.” The word came out hoarse. “And Ms. Reed. This is... unexpected.”
“We need to talk.” Hux heard the flatness in his own voice. The controlled calm that preceded every crisis he’d ever managed. “About Cornelius Marsh. About the binding. About what was done to this family.”
Isandro’s face went pale.
Lunaria stepped forward, the locket dangling from her fingers. “Deia Tullio made this the day before she died. It’s a death chart—a celestial record of the exact moment she was murdered. The constellation alignment points here. To this house.”
“I don’t—” Isandro’s voice cracked. “I can’t?—”
“Cornelius lived here after he married into the family. He made deals from this house. And when Deia threatened to expose him, he killed her and came home to this house.” Lunaria’s tone was gentle but relentless. “You know all of this, don’t you? You’ve known for years.”
Isandro opened his mouth to respond?—
