Hux didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his father in a hug—the first real one in years, maybe decades. The Holt men didn’t embrace.They shook hands, clapped shoulders, maintained distance even in moments of affection.
That ended now.
“We survived,” Hux said, his voice rough. “Both of us. That’s what matters.”
“I love you.” The words sounded strange in Isandro’s voice—unfamiliar, unpracticed.
“We have time now.” Hux stepped back, meeting his father’s gaze. “All the time we need.”
Isandro laughed—a wet, broken sound. “Your witch. She’s... she’s good for you.”
“She’s everything for me.”
“I know.” His father squeezed his shoulder. “I can see it. The way you look at her. The way you’ve changed.” He paused. “You look full, Hux. Like something that was barren has been filled.”
Because it did. Because she filled it.
The bond pulsed warm in his chest. She was close—closer than before, moving through town toward the brewery. He could feel her anticipation, her slightly nervous energy, her underlying contentment.
“Go,” Isandro said, following his gaze. “She’s on her way. You’ll want to be there when she arrives.”
“How do you?—”
“I may not have had a fated mate, but I know what a claimed man looks like.” His father’s smile was genuinely warm. “Go greet your witch, son. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
FORTY-TWO
LUNARIA
Lunaria arrived like starlight through a doorway.
The crowd parted for her instinctively—not out of fear but out of recognition. Word had spread about what she’d done. The celestial witch who’d weaponized love itself, who’d channeled an entire community’s bonds into a beam of pure belonging and used it to starve an ancient evil.
She’d become something like a legend in the week since the battle. People whispered her name with something close to reverence. Children pointed at her in the street.
She hated it, Hux knew. She hadn’t done it for recognition. She’d done it because Haven Shores belonged to her now, and you protected what was yours.
She ignored the attention, scanning the crowded brewery until her gaze found his. Her whole face changed—softened, brightened, became the expression she only wore for him.
He crossed the room to meet her. Caught her around the waist, drew her against him. She fit there perfectly.
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” Her grin was infectious. “Miss me?”
“You were gone two hours.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes.” He bent to brush his lips against her temple. “I missed you. I miss you every time you’re more than ten feet away. It’s becoming a problem.”
“Sounds like ayouproblem.”
“Definitely a me problem.” He kissed her properly then—not the desperate claiming of a week ago or the triumphant kiss in the aftermath of battle. Just... joy. Just belonging. Just two people who’d chosen each other, celebrating that choice in front of everyone they knew.
The crowd cheered. Somewhere in the back, Delos wolf-whistled. Leo shouted something crude that was quickly muffled by what sounded like Junie’s hand over his mouth.
Sue Tidewell made a note in her ever-present notebook.
