“Get a room!” someone yelled.
“We have several,” Lunaria called back. “We’re just choosing not to use them right now.”
More laughter. More cheers. The music started up again—something fast and celebratory—and the energy in the room shifted from observation to participation. Couples moved toward the dance floor. Drinks were raised. The party resumed.
“Come on.” Hux took her hand. “The guys have been saving us a spot.”
The back booth was packed.
Theo and Leo claimed the inner seats, their mates nowhere in sight—probably at the witch table on the other side of the room, gathered around Avine. Cal had squeezed his bulk into the corner. Aero sat with the studied patience of an eight-century-old dragon enduring the nonsense of youth. Beck leaned against the booth’s edge, Rosemary tucked under his arm. Wyatt heldNarla close, his panther stillness a counterpoint to her quiet warmth.
Hux stood, offering his hand to Lunaria. “Tonight is about us.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Dancing.”
“You can’t dance.”
“I know.” He led her toward the cleared space in the center of the brewery, where other couples were already swaying to the band’s slower song. “I’m going to do it anyway.”
He was terrible at dancing.Truly, spectacularly bad.
His feet found every wrong position. His rhythm bore no relationship to the actual music. He led when he should have followed and followed when he should have led and stepped on her toes at least twice in the first thirty seconds.
Lunaria didn’t care.
She let him pull her close, her arms around his neck, her head against his chest. Let him sway in something that approximated time with the music, his heart beating steady beneath her ear. Let herself be held by the man who’d chosen her when fate said he couldn’t choose anyone.
Around them, the fairy lights pulsed gently—her magic, responding to her mood, making the whole room glitter in time with their heartbeats. She hadn’t done it consciously. It just happened now, her celestial power reaching out to match her emotions.
“I love you,” he said. Low, private, meant just for her. “I’m going to keep saying it until you believe me. Until you get tired of hearing it. Until the words wear out from overuse.”
“Probably.” She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze. “Say it anyway.”
“I love you.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you.” Her temple. “I love you.” The corner of her mouth. “I love you.” Finally, properly, a kiss that tasted like beer and joy and forever.
“I love you too.” She rose on her toes, pressing closer.
The celebration wound down slowly,the way all good parties did—not with a sudden end but a gradual dispersal, couples drifting away to their homes, friends making plans for tomorrow, the energy shifting from celebration to contentment.
Hux walked Lunaria through the quiet streets of Haven Shores, their fingers intertwined, the bond humming steadily between them. The town looked different in the aftermath of the crisis—not damaged but deepened. Every building, every streetlight, every familiar corner carried the gravity of having been fought for.
“I talked to my father tonight,” he said. “Really talked. For maybe the first time ever.”
“How was it?”
“Hard.” He squeezed her hand. “Good. He apologized. I think... I think we might actually have a relationship now. The kind where we say things instead of just implying them.”
“Revolutionary.”
“For the Holts? Absolutely.” He laughed, the sound easier than it had ever been before. “Eight generations of emotional constipation, and it took a void entity to break the cycle.”
“Worth it, then.”
“Worth everything.” He stopped walking, turning to face her under a streetlight. “All of it. The curse, the battle, the centuriesof my family suffering. If the alternative was never meeting you, I’d choose this path every time.”
“That’s morbid.”
