Page 75 of Impawssible Magic

This is happening. This is happening.

I’m not a virgin. I’ve had sex before, despite what my two-year drought might suggest. But this feels different. This feels like more than bodies and pleasure and release.

This feels like a choice. A declaration. A step off a cliff into freefall.

I take a breath.

Open the door.

He’s waiting by the fire.

Still dressed, still controlled, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. The way his hands grip the mantle. The glow in his eyes that isn’t entirely human.

He turns when he hears me. And stops.

His gaze travels down—the shirt that shows my bare legs, my still-damp hair curling against my shoulders, my face scrubbed clean of blood and fear. I watch his throat work. Watch his hands flex against the stone.

“You look...” He stops. Breathes. “You look like you belong here.”

“In your shirt?”

“In my home.”

The words hit harder than they should. I’ve spent two years feeling like I belonged nowhere—like exile had stripped away not just my coven but my place in the world. Like I would wander rootless forever, waiting for the next betrayal to tear away whatever foundation I’d managed to build.

But standing here, in his cabin, wearing his shirt, watching firelight paint gold across his sharp features—I feel like I’ve finally stopped running.

“Come here.” My voice is steadier than I feel.

He moves toward me. Slow. Deliberate. Giving me time to change my mind.

I don’t.

When he reaches me, he stops. Waiting.

“I’m terrified.” The admission comes out quiet. Honest.

“Of me?”

“Of wanting this as much as I do.” I meet his eyes. Amber and gold, flickering with banked heat. “Of letting you in and having it be real. Of what happens if I lose you the way I lost everything else.”

“You won’t⁠—”

“You can’t promise that.” I put a finger to his lips before he can argue. “No one can promise that. Life doesn’t work that way. People leave. People die. People betray you to ancient conspiracies that wanted to destroy your entire existence.”

“Fair point.”

“But.” I move my hand from his lips to his jaw. Feel muscle flex beneath my palm. “I’m more afraid of not trying. Of spending the rest of my life wondering what we could have been. Of letting fear win because fear is comfortable and I’m tired of comfortable.”

His hand comes up to cover mine. Warm. Solid. Real.

“I let fear run my life for a long time.” His voice is rough gravel. His fingers thread through mine. “You made me want to stop.”

“That’s very romantic for a man who ripped someone’s arm off tonight.”

“I contain multitudes.”

I laugh despite everything. Despite the weight of this moment, despite the cliff I’m standing on.