Page 75 of Roaring Spell

She kisses me.

Soft at first. Tender. Her hand slides from mine to cup my face, fingers tracing my jaw with the same care I showed her. The gentle rasp of calluses from her work—crystals and herbs and all the tools of her trade.

Then deeper. Her body shifts toward mine, and I pull her closer without thinking—need overriding the caution I’ve cultivated for years. She tastes like tea and determination and everything I’ve been afraid to want.

When we break apart, her eyes are bright. Her breathing uneven. Her magic hums against my skin, warm and electric, reaching for me the way it has since the beginning.

“You feel plenty,” she whispers. “Anyone who thinks otherwise hasn’t been paying attention.”

“You’ve been paying attention.”

“From the beginning.” She traces my bottom lip with her thumb, and I have to fight the urge to pull her into my lap. “The steady bear who shows up every morning with coffee. Who arrived at my door the morning after my studio was destroyed before I’d even asked. Who writes poetry about storms he wants to hold. Who threw himself in front of a magical explosion without hesitation.” Her voice softens. “You’re not unfeeling, Torin. You’re the opposite. You feel so much you had to build walls to contain it all.”

“You see too much.”

“I see exactly enough.” She kisses me again—quick, fierce, a promise and a demand. “When this is over—when Valesh is caught and the siphons are destroyed and the town is safe—I want more than kissing.”

My blood heats. Pools low in my body. “Define more.”

“Everything.” Her eyes hold mine, fearless despite the vulnerability in them. “I want everything. With you. If you want that too.”

“I want that too.” The words come out rough. Desperate. “I’ve wanted that since I saw you arguing with crystals in your shop and creating indoor rain. Before I knew you were my—” I stop myself. Not ready to say that word. Not yet.

But she hears it anyway. “Your what?”

“My reckless choice.” I brush my lips against hers. “My beautiful disaster. My storm.”

“That’s from your poetry.”

“Everything’s from my poetry now. You’ve ruined me for normal conversation.”

She laughs against my mouth. The sound is sunshine and rain and every weather pattern I’ve learned to read on her face.

“Then we have a plan.”

“A very good plan.”

The archive wards spike.

We break apart in an instant—instinct overriding desire.

“Someone’s outside.” Sakura’s power crackles at her fingertips. “The archive wards detected⁠—”

I’m already moving toward the stairs. Up through the apothecary, passing Anouk on her way to investigate. Out the back door into the misty evening.

The street is empty. The mist roils with agitation, disturbed by a presence that’s already fled.

But I catch the fading trace of magic. Someone was here. Watching. Waiting.

Anouk says, “Valesh’s people. Or Valesh herself.”

I search for ten minutes. Find nothing. By the time I return, Sakura is standing in the doorway with Anouk, arms wrapped around herself.

“They’re gone?”

“Whoever they were. They know we’re investigating. They’re monitoring our movements.”

“Wonderful.” She exhales. “Romantic evening ruined by sinister stalking. Very on brand for my life.”