Page 57 of Alpha Charmed

“Still in containment. Neither has given us anything useful—Preserver conditioning runs deep. But their identification of ‘the Severing’ before they went silent is now part of the formal evidence record. It corroborates everything Chione told us.”

“What did the others say? Torin?”

“Torin suggested patience. Watching for an opening, letting her make the first move.” Caius’s lips twitch. “Then he wrote a poem about it. Something about ‘the strike of justice, held in careful paw.’ Aslan threw a coaster at him.”

He releases me, moving to examine the organized chaos of my workbench with evident curiosity. “Rhodes has started a new file specifically for this situation. ‘Operation Council Cleansing,’ he’s calling it.”

“That’s ominous.”

“That’s Rhodes. He named his breakfast documentation system ‘Operation Morning Fuel Optimization.’ The man categorizes everything.” He picks up a page from Mathilda’s personal calendar—one of the copies I made before the funeral. “What is this?”

“Evidence collection. I pulled everything I have on Mathilda’s final weeks—visitor logs, purchase records, council attendance, the coven dispensary requisition logs. Looking for patterns.”

“Find any?”

“Several.” I gesture toward the spread of documents. “Mathilda met with Cordelia privately the day before she died. The meeting isn’t in the official records, but Mathilda’s personal calendar notes it. ‘Tea with C—urgent.’”

“Tea.”

“Cordelia’s method of choice. She’s been bringing elders ‘comforting tea’ for decades. Everyone thinks it’s sweet.” My voice hardens. “Mathilda probably didn’t taste anything wrong until it was too late.”

Caius is quiet for a moment, studying the papers with the focused intensity of a predator analyzing terrain.

“Tomorrow’s council meeting is a trap.” His voice is certain. “She’s going to try to discredit you publicly. Make the accusation formal, force a leadership vote. If she wins⁠—”

“If she wins, she consolidates power. Redirects any investigation into the Preservers. Continues operating exactly as she has for decades.” I meet his gaze. “She’s not going to win.”

“No.” He moves back to my side, his hand finding the curve of my waist with easy familiarity. “She’s not.”

The message from Elio arrives just after midnight.

Caius reads it aloud while I brew yet another pot of tea—actual tea this time, with no poison and no manipulation, just chamomile and exhaustion and the need for something warm.

“‘Cordelia made contact with three unknown individuals tonight. All arrived in Mistvale within the past week. All have magical signatures consistent with Preserver training.’” He looks up from the paper. “She’s bringing reinforcements.”

“Or witnesses.” I pour tea with hands that don’t quite shake. “People to vouch for her character when she makes her accusations.”

“Torin thinks she’s planning more than accusations.” Caius accepts the cup I offer, his fingers brushing mine. “She’s cornered. The claiming destabilized her position, and the mountain ambush failed. Tomorrow might be her last chance to salvage her operation.”

“What do the rest of the alphas suggest?”

“Being ready for anything.” His smile is grim. “Torin is stationing bears near the council chamber. Aslan has tigers covering the town exits. Elio’s panthers are watching Cordelia’s movements around the clock.”

The apothecary settles into silence around us. Moonlight filters through the windows, catching on glass bottles and copper fixtures.

“When this is over—” he starts.

“Don’t.” I squeeze his fingers. “Don’t talk about ‘when this is over.’ Talk about now. Talk about us.”

“Us.” He says it like he’s tasting something he wants to keep. He pulls me closer, settling me between his thighs, his arms wrapping around my waist. “I’ve been wanting to talk about us for longer than I should admit.”

“Then stop waiting and talk.”

So he does.

He tells me about watching me from across council rooms—the way I commanded attention without demanding it, the way my voice cut through arguments with precision, the way my magic sparked when I was angry and he found it devastatingly attractive instead of alarming.

He tells me about the years between us—the ones I was too frightened to see.