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And I tie the wards to the property instead of myself.

That way they're hers.

Not mine.

No strings.

No debt.

No fucking ownership.

I make sure of that last part.

Every ward I lay is anchored to the property itself. To Bell’s Books, Bed & Breakfast. Not to me. Not to Leeds magic. Not to the matebond humming beneath my skin like it wants to wrap itself around everything that belongs to her and call it ours.

Belinda owns the wards.

She controls them.

She can strengthen them, alter them, or rip every last fucking one of them out the second she decides she doesn't want them.

And because I am finally beginning to understand the woman I love, I put that in writing.

Every ward.

Every protection.

Every spell.

Every fucking loophole.

I list them all on thick vellum, along with instructions for how to dismantle each one. Then I sign the bottom and seal the envelope with a flicker of red magic.

No tricks.

No hidden conditions.

Nothing that gives me power over her home.

I leave the envelope on the desk in her home office and get the fuck out before I'm tempted to explain myself.

Because Megan was right.

Belinda doesn't need another person telling her what something means.

She needs the freedom to decide that for herself.

I'm outside repairing the loose stones along the side garden when I feel her.

I always fucking feel her now.

My Devil goes alert.

Mine.

I straighten slowly.

Belinda stands on the back porch with the vellum envelope in her hand.