Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Eight
POV Silas:

Chapter 48

The cool breeze coming off the water carried the sharp, clean scent of pine and oncoming dusk, cutting through the heavy tension that had settled deep into my bones over the last three weeks. I stood at the edge of the wooden dock, the soles of my boots pressing against the damp, weathered planks as I watched the dark river lap rhythmically against the support posts. It was the first time since we crossed the border that I didn’t feel the phantom itch between my shoulder blades—the constant, exhausting paranoia that we were being actively hunted. For the first time in what felt like centuries, the air didn’t taste like copper and imminent bloodshed.

We needed this. She needed this.

I ran a heavy hand through my hair, gripping the back of my neck as a fierce, protective anger rolled through my chest. Anne had spent so long carrying the weight of the world on her fragile shoulders, burning her own spirit to ash just to keep everyone else warm and safe. The poor thing had spent her entire life running on survival instincts, with absolutely no one stopping to care for her while she was busy trying to save everyone else. My ancient, possessive Fae instincts roared down deep in my chest—a driving, primal demand to shield her from the harshness of the world, to pull her into the safety of a court I could no longer return to, and to lock the gates against anyone who had ever made her bleed.

The secret of the bond was clawing at my throat, suffocating me. Every time she looked at me with those wide, trusting eyes, the magic beneath my skin hummed in recognition, a golden thread tying my soul directly to hers. It was getting harder to breathe around it. It was getting impossible to ignore.

"Fuck whatever happens," I muttered into the empty twilight, my jaw tightening as I stared across the endless ripples of the river. "If she's who the goddess has sent me, then I'll worship her and take no one else."

The vow felt heavy, absolute, and entirely right. Turning on my heel, I walked back up the narrow dirt path toward the cabin, each step feeling lighter than the last as the decision finally locked into place. I pushed the heavy wooden door open, and her scent hit me instantly—sweet, grounded, like rain-damp earth and wild clover, entirely intoxicating to my Fae senses.

Anne was in the middle of the small, dimly lit kitchen. Instead of resting like I had explicitly told her to, she was hunched over the counter, aggressively wiping down the wooden surface with a damp cloth. Her dark hair was pulled up in a loose, messy knot, though a few stubborn, curly strands had escaped to frame the slender curve of her neck. She looked so small against the rustic, shadow-draped backdrop of the cabin, her shoulders slightly hunched with a lingering fatigue she was clearly trying to fight off. She was a little worn around the edges from the brutal miles of the road, but to me, in that quiet evening light, she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

"You know," I said, leaning my shoulder against the doorframe and crossing my arms over my chest, letting a slow smirk tug at my lips, "I distinctly remember telling you to rest the moment we got here. Are your psychic ears failing you, or do you just have a pathological problem with authority?"

Anne paused mid-wipe, her shoulders freezing before she tossed the cloth onto the counter. She turned around to face me, her hazel eyes sparking with that sharp, defiant light I had come to crave. "I have a problem with your authority, mostly. And someone has to make sure we don't catch some ancient disease from the dust in here. It’s a mess."

"My magic keeps out dust, too," I teased, stepping away from the frame and taking a slow, deliberate step toward her. The floorboards groaned faintly beneath my weight, but my eyes never left hers. "And for the record, back home, I’m used to people doing exactly what I say without the attitude."

"Well, you're a long way from your realm, big guy. Out here in the woods, your fancy Fae titles don't scare me." She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, tilting her chin up to challenge me. But the quick, shallow rise and fall of her breath and the soft blush creeping up her cheeks gave away how much my proximity was actually affecting her.

"Good. I like you better when you're stubborn," I said, stopping just a foot away from her. The warmth radiating from her body was a magnet, pulling at the wild edges of my magic. I reached out, my hands finding the curve of her waist. Her skin jumped slightly under my palms, but she didn’t pull away. I gently guided her backward toward one of the heavy wooden chairs by the small dining table. "But right now, you're sitting. My orders."

She let out a dramatic huff, rolling her eyes, but finally let herself sink into the chair. She rested her elbows on the table, watching me with a curious, guarded glance as I turned my back to her. "And what exactly are you going to do about it?"

"I'm making a picnic," I said, turning toward the pantry and pulling out the heavy wicker basket Shane had left fully stocked for us. "We're eating by the river. No arguments."

It took me twenty minutes to gather the food, a bottle of wine, and a thick, wool blanket. By the time we walked down to the edge of the bank, the sun had completely dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in deep, bruised shades of violet and midnight blue. The air was turning crisp, carrying the cool dampness of the water, but having her sitting close to me on the blanket was like sitting next to a furnace. I watched her eat, noting the way the tension slowly drained from her jaw with every sip of wine, the way she finally leaned back against the trunk of an old willow tree and let out a long, quiet sigh.

My own eyes lingered on the half-empty wine bottle. A familiar, dark itch scraped at the back of my mind, demanding a heavier burn than a simple vintage could offer. I forced my gaze away. I couldn't afford to drown myself in a bottle tonight—not when she was finally opening up.

"Why the riverside, Silas?" she asked softly, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. "Aside from the obvious 'Alpha dictates the scenery' rule."

"Fae," I corrected gently, a small smile tugging at my lips. I kept the word light, hiding the bitter weight of the other title I carried—Prince. A royal exile, a crown prince of nothing but ash and regrets, hiding out in the mortal realm. She didn't know the truth of what I was running from. "And because running on survival mode makes a person forget what peace tastes like. I wanted to give you a moment where you didn't have to look over your shoulder."

Her expression softened, a shadow passing over her hazel eyes. "It’s a strange feeling. I haven't really had a place to just... breathe. Not since I ran away from my mother."

I shifted, turning my full attention to her. We had both crossed paths with Isolde briefly before, and the mere memory of that vile, calculating woman made my blood run cold. "Isolde. I still remember the foul taste of her court. You don't talk about her often."

"Because there isn't much to say that doesn't sound like a nightmare," Anne said, her voice dropping, matching the quiet murmur of the river. "She didn't see children, Silas. She saw vessels. Power to be cultivated, harvested, or traded. I stayed because I didn't know any better, until the night I watched her with one of the older girls in the coven."

A chill that had nothing to do with the night air swept over the bank. I waited, keeping my breathing steady so she wouldn't lock up.

"The girl had crossed her," Anne whispered, her gaze fixed on the dark water. "I hid in the shadows of the ritual room. I watched her die, Silas. I watched my mother literally drain the magic out of her, pulling it from her veins until she was nothing but a hollow, lifeless shell. Isolde breathed it in like it was oxygen. In that second, I knew. I knew I was next if I didn't give her exactly what she wanted, or if my psychic gifts didn't develop the way she demanded."

My jaw clenched so hard the muscle violently ticked. Images flashed through my mind—not just of Isolde, but of the bloody ballroom in the Fae realm. Of Draco’s sister, my first wife, lying dead by my hands. The act that had sent Draco hunting me across realms, thirsting for a vengeance I rightfully deserved. Anne didn't know about the blood on my hands, or that I was supposed to be a married man. She didn't know that when we first met, I was a desperate, blacked-out drunk, so drowned in spirits to forget my crimes that when she literally fell out of the sky into my lap, my first wretched instinct was to kidnap her. I had planned to sell her off, to pay off my mounting debts just so I could afford enough black market magic to keep myself hidden from Draco forever.

Instead, she had saved me from myself.

"So you ran," I said, my voice thick as I forced the ghosts back into their graves.

"I ran that very night. No shoes, no plan. Just pure terror," she said, a faint, bittersweet smile touching her lips. "I ended up in the deep woods, freezing and half-starved. That's where Hilda found me. She brought me to the Witches of the Wood. They took me in, fed me, hid me from Isolde's trackers, and gave me a real coven. A family. That’s why I have to protect them now. They are the only reason I'm alive."

She looked up at me, the vulnerability in her eyes staggering. "I know you don't really understand witch matters, Silas. Our magic is different, our politics are messy, and it’s not your fight."

"I don't need to understand witch matters to know how to swing a blade, Anne," I replied, my voice rough with an absolute certainty. I reached over, my fingers brushing against hers on the blanket. "And I don't give a damn about coven politics. But I care about you. If they matter to you, they matter to me. I'll help you pull them out of whatever fire they're in."

Anne looked down at our hands, her bottom lip trembling just a fraction before she caught it. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she looked back up at me. "Then I'm officially asking, Silas. No more pride, no more trying to do this alone. Will you help me save them?"

"Always," I promised, the word a heavy, unbreakable vow between us. "You only ever had to ask."

A soft, watery laugh escaped her, and she wiped at her eye. "Thank you. Now, let me show you something a little less depressing. A bit of the magic Hilda taught me."

Anne held out her right hand, her palm flat and facing the open sky. I watched her, entirely mesmerized, as she closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath through her nose. I braced myself, expecting the heavy, draining pressure of the psychic energy that usually left her pale and trembling after a vision. But it didn't come. Instead, a faint, warm light began to gather at the center of her palm. It wasn't fire—it lacked the destructive heat—but rather a soft, ethereal luminescence that pulsed gently, perfectly in time with the steady thud of her heart.

Within seconds, the brush and tall grass around the riverbank seemed to awaken in response to her call. Dozens—then hundreds—of tiny green lights began to rise from the earth, drawn toward the sweet, pure magic radiating from her hand. They swirled upward into the cool air, creating a slow, breathtaking constellation of living stars that illuminated the dark woods in a brilliant, flickering glow.

The golden light danced across the delicate planes of her face, catching the sudden, genuine curve of her smile and the brightness trapped in her eyes. It was a pure, raw kind of earth magic that even the high sorcerers of my own realm couldn't replicate with all their glamours. For a moment, I completely forgot how to breathe. The sheer sight of her, surrounded by a crown of light, shattered the last of my defenses.

"Beautiful," I murmured, the word slipping past my lips before I could stop it.

Anne turned her head toward me, her smile widening as she looked at me through the swirling canopy of fireflies. "The lights? They're amazing out here, aren't they?"

"No," I said, a slow, familiar smirk returning to my face as the heavy emotional fog began to lift. "I was actually talking about myself in this lighting, but I suppose the bugs are a close second."

Anne choked on a laugh, a brilliant, theatrical eye-roll rewriting the lines of her face as she shook her head. "You are absolutely insufferable, you know that?"

"Insufferable, maybe," I murmured, shifting on the blanket and leaning over until the space between us evaporated entirely. My gaze dropped significantly to the soft curve of her lips before rising back to meet her wide, breathless eyes. "But I notice you haven't moved away."

I didn't wait for her to come up with a witty retort. I reached up, my large, calloused hand cupping the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in the loose strands of her hair as my thumb traced the soft line of her jaw. I pulled her in slowly, giving her every opportunity to stop me, but she only leaned forward, her eyes fluttering shut.

When my lips finally met hers, the swirling fireflies around us seemed to blur into a beautiful haze of gold. The kiss was slow at first, deep and entirely reverent—a silent, solemn vow of everything I hadn't yet put into words, a promise of protection, of devotion, of a future I was ready to tear the world apart to give her. Anne let out a soft, trembling sigh against my mouth and that was my undoing, I deepened the kiss demanding more just as she was. Her hands moving up to grip the front of my shirt, her fingers tightening in the fabric as she pulled me closer, erasing every remaining inch of space until she was completely enveloped in my warmth. And in that moment, under the cover of the woods, she was entirely mine. I was never giving her up either.