Chapter 25 The Contract
Aurora:
I should have known the knock on the door meant trouble.
Nothing good ever starts with a knock at midnight.
The twins were asleep, cartoons still flickering softly on the TV, the apartment finally quiet enough to hear myself breathe.
Then three measured taps shattered it all.
I froze halfway between the couch and the hallway.
Another knock, firm, patient, too deliberate to be a neighbor.
I didn’t need to look through the peephole to know who it was.
My heart was already betraying me, thundering in rhythm to a heartbeat that wasn’t mine.
I opened the door anyway.
Levi stood there, rain dripping from his hair, the collar of his black coat turned up against the wind. His presence filled the doorway like a storm too large for the frame.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I found my voice. “You have some nerve.”
His eyes softened, gold flickering beneath the gray. “I know.”
I almost slammed the door right there, but his hand caught it.
Not rough. Just unyielding.
“Please,” he said quietly. “Hear me out.”
Something in his tone, tired, raw, stopped me. Against every sane instinct I had left, I stepped aside.
He didn’t move past the threshold. Always the soldier, always calculating distance.
The scent of rain and smoke filled the space between us.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said. “The kids...”
“They’re safe,” he interrupted gently. “I made sure of it.”
My stomach twisted. “You made sure? What does that even mean?”
He exhaled. “Aurora, there’s something you need to know.”
“I already know everything I need to, that you lied, that you left, that you think showing up again fixes any of it.”
“This isn’t about us,” he said. “It’s about them.”
That stopped me cold.
He reached into his coat and slid a folded piece of paper onto the counter. “Read it.”
I didn’t move. “What is it?”
“A list,” he said. “Names of Council trackers. Three of them were spotted outside this building tonight.”
For a second, the room tilted. “Council? You mean your people?”
He nodded. “They’re not my people anymore.”
“You’re saying your Council is hunting us? Why? What could they possibly want with me?”
“With you,” he said quietly, “everything.”
I laughed, harsh, disbelieving. “You don’t actually expect me to believe this supernatural conspiracy nonsense again.”
He stepped closer. “You still have the mark.”
Instinctively, my hand went to the spot beneath my collarbone. “It’s a scar.”
“It’s not,” he murmured. “It’s a seal. You were never supposed to survive the rejection. When you did, it changed everything. You became something they don’t understand, something they fear.”
I shook my head, backing away. “Stop. Just stop.”
“Aurora...”
“No! You show up after four years, you talk about magic and councils and monsters, and you think I’ll just...”
He caught my wrist, gently, grounding me. “I’m not asking you to believe me. I’m asking you to trust me long enough to keep you alive.”
The heat of his hand sent a current through me.
The bond hummed, faint but undeniable.
“Trust you?” I whispered. “You mean the man who destroyed my life?”
“I mean the man who’s still standing here trying to save it.”
The room went quiet except for the sound of rain against the windows.
He let go first.
I crossed my arms, forcing calm. “Say whatever you came to say and go.”
He hesitated, then, finally, “You need protection. Not the kind the police can offer. My kind. There’s a way to keep the Council off your trail, but it comes with rules.”
“Rules?”
“A contract.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Ninety days,” he said. “You and the twins stay under my name, my roof, my protection. After that, if the threat’s gone, you can walk away.”
I stared at him, stunned. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“And you think I’d just uproot my children, live with you, pretend the last four years didn’t happen?”
He looked at me, eyes steady. “No. I think you’ll do anything to keep them safe.”
The quiet that followed was heavier than shouting.
I wanted to slap him, to scream, to tear that certainty out of his voice, but beneath the anger was fear, and beneath the fear was the sick realization that he might be right.
“What makes you think I’d trust you with them?” I asked finally.
“Because,” he said, voice low, “you already trust me enough to listen. Because they're mine too.”
Damn him.
The bond pulsed again, a golden ache beneath my skin. I hated how it made me feel, exposed, tethered to him.
“Ninety days,” I repeated, tasting the words like poison.
He nodded. “Signed and sealed. After that, you never have to see me again.”
“And if I refuse?”
He met my gaze without blinking. “Then they’ll find you.”
The simplicity of it made me want to throw something. “You always do this, you give ultimatums, not choices.”
He took a step closer. “Because choices get people killed.”
I held his stare, searching for the lie. There wasn’t one.
Finally, I looked away. “I need time.”
“You don’t have it.”
“Then you’ll wait anyway,” I said. “Because I’m not saying yes tonight.”
Something flickered in his expression, frustration, resignation, maybe even respect.
He nodded once. “Tomorrow. Sunset. I’ll come back for your answer.”
Then he turned, hand already on the door.
I hated the part of me that didn’t want him to leave.
“Levi.”
He paused, looked back.
“If I say no,” I asked quietly, “what happens then?”
He met my eyes. “Then I keep watching from the shadows. The difference is, you won’t see me.”
And then he was gone.
I locked the door behind him and leaned against it, shaking.
The paper on the counter stared back, names, sigils, and warnings written in a language I didn’t understand.
The world I’d been pretending didn’t exist was standing on my doorstep again.
And for the first time since that night four years ago, I wasn’t sure denial could save me anymore.