CHAPTER 152
CHAPTER 152
SELENE
Three days.
Of sitting under a tree outside a witch’s cottage that looked like it had been designed by a grumpy architect with a vendetta against straight lines, while the most powerful, possessive, and annoyingly attractive vampire in existence kept me tucked against his chest like I was both his greatest treasure and his favorite security blanket.
I wasn’t complaining. Not really.
Darius’s arm was a cool, steady weight around my waist, his fingers tracing lazy, possessive circles against my hip through the fabric of my shirt.
Every so often he’d press his lips to the top of my head, inhaling like my scent was the only thing keeping him sane.
The bond hummed warmly between us, a living thread of night and wildlight that felt less like a chain and more like a heartbeat we now shared.
It should have been peaceful.
It wasn’t.
Because Roxy and Xander were approximately ten feet away, turning our forced camping trip into their own personal soap opera.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Roxy groaned dramatically, flopping onto her back in the grass.
“They’re doing it again. Xander, look! I swear to the gods, if they start humping like rabbits right here on the lawn, I’m gouging my eyes out with a spoon.”
Xander muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “lucky bastard” under his breath.
I buried my burning face deeper into Darius’s chest, my body shaking with silent laughter.
His low chuckle vibrated against my cheek.
Then the cottage window slammed open with enough force to rattle the glass.
Morgana leaned out, her silver-streaked hair a wild halo of chaos, her expression promising slow, creative violence.
“Your Royal Fucking Highness,” she snarled, voice laced with enough sarcasm to curdle milk at fifty paces.
“I swear on all that is unholy, if you so much as breathe on each other with intent to fuck on my lawn, I will personally turn your genitals into garden gnomes. Do it somewhere I can’t see you. Preferably in another, far more distant dimension.”
I pressed my face harder into Darius’s shoulder, mortified and laughing at the same time.
Darius, the absolute menace, leaned down and murmured against my hair,
“See? Even the witch knows… You’re impossible to resist.”
I elbowed him.
Weakly.
“You’re impossible.”
He just grinned, slow and smug, like he’d won some private victory.
Before I could retort, the cottage door banged open.
Morgana stepped out, apron still on, Midnight perched on her shoulder like a judgmental parrot.
She pointed one finger directly at me.
“You. Fae girl. Inside. Now.”
“What the fuck,” Darius growled, voice low and lethal.
“She has a fucking name. It’s Selene. Not ‘fae girl.’ Say it again and I’ll make sure the only thing you’re hexing for the next century is your own tongue.”
She tilted her head, eyes glittering with malicious amusement as she looked me up and down like I was an entertaining but slightly defective puppy.
“Oh, look at you,” she cooed, voice dripping with saccharine sarcasm.
“Defending your little sparkplug’s honor. How touching. How possessive. Does the big bad vampire get all growly when someone forgets his mate’s name? Adorable. Truly. I might actually tear up if I wasn’t so busy trying not to vomit from the sheer amount of testosterone poisoning the air.”
She flicked her fingers dismissively, as if my threat was no more concerning than a buzzing fly.
“Fine. Selene,” she said, deliberately drawing out the name with exaggerated sweetness,
“come inside. I want to talk to you alone.”
“No fucking way,” he snarled, voice low and dangerous. In one fluid motion he stood, pulling me up with him and tucking me firmly against his side.
“She’s not going anywhere without me.”
Morgana rolled her eyes so hard I was surprised they didn’t fall out of her head.
“Oh, calm your possessive tits, refrigerator. I’m not going to eat her. I just want to talk to the actual magical one in this circus without your brooding aura contaminating the air. Go play guard dog somewhere else for fifteen minutes.”
"No fucking..."
“It’s okay,” I said softly, my voice gentle but firm.
“I’ll be fine. She’s not going to hurt me. Not while you’re right outside, ready to storm in like a very dramatic, very jealous knight in slightly undead armor.”
Roxy, who had been sprawled in the grass pretending to be bored, sat up with a wicked grin.
“Oh, please. Let the poor girl breathe, Darius. She’s not made of glass. Besides, if Morgana tries anything funny, I’ll just set the cottage on fire."
Darius shot Roxy a withering glare that would have sent lesser immortals running. Roxy just waved cheerfully, utterly unbothered.
Morgana snorted, crossing her arms.
“See? Even the loud redhead has more sense than you. Now shoo. The adults need to talk magic, not listen to your possessive growling.”
I gave Darius’s hand one last reassuring squeeze, letting the bond carry my calm to him. The fae spark inside me pulsed warmly in response, curious rather than afraid.
“I’ll be right back. Promise.”
He searched my face for a long moment, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping.
Finally, he gave one sharp nod, though his eyes promised that if anything went wrong, Morgana would be redecorating her own lawn with her insides.
“Fifteen minutes,” he warned the witch, voice cold steel.
“That’s it. If I hear so much as a raised voice, I’m coming in. Wards or no wards.”
Morgana waved him off like he was an annoying fly.
“Yes, yes, big scary vampire,” Morgana said, waving him off like he was an annoying fly.
“Run along and loom menacingly at a tree or something. The adults need to talk.”
I heard Darius grumble under his breath as I stepped away from him, low enough that only immortal ears (and apparently mine, through the bond) could catch it.
“Fucking bitch…”
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Through the bond, I felt his possessive irritation spike — hot and dark — before he forced it back down with visible effort.
I followed Morgana inside
The interior was exactly as chaotic as I’d imagined: shelves crammed with glowing jars, dried herbs hanging from the rafters like strange chandeliers, and books that looked older than most kingdoms.
The air smelled of sage, old paper, and something sharp and electric.
Morgana kicked the door shut with her heel and turned to face me, arms crossed over her stained apron.
“Sit,” she ordered, pointing at a stool that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of very judgmental oak.
I sat.
Morgana studied me for a long moment, her emerald eyes sharp and assessing.
Then she sighed, rubbing her temples like I was personally responsible for every headache she’d ever had.
“Right... Show me some fae magic.”
I blinked.
“I… only just found out I’m part fae. I’m not sure how it works yet.”
Morgana stared at me.
Then she rolled her eyes so hard I heard them click.
“Of course..” she muttered.
“Because why would the universe give me a competent fae? No, it had to send me the baby spark who thinks magic is something you figure out by reading the instruction manual. Wonderful.”
Morgana pinched the bridge of her nose like I was personally responsible for every migraine she’d ever suffered in her long, cranky life.
“It’s fucking proven — witches have better magic than fae,” she declared, voice dripping with theatrical superiority. “We actually study. We write things down. We keep grimoires. We have systems. We don’t just prance around in the moonlight singing to flowers, hoping the universe doesn’t smite us for bad vibes and questionable life choices. Faeries are basically glorified glitter bombs with trust issues. One bad mood and poof — entire kingdom turns into a haunted forest because someone looked at a daisy wrong. Pathetic.”
She gestured wildly at the shelves around us, filled with neatly labeled jars and ancient tomes that looked like they might bite if you opened them wrong.
“Meanwhile, we witches? We document. We experiment. We have peer-reviewed curses. If a spell backfires, we know exactly which ingredient caused it and who to blame. You lot? You just vibes your way through reality and call it ‘harmony with nature.’ Harmony my ass. Nature’s probably filing a restraining order against half the fae bloodlines still left.”
I couldn’t help the sarcastic little laugh that escaped me.
“Wow. Tell me how you really feel.”
Morgana shot me a look that could wither steel.
“I just did. And I have footnotes. Now watch this”
She snapped her fingers with a casual flick, like she was swatting a fly rather than performing magic.
The small, withered potted plant on the windowsill suddenly perked up. Its drooping leaves unfurled with a soft rustle, turning a vibrant green as if it had just remembered it was supposed to be alive instead of pretending to be a sad salad.
“Wow,” I breathed, genuinely impressed.
“That was amazing.”
Morgana preened, lifting her chin with exaggerated superiority.
“I know. I’m incredible. Centuries of perfecting the craft while you fae were busy twirling in meadows and hoping the wind didn’t file a complaint. We witches actually work at this. We document. We refine. We don’t just bat our eyelashes at a daisy and pray it doesn’t explode.”
I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips, despite the the fact that she basically just insulted my kind.
“Can you help me with my powers? I barely know how any of this works yet.”
Morgana studied me for a long moment, tapping one finger against her chin. Her emerald eyes narrowed with calculating interest.
“Hmm,” she hummed, dragging the sound out like she was savoring a fine wine.
“What can you do for me in return?”
I blinked. “What do you want?”
She shrugged, the motion far too casual for someone who looked like she was already plotting world domination.
“I don’t know yet. But I’ll tell you when I think of something. Don’t worry, sparkplug. I’m sure it’ll be perfectly reasonable. Nothing too soul-crushing. Probably.”
Great, I thought sarcastically. Why did I just agree to that? She could demand my firstborn, my left kidney, or worst of all — make me listen to one of her hour-long rants about how witches are superior while I nod politely. This is going to bite me in the ass so hard.
Morgana pointed at another plant on the far shelf — this one even more pathetic, a spindly thing with yellowed leaves that looked like it had given up on life sometime last century.
“Concentrate on that one,” she ordered.
...
Selene POV
\---
Morgana pointed at another plant on the far shelf — this one even more pathetic, a spindly thing with yellowed leaves that looked like it had given up on life sometime last century and was now just waiting for the sweet release of compost.
“Concentrate on that one,” she ordered, jabbing a finger at it like it had personally offended her.
I nodded, trying to look more confident than I felt. The spark inside me was humming with nervous energy, like it knew it was about to be put on the spot and wasn’t sure it wanted the attention.
Morgana crossed her arms, watching me with that sharp, expectant stare. “The reputation of all fae left in existence is riding on this, sparkplug. So try not to embarrass the entire species. We don’t need the last living fae bloodline proving that your people really were just glitter and bad decisions wrapped in flower crowns.”
I shot her a dry look. “No pressure then.”
“None at all,” she replied sweetly.
“Just the weight of every fae who ever sang to a tree and accidentally turned it into a sentient nightmare. No big deal.”
I closed my eyes and focused on the sad little plant. The spark inside me stirred, warm and restless, but it still felt slippery — like trying to catch sunlight in my hands.
I remembered her earlier instructions: don’t force it. Don’t control it like Darius does with everything.
Let it be.