Page 33 of Wicked

I laugh. “I’ll have to remember that. Flowers are less creepy than scurvy jam.”

“And jewelry,” she says. “Everyone likes jewelry.”

That is not true, but I make a mental note to get a real gift for Elise.

During the elevator ride, I use the camera on my phone to double-check my hair. I can’t remember the last time I cared about my appearance unless I was trying to lay low during a mission and something about the way I looked made me stand out. I’m surprised to realize I don’t mind the way I look. When I was younger, I hated how much my long face and smaller body made people mistake me for an omega. My sun-weathered face is more rugged and defined than it used to be. I don’t think anyone would mistake me for an omega now.

There’s something about looking at myself in the mirror and caring about my reflection that makes me feel… I don’t know. Human maybe? Like I matter? Maybe Anne is right. I’ve been so wrapped up in saving other people I haven’t allowed myself to think about stuff like this.

I navigate to previously taken photos on my phone and find the ones I took of Candlewick last night. The last one I took was of him pulling down the zipper of his jeans. A hint of black lace is visible behind his fingers.

Candlewick and I can bond, so it’s okay for me to look at these photos and yearn for him. It’s a relief to know these photos aren’t wrong.

The elevator door slides open, and I turn off my phone.

It’s time to apologize to Candlewick and convince him I can make him happy.

A second before I get to the door of Revolver’s apartment, he opens the door. He’s swapped out the robe for pajama pants and a white T-shirt.

“Candlewick is in the guest room,” he says, gesturing me inside. No “Good morning” or “Come in.”

I’ll probably have to convince Revolver I can make Candlewick happy too.

Wandering through his apartment brings back memories from last night when I fled this place to get away from all the feelings I wasn’t ready to deal with. I hope Candlewick can forgive me for that. I should have been more ready to love him the way he deserves.

I stand in front of the last door on the right and knock.

“Come in.” Even the sound of his voice is lovely. Instead of being so standoffish when we met, I should have been grateful to God and Fate for giving me such a wonderful mate. I handled this all wrong.

I open the door. Candlewick is sitting on the edge of the bed. His auburn curls are damp, and he’s wearing different clothing. The shirt only covers his chest, leaving his abdomen exposed. The shorts don’t leave much to the imagination either. I stare at him for a few long moments, unsure of what to say.

“These are the only clothes of mine David had. I left them here a few years ago,” he says.

“Oh. I didn’t mean… They’re fine. Dorian is dead.”

Not exactly the apology I wanted to lead with.

“Yeah, it was on the news. Is that why you’re here?” he asks.

I shake my head.

In the romantic films Anne’s mate likes, human alphas are always getting down on one knee to show their omegas a shiny ring. I get down on one knee and offer Candlewick the bag from Animalistic with the board game and the stew. It’s not jewelry, but it’s what I have.

“Last night, I messed up. I’m really sorry. I talked to Anne, and she thinks there’s a way we could bond with the help of a warlock. If you’re interested.”

Candlewick takes the bag warily. “You mean a spell?”

“Yeah. She offered to pay for it.”

He sets the bag on the bed. “And you’re willing to do that. What does your religion think about magic?”

It’s funny. I should have wondered about that when Anne suggested we hire a warlock, but it never crossed my mind.

“I don’t care,” I realize. Bonding to Candlewick is the right thing to do. I can feel it in my bones. There are stories in the scriptures where people use magic for evil purposes, and the bishop of the compound I grew up on told us to be wary of warlocks, but I think God would think solidifying my bond to Candlewick is a worthy reason to use magic.

Candlewick searches my face, clearly unsure if he can trust me. I don’t blame him. I haven’t given him reason to believe I’m a safe person to give his heart to.

“I won’t blame you if you don’t want to take a chance on me. I think I would need time to get to know you before I’d feel comfortable having sex with you, and I know we’re very different people. But if you give me another chance, I swear to you that I will do everything I can to make you happy.”

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