Page 68 of Bewitched By the Wicked Witch
It was going to be a wonderfully wicked marriage.
Epilogue
Sage
There's something deeply satisfying about the aftermath of spectacular revenge and equally perfect reconciliation. Six months into marriage, Callum and I had settled into a routine that involved considerably more magical transportation and significantly fewer assassination attempts than our courtship period, which I considered a marked improvement in our domestic arrangements.
"Ready?" Callum asked, extending his hand as shadows gathered around us in the moonlit forest clearing. We'd just finished dismantling another Pureblood Society cell operating three towns over, and I was eager to return to the comfort of my underground lair.
"Always," I replied, taking his offered hand as my magic wrapped around us both. The familiar sensation of shadow-stepping pulled us through space and deposited us directly into my sanctum, where the warm glow of enchanted crystals immediately soothed my frayed nerves.
I winced as I moved toward the mirror, catching sight of the bruises already forming along my ribs where that particularly enthusiastic fanatic had gotten in a lucky hit before Callum introduced him to the business end of a stunning spell.
"Let me see," Callum said, his voice carrying the gentle authority he'd developed over months of tending to my post-mission injuries. His hands were careful as they traced the darkening marks, his magic automatically flowing to ease the soreness.
"It's nothing fatal," I assured him, though I couldn't quite suppress a hiss of discomfort when I tried to reach behind myself. "Just bruised dignity and a dress zipper that's apparently determined to remain permanently sealed."
"Turn around," he murmured, his fingers finding the stubborn clasp with practiced ease. "You know, for someone who insists on wearing form-fitting mission attire, you're remarkably helpless when it comes to extraction."
"That's what husbands are for," I replied with the kind of satisfied smugness that came from having successfully trapped an extraordinarily capable warlock into permanent domestic service. "Among other things."
The dress pooled at my feet, and I caught his reflection in the mirror as his gaze traced the constellation of old scars and fresh bruises that mapped my recent adventures in creative justice. His expression held the kind of reverent appreciation that never failed to make my pulse quicken.
"My magnificent wife," he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to my shoulder. "You're absolutely devastating, evenwhen you're battered and probably plotting revenge against inanimate clothing."
"The zipper had it coming," I replied, turning in his arms to face him properly. "And I'm only battered because someone insisted on charging headfirst into that warehouse instead of waiting for my perfectly reasonable plan involving strategic cursing and creative use of shadow magic."
"Your plan involved significantly more potential property damage," he pointed out, his hands settling on my waist with possessive certainty. "I was being fiscally responsible."
"How disappointingly practical of you," I murmured, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw with fingers that trembled slightly from exhaustion and the familiar stirring of desire that seemed to follow every successful mission. "Though I suppose someone has to maintain our reputation as responsible members of magical society."
"That someone being me, since you're still actively plotting the downfall of anyone who looks at you sideways," he said with fond exasperation, his thumbs tracing circles against my skin in the absent way that had become his habit over the past months.
"Only the deserving ones," I protested, though the argument lost some of its force when he found that particular spot just below my ear that made me forget whatever point I'd been trying to make.
What followed was the kind of gentle reunion that had nothing to do with desperate passion and everything to do with the quiet celebration of coming home safely to each other. His touch was reverent as he mapped familiarterritory, careful of bruises while still claiming what was his with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how much he was loved in return.
Before he could respond with what I was certain would be some charming but ultimately unnecessary romantic declaration, I grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward our bedroom, shedding clothes as we went with the efficiency of people who'd had considerable practice in this particular activity.
Our clothes fell away piece by piece as desire consumed us both. The door shut behind us with a soft click, and then his lips were on mine, urgent and demanding. I responded with equal fervor, pouring all the love and passion I felt into the heated press of our mouths.
Callum backed me toward the bed, every step a collision of breathless kisses and grasping hands. When we reached the mattress, he caught me around the waist, lowering me onto the soft surface with a reverence that made my breath hitch. His golden hair caught the afternoon light streaming through the lace curtains, creating a halo around features sharpened by desire.
"My magnificent witch," he growled appreciatively, his hands sliding up my thighs with possessive certainty. "You're absolutely devastating."
I basked in his praise, arching my back as his deft fingers found the places that made me gasp and writhe beneath him. The careful control I maintained in public dissolved completely, replaced by something wild and demanding that had been waiting all day for exactly this moment.
"You know," I managed between increasinglydesperate kisses, "for someone who was terrified of public rejection, you're remarkably confident in private."
"That's because here, in our bed, I know exactly who I am," he murmured against my throat, his words sending delicious shivers down my spine. "I'm the man who gets to love Sage Blackstone for the rest of his extremely fortunate life."
"Stop talking," I panted, reaching for him with hands that trembled with need, "and start proving it."
What followed was the kind of passionate reunion that would have scandalized proper society and probably set off every magical detection spell in a three-mile radius. We moved together with the desperate intensity of people who'd spent too long apart and intended to make up for lost time with impressive thoroughness.
My magic slipped free as passion overtook careful control, stars spinning across our skin while shadows danced along the walls. The headboard struck the wall in rhythm with our movements, and I dimly realized that Cosmo's complaints about noise were about to become significantly more justified.
"Callum," I gasped as pressure built to impossible heights, "I can't... I'm going to?—"
