Page 120 of Magical Mayhem
“Then we find a way to make the poison the cure,” I said. “Isn’t that what shifters do? Turn weakness into strength? Isn’t that what we all have to do now?”
He let out a low, shaky laugh, almost a sob. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It isn’t,” I admitted. “It’s going to hurt. You might hate me tomorrow. Gideon might spit in my face. But if we don’t at least try, we all go under. Together.”
His gaze locked on mine, steady even in exhaustion.
“Together,” he echoed, the word more vow than agreement.
I leaned forward and kissed him—soft, trembling, desperate. He kissed me back, and for one moment, there was no curse, no Hunger Path, no Malore. Just us, clinging to each other in a corridor where the world could wait.
When I pulled back, breathless, his forehead rested against mine.
“We’re all intertwined,” I whispered. “Every piece. Every wound. Every choice. Whether we like it or not.”
His chest rose and fell against mine. He closed his eyes, his lips brushing my hair. “Then let’s not waste what time we have.”
And for the first time, I believed we could braid the broken pieces into something stronger than the curse itself.
For the first time in what felt like weeks, I could breathe.
Really breathe. The air slid all the way down into my lungs, steady and smooth, without catching on the knot of guilt that had been choking me since Gideon had stumbled back into my life.
Keegan leaned against the wall, his hazel eyes studying me with a weight I couldn’t quite read. And yet, beneath the exhaustion in his frame, there was something steadier now. Something that hadn’t been there before, I told him the truth.
I realized then that telling him was the best thing I could have done. Not because it made me feel lighter, though it did, but because it pulled him into the circle where he belonged. He wasn’t just the wolf I needed to protect. He was part of this. He needed to be part of all of this.
I exhaled, leaning back beside him.
“If it makes you feel better,” I said, breaking the silence with a crooked grin, “you’re in way better shape than Gideon is.”
He straightened immediately, his shoulders squaring, the corner of his mouth curving into something almost smug.
“Would you expect anything different?”
I barked out a laugh, the sound echoing off the stone. “Not for a second.”
The moment didn’t last long.
Footsteps shuffled against the flagstones, and down the hall came Twobble and Skonk, midargument. Twobble’s hands waved wildly in the air, while Skonk’s grin stretched devilishly like he was enjoying every ounce of Twobble’s misery.
“I told you it was fine!” Twobble barked, his voice carrying. “You don’t know the first thing about stable or mule care.”
“And you do?” Skonk cackled. “You wouldn’t know a harness from a hat string.”
Keegan’s brows pulled together.
“What mule?” he asked flatly.
Twobble froze mid-rant, his wide eyes darting from Keegan to me. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. He looked like a carp trying to recite poetry.
Keegan turned slowly to me, suspicion sharpening his gaze.
I gave Twobble the faintest nod. Go on.
Twobble swallowed hard and began, “Well, you see, there’s a mule—”
“Wait, wait, Twiblet,” Skonk interrupted, his grin flashing brighter. “Before we get into who found what mule, tell me…who’s been feeding the thing?”
