Page 130 of A Witchy Spell Ride
“Glazed,” I said. “And those little powdered ones that make Cross sneeze.”
“Copy,” he murmured, and the soldier in him softened the way I like best.
I unscrewed the water again and took another swallow, then set it down and reached for the chain at my throat. The tags lay against my skin, warm now, mine and his and ours. I pressed them to his lips. He kissed them. Kissed me. Pulled me under the covers and under that steady weight that means safe in every language.
We didn’t sleep right away. We made new memories to lay over the old ones and met in the middle until both sets hummed the same key.
When I did drift, it was to the rhythm of his heart and the distant rumble of bikes and the laugh of a woman who finally remembered herself. No footsteps in the hall that weren’t supposed to be there. No notes under my door. No roses I didn’t pick.
Morning would bring coffee and Church and Daisy crying into a skull mug about how romance is alive (it is) and Bones trying to pretend glitter hadn’t colonized his beard (it had) and Cross producing a folder so thick it could stop a bullet (it might).Vex would call me Queen and ask if he could bedazzle the Enforcer rocker (he could not). Reaper would hand Briar a look that meantdon’tand she’d translate it astry me,and I’d buy popcorn.
I’d sweep my shop. I’d light sage. I’d hang the little bell so it chimed when the door opened and every sound it made would be a yes, not an alarm.
Maybe I’d wear red.
Not for sadness.
For war paint.
For joy.
The witch’s charm with the red thread would go back in my pocket, not as a ward against a man who’s already caged, but as a reminder: magic works best when you choose it. I’d put a single rose in the window. One I picked. One I watered. One that grew thorns exactly where I wanted them.
And tonight? Tonight, I slept in a bed that smelled like my life.
Before I went under, I rolled and tucked my face against the curve of Ghost’s throat. He wrapped around me like a promise he didn’t have to say out loud, but he did anyway, because that’s who he is now when he’s with me.
“No more fear, Red,” he whispered into my hair. “Not ever again.”
“Not ever again,” I echoed, and it wasn’t bravado. It was a vow.
Down the hall, a low murmur rose and fell, Reaper and Briar negotiating gravity. I smiled in the dark.
The future felt a little more dangerous.
A little more twisted.
And a whole lot more fun.
Bring it on.
