Page 5 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
The elders carried weight in town, not just in the supernatural community, but even in the Videt’s decision-making. They weren’t lawmakers, exactly—that was the Videt’s domain—but their words held enough sway that few dared to ignore them. They had a way of charming humans, too, securing goodwill, influence, and occasionally funding for magical initiatives.
They also officiated hand-fasting ceremonies and other romantic rites, which made them particularly popular during celebrations like Mabon. Something about the air—whether it was magic, moonlight, or just an excess of wine—had a way of stirring up romance. Someone always ended up married before the night was through. Because nothing said true love like exchanging vows while your drunk uncle accidentally turned himself into a toad in the background.
Nia cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled after Ivy’s retreating figure, “Make good decisions!”
Ivy was the only reason Nia bothered coming to these celebrations. Left to her own devices, her could-not-be-single best friend would end up married off to an ancient oak, a fairy, or—like last time—a wood devil.
Nia shivered and was thankful when a man approached with mulled wine. She grabbed a glass and made her way toward a shadowed tree. Settling onto the ground, she adjusted her skirt so it pooled around her and turned her attention to the dancing. Ivy swayed to the music, her movements fluid and carefree as she and others circled the fire, their laughter rising into the night air.
Nia always came to these gatherings as an observer; she never got naked, never let herself indulge, dancing and reveling, the way others did. Everything was business to her. But she still enjoyed watching the supernaturals cut loose, chasing things she told herself she didn’t need. Love. Connection. The luxury of being fully known.
She had spent the first eighteen years of her life hidden, a secret kept for her own safety. And though she had built a new life in Stella Rune, she was still keeping that secret. Just like her father had.
Nia lifted the glass to her lips, but before the wine reached her tongue, a halting movement, out of place in the easy flow of revelers, snagged her attention. A tall, awkward man hesitated at the edge of the crowd before reluctantly stepping in. His brow furrowed as he tried to find the rhythm, his movements stiff and uncertain.
Nia recognized him immediately: the man who talked to bushes.
Now that she had a proper view, he wasn’t terrible to look at. Actually, as his face relaxed and a small smile curved his lips, he became devastatingly handsome. Not that Nia was interested. She had a duty to help as many people as possible, and she wasn’t about to get tied down. Not after what happened to her mother, and not for some tall?—
He turned and her brain short-circuited.
Thighs. Thick, strong, and unfairly distracting under tailored pants. Her gaze trailed up and down, her breath catching as she took in the rest of him: broad shoulders, a solid, grabbable waist, and an ass that could only be described as perfect.
She could almost feel the rough press of his thighs under her palms, her hands gliding upward to dig her fingers into that infuriatingly faultless curve. The thought burned through her, sudden and unwelcome, leaving her stomach tight and her heart racing.
No. She would not be tempted. Dancing led to flirting, flirting led to dating, and then bang! You were married against your will.
Nia downed half her drink, though the burn and fizz almost made her spit it back up. She looked to the sky as her eyes watered, but—instantly and irrationally—she missed the sight of him. When she looked back toward the supernaturals, he was staring at her.
Her breath hitched as she swallowed a hiccup.
He was so handsome with stars dancing around his head. When he gave her a welcoming smile that felt comfortable and familiar, she was suddenly on her feet. Which was a horrible idea, because as she stood, her vision blurred. It felt like her feet left the ground as colors swirled around her in a vibrant tornado, and all she could hold on to was her absurdly desperate need to get to him.
That wasn’t normal. It was rom-com-level nonsense. A part of Nia knew this was how people got cursed, or worse—married. She’d need to see the eraser witch first thing in the morning to sort out whatever this was.
But first, she’d dance.
CHAPTER 3
Lochlan
“YOU ALL CALL IT FATE, I CALL IT A DRUNKEN MISTAKE.” —THEGREENWITCH1969
Lochlan groaned. His bed was wet and itchy, and a blinding light assaulted his eyelids. He remembered dancing, a blazing fire, and?—
“Click-click-kra!” a crow screeched, scrambling his thoughts.
“I will use you in a damn potion if you don’t cease your jeering,” Lochlan snapped, his words slurred with sleepy irritation.
“Kra-kra!”
He opened his eyes to glare at the dark bird.
The sun hung low in the sky behind the creature and gray smoke rose in the distance. He could hear the sounds of birds and insects waking, which meant he’d never made it home last night, and this was not his bed.
“Shit, Jade.” He ran a hand across his face and discovered a braided rope wrapped around his palm. “What the?—?”
“Jade?” a woman’s voice interrupted, husky with sleep. The sound brought Lochlan an unexpected sense of relief. He reached down, fingers brushing through her silky hair, and felt a sudden, fierce longing to stay like this forever. Not that he could move, even if he’d wanted to. Her warm body was draped over him, legs tangled with his, her bare stomach pressed against his side.
