Page 72 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
Murmurs rippled through the crowd as the flower came alive, blooming into a stunning opalescent masterpiece. Its petals shimmered under the moonlight, shifting in hues of silver, blue, and pink. For a brief moment, awe filled the room as the sheer beauty of the flower held everyone spellbound. Then?—
A low, drawn-out creak that made the hair on Nia’s arms stand on end.
From the base of the flower, vines began to snake outward, glossy and as thick as her arm, growing with unsettling speed. They curled and twisted, spreading across the stage, their leaves gleaming like polished emeralds. The thrill of the flower’s bloom was gone, replaced by the crushing realization the plant wasn’t just waking—it was exploding.
The mirror slipped from Nia’s hands, landing with a dull thud mere inches from where the closest creeping vine had already reached.
“Oh, fuck.”
CHAPTER 24
Lochlan
“IT’S A FULL MOON - WHAT IT SAYS FOR YOUR SUPERNATURAL AFFINITY.” —THE WEEKLY HEX
Chaos erupted.
The room’s awe turned to unease as vines grew, creaking and rustling, spreading outward from the Lunaflor with unnatural speed. The bloom itself swelled to ten times its original size, its gleaming petals casting ghostly reflections under the moonlight. Wild vines snaked up the walls and across the floor, spilling onto the stage and into the crowd. People screamed, scrambling to escape as smaller flowers burst open along the twisting greenery, releasing shimmering clouds of pollen into the air.
The silvery dust hit quickly and powerfully.
Witches and supernaturals coughed, sneezed, and choked. Some staggered, eyes glassy from the pollen, while others lashed out. Shields flared as witches shouted spells. Fae summoned blades, slicing through vines. Wolven snapped and tore with teeth and claws.
Lochlan froze, his mind momentarily blank before instinct took over.
He ran for Nia, putting an arm around her middle, pulling her toward the edge of the stage and away from the chaos. She stumbled into him, her wide eyes locked on the Lunaflor, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d done.
She clung to his arms, the tension in her body telling him she wasn’t far from snapping.
“What do we do?” she yelled, her voice barely carrying over the cacophony of sounds—the creaking vines, the popping sound of smaller blooms bursting into clouds of dust, the shrieks and shouts of the panicked crowd.
Lochlan shook his head, thoughts racing. He’d spent his life studying plants. There had to be something he could use.
“A freezing spell?” she asked, desperate.
Lochlan scanned the room. Wulfric was being dragged away by his guards, his carefully curated mask of confidence cracking as his eyes darted to Nia.
“Ice shards might do as much harm than good!” Lochlan shouted back.
Before either of them could try anything, a rogue vine lashed out toward a man struggling to shield himself. A stream of shadows whipped from Nia’s hands, slicing cleanly through the vine before it could wrap around the man’s legs.
“It feels alive,” she said, her voice tinged with wonder and dread. “And wild. Not mean—just excited. Like it doesn’t know what to do with so much freedom.”
As Lochlan took in the writhing vines, an idea hit him. Nia turned to him with the same wide-eyed understanding and they spoke at the same time.
“A sleeping spell.”
Nia fell to her knees, ripping open pockets and pouches hidden in her skirt. Vials and tins spilled onto the stage, clinking and rolling in all directions as she frantically rifled through them.
“Mugwort, no. Black salt, no. Peppermint—goddess, no. Oakmoss… why do I even have this?” Her hands trembled as she picked through her supplies, her voice growing more panicked. “I—I have nothing!”
“Moon moss,” Lochlan said firmly, kneeling beside her.
Nia snapped her head toward him, disbelief flashing in her eyes. “Moon moss? Is that a thing?”
“It is,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. “It just has to be made. Now, do a protection spell, love. Quickly.”
Love.
