Page 87 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
Not as conquerors and subjects. Not as hunters and prey. But as equals.
I have spent years running from the dark corners of my past, from the scars left by what the Videt once was. But today, I walked through the halls of what it is becoming. There were humans and witches working side by side, scholars and descendants of warriors shaping something new. And there he was, standing at the center of it all, watching his vision take root.
I stopped in the doorway, watching him as he spoke with a group of advisors. His expression was intense—so deeply focused that he didn’t see me at first. But when he did, his face softened, just for a moment.
It struck me then, all at once.
I had been raised to believe that power meant control, that strength was measured in obedience and the ability to command it. But this? This was what true power looked like: not domination, but the ability to bring about change, coexistence, peace.
When I finally stepped forward, he met me halfway. He didn’t ask if I was ready. He didn’t need to. He already knew my answer. I had spent so long in the shadows. No one knew my name, my story—except him. He let me feel safe. Let me heal. Let me learn what life could be.
Now, I’ll stand beside him and let them see me. Let them know that from darkness, light can rise. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this dream real. Speak to those who are afraid. Listen to those who don’t yet understand.
And whatever my wolf needs, I will give.
CHAPTER 29
Lochlan
“I ACCIDENTALLY MARRIED A WOOD DEVIL—AND NOW I’M CURSED. WHAT DO I DO?” —MESSY_IVY
Lochlan stepped into Becket’s office just as a flurry of tarot cards flew past his head, smacking into the wall beside the door.
“Foul cards!” Becket cursed, throwing his hands up dramatically.
“You know, Beck,” Lochlan said dryly, using Nia’s shadow magic to gather the scattered deck. “The cards are just a conduit. It’s not actually their fault.”
Becket shot him a glare. “Don’t start with me, you… you…” He trailed off, scanning Lochlan as if searching for the perfect insult, then pointed an accusatory finger. “You’re getting some, you smug bastard!”
Lochlan froze. Heat crept up his neck as his memories betrayed him—Nia’s breath against his skin, the way she’d looked at him, let him in. His stomach tightened, not just with want, but with something he wasn’t ready to name. Something that felt too close. Too risky. Too easy to lose.
Becket’s grin widened. “Oh, you are.”
Lochlan rubbed a hand over his face, trying to will away the flush creeping across his skin. “Beck.”
“No, no—don’t Beck me.” Becket leaned forward, all keen eyes and mischief. “You’re blushing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush over a girl. This is fantastic.”
Lochlan shook his head. “You need better hobbies.”
“I disagree. This is exactly how I want to spend my afternoon.”
Lochlan rolled his eyes, but the warmth lingered. It was too soon to examine or untangle everything that last night had shifted inside him—too soon to admit how deeply it was sinking in.
Which meant he needed to stop thinking about it. Now.
“Have you warded since the attack?” Lochlan asked, tapping his temple to indicate what he meant: The Sword invading Becket’s mind. He wasn’t ready for his father-in-law to hear about where he might be going.
Becket muttered something under his breath as he stood and headed for a shelf crowded with herbs and crystals. He grabbed what he needed and returned to his desk, creating a quick circle around it with deft, practiced movements. His words were low and steady as he threaded the spell together with ease.
Lochlan watched, a faint but familiar discontent settling over him. This kind of spell magic—fast and intuitive—was second nature to people like Becket and Nia. They’d grown up with it, woven it into the fabric of their lives without hesitation.
He hadn’t.
His magic had always been slow, methodical: a tool for coaxing plants to thrive, for breathing life into paper worn thin with age. Even his work for the Videt relied on that care and patience—restoration spells, delicate repairs, unweaving damage without unraveling the past. But Nia’s shadows came to him as naturally as breathing. It was as though something deep inside him had been waiting for the chance to bloom, and now emerged with startling speed.
Still, it wasn’t like Becket or Nia, who seemed to wield their magic with intuition and ease—whether shadows, or seeing, or spell work. Lochlan didn’t feel it in his bones. At least, not usually. Only when it mattered, he realized. Like that night in the Videt ballroom, surrounded by chaos: he’d acted quickly, intuitively and confidently—to help Nia.
His thoughts turned to his mother and sister. They had never made him feel that way, never needed his help, or helped him when he was in need. They’d cast him aside and made his life hell.
