WesternWitch

Most of the past few days had blurred together in a haze of sleep and half-hearted attempts at watching whatever was on TV. The only thing that really broke up the monotony was texting Noah.

My phone would buzz every so often on the nightstand—his name lighting up the screen. He was riding the high from that first game’s win, fired up in the way only he could be. His messages came through fast, full of energy and adrenaline, like he was still standing under the stadium lights.

Normally I would have matched it, teased him, fanned the flames a little just to see where his excitement would go. But feeling the way I did—tired, hollow, my stomach still turning—I couldn’t quite keep up with him. My replies were softer, slower. I didn’t lean into the energy the way I usually would.

He’d been late to call tonight, but he called. We made small talk about the game and the interviews—nothing out of the ordinary. But on the first day I wasn’t feeling sick, I realized just how much I’d missed him, how much I really needed him. He noticed my behavior immediately.

“Different?” I echoed, shifting against the pillows, suddenly hyper-aware of the quiet in the room.

A pause stretched on the other end of the line. Faint noises drifted behind him—voices, maybe a hallway door closing—but it felt like his attention was locked entirely on me.

“Yeah,” Noah said slowly. “Quieter than usual. Like you’re thinking too hard.”

I let out a soft breath that might have been a laugh. “Maybe I am.”

“You watching the recap?” My eyes flicked to the screen just as a clip replayed of him breaking past a defender, the crowd surging to its feet.

 “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he repeated, amused. “You always say that when the answer’s yes.”

I didn’t deny it. Another highlight flashed—him scoring, teammates piling into him. But the camera cut away too quickly, before it could catch the look I knew would have followed.

“I missed it,” I admitted quietly.

“Missed what?”

“Seeing you after.” I hesitated, then added, softer, “You always look… different when you win.”

Silence hummed through the phone for a second. When Noah spoke again, his voice had dropped half a register. “Different how?”

My fingers curled into the loose folds of the sheets, grounding myself in something real. “You know how.”

“Say it.”

“You get this look,” My words coming out slower, letting them linger. 

“What look?”

“Hungry.” The word stretched between us, heavy and deliberate. Noah didn’t answer right away.

“I wish you’d been there.” Something in the way he said it—more raw, more real—sent a shiver down my spine.

“Me too,” I admitted. Another quiet beat passed.

“I miss our after-game ritual,” I said before I could stop myself.

The words slipped out softer than I intended, almost swallowed by the quiet of the room.

On the other end of the phone, Noah went very still.

“…Do you now?” he said slowly.

My eyes stayed on the screen, but the highlights had blurred into the background. I wasn’t really watching anymore—just remembering.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I do.”

He let out a quiet breath. “That’s dangerous to say to me right after a win.”

“It’s not like we ever planned them,” I went on, my voice drifting into memory. “They just… happened.” A small laugh escaped me. “In the most ridiculous places.”

Noah huffed softly. “The equipment room,” he said.

“Once.”

“Twice,” he corrected.

“And the stairwell,” I added.

“That one was your fault.”

“My fault?” I scoffed quietly. “You were the one who dragged me in there.”

“You weren’t complaining.” I smiled despite myself.

I shifted against the pillows, pressing my fingers lightly into the mattress. Even after signing the nondisclosure agreements and sitting through HR and legal interviews, we still hadn’t found the right moment to tell my dad about our relationship; hence all the sneaking around. But now, with the gloves off—pun intended—Noah’s streak was making it harder and harder to stay quiet.

“You get… intense.” Noah gave a low hum of agreement.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “That sounds about right.”

“And stubborn,” I added. “Once you get your hands on me after a game like that, you don’t really stop.”

He laughed under his breath. “You say that like you hate it.”

“I don’t,” I said quickly.

Warmth spread through my chest as I went on. “But you get rough sometimes,” I admitted. “Not bad rough. Just… unstoppable.”

My voice softened, the words slowing. “Like you’re still chasing the win.”

Silence stretched on the line.

“When the game’s good,” I added quietly, “I usually end up feeling it the next day.” Noah let out a slow breath through his nose.

“You’re really going to sit there in that room, on the other side of the country,” he said, his voice low, threaded with restrained amusement, “and start reminiscing about that while I’m still running on post-game adrenaline?”

“Well, it’s not like there’s anything that can be done right now,” I said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

A quiet scoff crackled through the phone.

“Who the hell says that?” Noah shot back.

My mouth went dry instantly. No. He couldn’t possibly be thinking—

For a moment I just sat there, staring at the dim lamp on the bedside table.

“What’s that quiet for?” he added after a moment.

 “I’m thinking.” I tried swallowing the big lump in my throat. 

“Dangerous,” he murmured. “Usually that means you’re about to say something that gets me in trouble.”

“Pretty sure you handle that all on your own.”

The chuckle that followed slipped out like a slow exhale—light on the surface, but strained underneath. I wasn’t forcing it exactly… but I was nervous enough that it almost felt like I was.

“Maybe,” he said. “But right now? You’re the one hesitating.”

My fingers tightened around my phone. “I’m not hesitating.”

“No?” There was a pause—intentional. Controlled. “Then why do I feel like I’ve got you on the back foot?”

My breath caught, just slightly.

He noticed.

“Yeah,” he said, softer now, almost satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”

I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see it. “You’re very confident all of a sudden.”

“It’s not sudden,” he replied. “You just gave me an opening.”

“A power play?” I teased, trying to regain ground.

He chuckled, low and warm. “Exactly. And I don’t waste those.”

I couldn’t really believe I was even considering it, but I missed him—more than I wanted to admit. Not just his voice, but everything about him. The ease, the pull, the way he made space feel different just by being in it. In a way I hadn’t fully understood until now, I felt starved for him.

“What do I do?” I asked quietly.

On the other end of the line, he didn’t hesitate.

“Well,” Noah said, easy, almost teasing, “first thing would be to stop overthinking it.”

I rolled my eyes immediately, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Really, Noah?”

A quiet laugh rumbled through the phone.

“It’s not exactly easy to do with them on, babe.”

I huffed a soft breath, shaking my head, but the corner of my mouth lifted anyway.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Mm,” he replied, completely unbothered. “And yet you’re still standing there thinking about it instead of hanging up.”

My fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt, nerves fluttering in my chest.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I muttered.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But right now I’m mostly enjoying the mental picture of you stalling.”

“I’m not stalling.”

“Then prove it.”

The challenge in his voice sent another little rush of heat through me.

I hesitated only a moment longer before tugging the shirt up and over my head, tossing it onto the chair nearby.

“There,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed. “Happy?”

Noah let out a slow breath on the other end of the line.

“Getting there.”

I glanced around the empty hotel room on instinct, even though I knew I was alone. The curtains were drawn, the only light coming from the TV replaying the same winning moment again and again.

“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, but my fingers had already found the waistband of my shorts.

“Maybe,” he replied easily. “But you didn’t stop.”

I slid the shorts down and stepped out of them, nudging them aside with my foot before sitting back on the edge of the bed. My heart was beating faster now, a mixture of nerves and the strange thrill of being listened to so closely.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

“Okay what?” he asked.

“I did it.”

“Did what?” he pressed, clearly enjoying himself.

I groaned softly. “You know what.”

“I might,” he said. “But I want to hear you say it.”

I pressed my lips together, fighting a smile despite the heat creeping up my neck.

“I took them off,” I admitted.

There was a brief pause before Noah let out a slow breath.

“Good,” he murmured.

“So now what?” I asked.

“Now,” he said, “you stop rushing.”

“I’m not rushing.”

“You are,” he replied. “Your voice does this thing when you get nervous.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.” I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Gets a little faster. Little breathier.”

I rolled my eyes again, even though my pulse jumped at how easily he seemed to read me.

“Maybe I’m just cold,” I said.

“No,” he said softly. “You’re not.”

I threw myself onto the bed with a heavy sigh. This was already off to an awkward start.

“Let’s start slow,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Follow my lead.” I heard him shift on the other end of the line. “Your neck—fingers on your neck, light touch.”

I exhaled, doing as he said, letting my fingers trace slowly up and down over the quickening pulse beneath my skin. Goosebumps prickled along my arms, a shiver following in their wake.

“Other hand down your side—slow, follow every curve for me.”

I sucked in a sharp breath as my hand reached my hip, his voice tightening something deep in my chest.

“Now, the hand at your neck—grab harder.”

I did as he asked, my fingers tightening, and suddenly it was easier to pretend it was him—his touch, his presence. My body reacted like he was right there beside me, like I could almost feel the heat of him, the familiar pull that always unraveled me.

My thoughts blurred, senses filling in the gaps—his cologne, the warmth of his breath, the way he always seemed just a step too close. The tension coiled tighter, leaving me restless, wanting more, wanting him, the distance between us suddenly unbearable

“Fuck, you taste so good baby,” It was like he could read my mind—only my mind wasn’t mine anymore, slipping under the weight of his voice. I shouldn’t have been this affected, shouldn’t have been unraveling this quickly. And yet, every word, every pause, every quiet command sent another spark through me. “Those soft, lips, fuck when they’re open…” His voice started to trail, just enough for me to catch the shift in it. I knew what he wanted—and I wanted it too.

“Imagine me sliding to the floor,” I said, taking the lead as I pushed myself upright on the bed. “On my knees… eyes on you.”

I heard his breath hitch on the other end, and something in me sparked at the sound. It felt different, saying it out loud—guiding him instead of just following. A quiet rush of control settled in, heady and unfamiliar.

I could picture him, the tension in his shoulders, the restraint in the way he held himself together. The thought made me bite my lip, a slow smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as the moment stretched between us.

“Fuck,” he groaned “Open for me, please,”

I walked him through every detail, slow and deliberate, my voice a steady rhythm he couldn’t ignore. I could hear him responding in little hitching breaths, and it made my chest tighten knowing I could move him without even being there. I could almost remember the taste of him, the way my senses sparked to life at the thought, my body tingling in memory, uncontainable and electric.

His breath stuttered through the line, and whatever he’d been about to say dissolved into silence. 

“Jesus…” he muttered, voice low and unsteady now.

I bit my lip, suddenly hyperaware of his reaction—of the control I hadn’t even realized I had until now. The thought of his tattooed fingers moving over himself while I guided him through every filthy detail sent a rush through me, a new kind of high.

“Noah… please tell me you’re—” I trailed off, the words unnecessary. It was obvious.

“I am,” he groaned, and my legs trembled at the sound.

“Fuck I want to taste you,”The growl in his voice was possessive, and I sank back into my pillows, suddenly seeing his face in my mind—the way his eyes lifted to meet mine through those lashes I envied. I could hear the ragged rhythm of his breathing, imagine the heat radiating off him after the game, the way he always carried that dangerous edge. My mind painted a perfect picture of how he looked, his mouth slightly open, his hair matted with sweat, that oh-so-dangerous way he’d lick his lips just before…

“Oh god,” I breathed into the room, my back arching slightly at the memory.

“You’re going to need your fingers, baby. Just for now.” He guided me, and my hands followed his directions, sliding down my thighs. It wasn’t exactly where I wanted to be, but he was teasing me, and I loved it. I let my fingers trail with every instruction he gave, following him completely, caught in the rhythm of his voice.

My fingers tracing up my inner thigh had my breath coming in short gasps, half need, half frustration.

“That’s it… just a little higher,” Noah’s voice soothed me over the line.

I reached the midpoint, and without needing any further instruction, I began to move in slow, deliberate circles. Barely touching at first, then reversing as he guided me, pressing just a little more, then easing back—pulling almost completely away before letting the pressure build again. I followed his directions to the letter, caught in the rhythm he set, every shift of his voice sending sparks through me.

I was lost in the feeling, my head falling back as the phone slipped from my ear, nearly hitting the floor. I grabbed it, flipped on the speaker, and rested it against my chest, letting his voice guide me again as the pressure continued building.

“That’s it… just like that,” he murmured, low and steady. “Keep following me. Don’t rush.”

“I’m trying,” I breathed, my fingers moving exactly as he said, caught in the rhythm of his instructions.

“Good… yes, just like that. Don’t stop now,” he encouraged, each word tugging me further into the heat of the moment.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Focus on me, on my voice.”

I did, letting the sound of him fill my head, guiding my hands as I moved exactly where he told me. Each pause he left, each small adjustment, sent shivers rippling through me.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, almost a growl now. “Don’t stop… don’t even think about stopping.”

I shivered at the tone, my chest tightening, my breath catching with every word. “I… I’m trying to keep up,” I admitted, voice shaky.

“Just like that,” he said, approvingly, each syllable dragging out, slow and deliberate. “Feel it. Let yourself feel it. Don’t hold back on me.”

I could hear the strain in his voice now, the subtle hitching breaths that made my heart pound. Every instruction, every pause, every soft murmur of encouragement had me unraveling, completely focused on him.

“Good… yes,” he said, voice roughening. “That’s it… exactly like that.”

I leaned back further into the pillows, my mind was dizzy, lost in the heat of his voice, the rhythm he set, the way he seemed to reach across the miles and pull every shiver from me.

Every word, every pause, every subtle change in his tone pulled me deeper into the moment, closer than I thought possible without him being here.

“Don’t think. Just follow,” he said, voice low, steady, like a tether pulling me along. “Let it take over.”

I shivered, breath coming faster now, caught entirely in the rhythm he set. “I… I can’t believe how good this feels,” I admitted, my voice shaky, almost a whisper.

“That’s exactly it,” he murmured. “Feel it. Every bit. Let yourself go.”

I closed my eyes completely, letting the memory of him flood me—his heat, his wild energy after the game, the dangerous tilt of his lips, the fire in his eyes—and paired it with the sound of his voice guiding me. Everything came to a head, my legs trembling as I called out his name, my voice barely more than a whisper and yet somehow carrying all the tension, longing, and release I felt.

“Such a good girl,” he cooed, his tone low and possessive, making it clear we weren’t done yet. What else could there possibly be?

“Baby, you’re going to need a little more. Get in your drawer,” he commanded.

My eyes flicked to the drawer by the bed where I kept the toys. They weren’t really useful—I’d only ever used them once or twice—but they had been free at some party years ago, so I thought, why not? I pulled out the lifesize piece, staring at it like it belonged to someone else, strange and new all over again.

I held it in my hands, turning it over like it was some foreign object, my chest tightening at the memory of his voice guiding me.

“Yeah… that’s it,” he murmured, low and deliberate. “Now… just hold it, let your hands do what I tell you. Follow me.”

I swallowed, my fingers trembling slightly as I obeyed. Even though it had been sitting in my drawer for years, in that moment it felt electric, like it had been waiting for him to notice.

I didn’t need instructions on where to put it—it was just a matter of figuring out how to maneuver it without feeling awkward.

“Right there,” he said, his voice low and steady.

I gasped, the memory of the familiar stretch sending a shiver through me.

“Just like that,” he murmured,

“Good… exactly,” he praised, voice rougher now, almost a growl. “Don’t overthink it. Just follow me. Keep going.”

I did, letting his words set the pace, letting my imagination fill in the spaces, feeling every tiny pull of control he had over me. My breath came faster, catching at the rhythm we’d built together over the line, each pause and instruction sending another shiver through me.

“That’s perfect,” he said, voice low and strained. “I love the way you follow me. Don’t stop… not yet.”

I bit my lip, a small laugh escaping me despite the tension. “You really know how to make me obey,” I admitted, chest tightening, heat pooling in a way I couldn’t name.

“Damn right,” he whispered, almost ragged now. “And I’m not letting you forget it.”

Even from miles away, with only his voice to guide me, I felt him—his presence, his control, the teasing edge that always made my pulse spike. My fingers moved on instinct, my body responding to the memory and the rhythm, and for a moment, the distance between us didn’t exist at all.

His voice dropped lower, rough and urgent, threading through the line like electricity. “That’s it… don’t stop now. Focus on me, on my voice.”

I shivered, leaning back into the pillows, my breath coming faster, heart hammering. Every word he said seemed to skip straight to my chest, pulling at something I couldn’t control. “I… I’m trying,” I whispered, voice trembling.

“Good,” he growled, low and sharp. “Feel it—own it. Don’t hold anything back for me.”

My hands moved automatically, but it wasn’t just the motions—it was the anticipation, the mental push-and-pull between us, the way he guided me and yet left enough unsaid to make my mind race. Every pause, every gentle command, stretched the tension higher and higher.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he admitted, voice tight, strained. “God… I wish I could be there right now.”

“I know,” I breathed, chest tightening, legs trembling, caught in the rhythm of him even from miles away. “Me too…”

“Just… let go,” he said, slower now, deliberate. “Trust me. Trust yourself.”

I closed my eyes completely, gripping the sheets, heart pounding, every nerve alive. His voice wrapped around me like a tether, guiding me, teasing me, pulling me closer to the edge even without him being here. The intensity built, so sharp it felt like it could tear me apart, and still it wasn’t over.

“Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop,” he murmured, every word shaking with control and desire.

I gasped, shivering through every fiber of my body, lost entirely to the heat of him, the rhythm he set, the distance that somehow made everything feel impossibly close.

And then, finally, the tension broke with the force of every nerve, every thought, every ounce of want snapping into release, leaving me shaking, breathless, and entirely spent, still wrapped in the echo of him. 

I thought he might’ve dropped the phone, his groan fading into silence. The realization made me bite back a small laugh, a quiet giggle slipping out despite myself.

There was a moment of heavy breathing, a pause that stretched just long enough to make me wonder, followed by the faint sound of movement. Then more rustling until finally, he came back on the line.

“You still there?” he asked, his voice a little breathless—like he was trying way too hard to sound normal.

I pressed my lips together, failing to hide a smile. “Wow. That’s how you answer the phone now?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “I had to… regroup.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

Noah's POV

Her breathing is still on the line. Soft. Uneven at first, then slower. We’ve been like this for a while, just sitting in silence. I stay still, phone pressed to my ear, staring at nothing in the hotel room.

“You still there?” I ask quietly.

Only her breathing answers me.

I let out a slow breath through my nose. She’s not gone. Just… drifting. Like she’s close to sleep and doesn’t even realize it yet.

“Hey,” I murmur, softer now. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

There’s the faintest shift on the line—so small I almost think I imagined it. But her breathing changes just slightly, like she heard me even if she’s too tired to respond.

That pulls something warm and uneasy through my chest at the same time.

I lean back against the wall, thumb tracing the edge of my phone. The tension from earlier is still there, but it’s dulled now, softened into something quieter. Something I don’t have a name for.

Like we’ve crossed into a different part of the night without meaning to.

And then—

A knock hits my hotel room door.

“Noah,” a voice calls. “You in there?”

I straighten a little. “Yeah?” I answer, still not moving the phone away. I’m trying desperately to get my sweatpants fully on, hopping slightly as I fight with the fabric like it’s personally offended me.

“Coach wants to see you.”

I pause mid-step, nearly tripping over my own foot. “Now?”

“Yeah.”

I’m already reaching for a shirt, shrugging it halfway on while I walk toward the door so I don’t have to yell across the room and wake her on the phone.

“What about?” I ask, lowering my voice as I get closer.

There’s a beat of silence on the other side, like the guy delivering the message suddenly realizes he’s about to drop something he shouldn’t be involved in.

“Something about whatever is going on between you and his daughter.”

The words hit clean.

I stop moving.

For a second, I actually forget I’m mid-shirt, one arm stuck awkwardly in the sleeve like an idiot.

“…What?” I say again, quieter this time.

And on the other end of the call, she’s still there.

Breathing softly.

Half-asleep.

She couldn’t see the future—not yet—but she could sense the auras and intentions of anyone nearby. Jolly insisted she train that skill most of all; if the time came, he wanted her ready. Earlier that day, Noah had scouted a quiet spot deep in the woods to make sure the two of them would be safe and undisturbed.

She listened for the slightest snap of a twig, the shuffle of leaves, even the roll of a pebble. Nothing. She extended her magic, reaching past the three trees to her left, then sweeping to her right. Still nothing. She focused on the space behind her—again, nothing.

Where could he be?

Her heartbeat thudded hard in her chest, faster than she expected. That meant he was close. Her senses were reacting to the magnetic pull of his magic, the way it always did when he was near. He might even be close enough to toy with her blood flow himself. She started to pant, the sharp, shallow breaths of prey being closed in on.

To her right it had been clear, and she reached out again to be certain, but the band of her magic strained under the pressure. She took the risk anyway, darting between several trees until she found the one with the thickest trunk.

“Gotta be quicker, sunshine,” his voice echoed through the trees, warm and taunting. “I almost had you.”

Rosa huffed a breathless laugh. “Not easy when you’re not playing fair,” she called back, leaning against the wide trunk as she scanned the shadows.

“You’re the one who said you wanted to up the ante,” he shot back, his tone full of smug, wicked amusement.

She could hear the smile in his voice—and it only made her pulse jump harder. Rosa drew in a slow breath, trying to quiet the thunder in her ears, trying to steady her senses enough to stretch her magic out again.

The woods answered her with stillness.

Her awareness fanned outward like a thin, shimmering thread… brushing over branches, skimming fallen leaves, searching for the telltale spark of him.

Nothing.

Which meant he was close—too close—for her magic to catch before he wanted it to.

She senses him a second too late—

his magic snaps around her like a net, pinning her back against a tree.

Branches rustle as he steps out of the shadows, smug and slow, until they’re almost chest-to-chest.

His hand rises, brushing a stray stand of hair behind her ear.

“Still think I’m not playing fair?”

She swallows. “You ambushed me.”

“That’s the game, sunshine.”

For a heartbeat, he leans in—close enough their lips almost touch—

then smirks and pulls away.

“Try again,” he whispers before vanishing back into the dark.

Her legs barely move, but her pride won’t let her stay frozen.

He was far enough away now that her pulse finally began to slow—

but not before a wash of heat surged low in her body, infuriatingly impossible to ignore.

This was not fair.

A whole month with no time alone, and this was how he chose to spend the little they had? Chasing her through the woods like he knew exactly what it did to her. Like he enjoyed watching her unravel more than he enjoyed touching her.

And maybe he did.

Sure, their government was collapsing around them. Sure, her life—and the lives of those who’d chosen to follow them—might be hanging by a thread. The next few weeks could end in fire, blood, or nothing at all.

But to Rosa, that only made it more urgent.

More necessary.

They should be wrapped together somewhere warm, skin against skin, clinging to whatever time they had left before the world swallowed them whole.

Instead, he had her running breathless through the dark, heart thrumming, magic stretched thin… wanting him so badly it hurt.

She pressed back against the tree, jaw tight, breath shaking.

“Not fair,” she muttered under her breath. “Not even a little.”

She channeled her frustration into her magic, pushing it farther than before. A faint ripple answered—there, a silhouette slipping between the trees to her left.

Got you.

Rosa bolted to the right, branches whipping past as she kept her tether locked around that moving shape. She widened the distance between them, breath sharp, magic stretched tight like a wire.

But he didn’t hurry.

Not even a little.

He moved toward her with the same slow, deliberate stride as before—unbothered, unphased, as if he had all the time in the world. As if he already knew she’d wear herself out long before he did.

Keeping his tantalizing distance.

Staying just close enough that she could feel him in her veins, but far enough that she couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t catch him. Couldn’t stop wanting him.

She growled under her breath and pushed harder, weaving between trees—

but his presence shadowed her like a hand at her spine, guiding, teasing, herding.

“You’re doing great, sunshine,” he called softly, voice honey-smooth. “But you know I like it when you struggle a little.”

“You’re keeping your distance again,” Rosa called out, frustration sharp in her voice. “Scared you’ll lose if you get too close?”

A soft laugh floated through the trees.

“Sunshine, if I got close, you wouldn’t be thinking about winning anymore.”

Rosa didn’t slow—she couldn’t. The moment she bolted, the air behind her shifted, charged with the kind of magic that made every hair on her arms stand on end.

She wove through the trees, feet light, breath sharp, her magic fraying at the edges as she pushed it out to track him. She felt him—just a flicker—ghosting along her right flank.

Then gone.

Then behind her.

Then somewhere ahead, like he was everywhere at once.

“Running again?” his voice teased, drifting through the dark. “You know you only make me want to chase harder.”

Her heart lurched. “Maybe that’s the point.”

Rosa cut left, vaulting over a fallen log, her magic snapping outward in a bright flare that illuminated a silhouette just long enough to confirm he was following.

“You’re getting sloppy,” he called. “Your magic’s shaking.”

“It’s because you’re irritating,” she shot back, breathless.

“Funny,” he said, appearing for a heartbeat between two trees, close enough she could see the curve of his smirk. “It feels more like anticipation.”

Her pulse slammed against her ribs, heat pooling low in her body, flushing every nerve alive. She stumbled slightly, thighs pressing together, and had to grip the nearest tree to keep herself upright.

A flicker of his magic brushed against her senses—light, teasing, impossible to ignore. It wasn’t violent or controlling, just a delicate, insistent pull, threading through her like a whisper along her spine.

“Feeling a little… distracted?” his voice drifted from somewhere behind her, smooth and low, every word curling around her like smoke.

Rosa ground her teeth, trying to focus, but the tug of his magic made it nearly impossible. Her skin prickled, her breath came faster, and every instinct screamed at her to chase—and to run away at the same time.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she snapped, though her voice betrayed her, wavering with the flush of heat.

She checked left—nothing.

Checked right—nothing.

Then a voice ghosted behind her:

“Looking for me?”

She turned—too slow.

He was already there, one hand sliding around her waist, pulling her in just enough that she couldn’t mistake his grin.

“Caught you.”

Rosa swallowed hard. “…You’re insufferable.”

“And you,” he said softly, “are very, very fun to chase.”

Rosa’s breath hitched as Jolly’s warmth pressed against her, teasing, coaxing, pulling at her senses in ways that made her forget where she was. Every touch, every shift of weight, sent her pulse racing, magic thrumming in tandem with her heartbeat.

Jolly’s hands slid down her sides, just enough to make her knees weak without letting go entirely. His eyes held hers, dark, teasing, hungry—but not cruel. He was focused entirely on her, on this moment, on the way she responded to him.

“You can’t even think straight right now, can you?” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Too worked up… too aware of me.”

Rosa swallowed, heat flaring through her, magic humming wildly at the base of her spine. “I… I can’t help it,” she admitted, voice shaking.

“Good,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers, letting his hands cradle her face.

“You’re driving me insane,” she admitted, voice shaking, her pulse roaring in her ears.

“Mm,” he murmured, lips grazing the shell of her ear. “And you love it. Admit it.”

Her breath hitched, and she had to. “I… I do,” she whispered, eyes fluttering closed.

Jolly’s grin was a low, predatory curve. “Good,” he said, tilting her chin up gently, making her look at him. “Because I’m not letting go. Not now. Not ever.”

For a long moment, they simply breathed together, bodies pressed, magic humming faintly between them. Every teasing touch, every slow brush of his fingers, every whispered word wrapped around her like fire. She could feel it in her chest, in her veins, in the quiet pulse of her magic responding to him.

“You’re mine,” he murmured finally, voice thick with promise, and she didn’t even argue. She couldn’t. She wanted to be his, right here, right now, in the quiet dark of the woods where the world outside didn’t exist.

Jolly leaned close, one hand brushing along her arm, teasing the edge of her sleeve with just a touch.

“Always so tense,” he murmured, low and dangerous, tugging lightly at the hem of her shirt. She shivered, unable to stop the small gasp escaping her lips. “Relax for me… I want to watch every reaction.”

By the time she exhaled a slow, drawn-out breath, he had already pulled her shirt over her head, making her inhale sharply again. Her breasts rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, each one catching in her chest. Jolly, his gaze burning, let his fingers ghost along the delicate curve of her collarbone, tracing a path of fire down to the hollow of her throat. He paused there, the tip of his thumb brushing the sensitive skin at the center of her chest, before slowly, agonizingly, sliding between her breasts, with a soft groan that was more felt than heard, taking his hand and cupping her right breast tightly, his thumb beginning a slow, deliberate circles. Her nipples pushed desperately against the fabric of her bra.

"It's been so long," Jolly's voice was thick with hunger. Rosa fought the urge to rise onto her toes, to press her lips to his, but the need for him coiled at the back of her throat—sharp, insistent, starving.

His lips found hers with an urgency that stole her words, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that was rough, demanding, and utterly consuming. Her hands threaded through his hair, tugging him closer even as his hands roamed—gripping her waist, tracing her spine, teasing, exploring.

She shivered under the brush of his touch, the forest floor beneath them suddenly irrelevant as every nerve in her body sparked with attention. He pressed against her, chest to chest, the warmth of him burning through her. She could feel his pulse against her own, hear it echoing in her ears, and it drove her wild.

Clothes fell away without thought as he hoisted her off the ground, her legs instinctively locking around him, holding him as if he were the only thing keeping her tethered. Every brush of skin against skin ignited sparks through her, and she couldn’t stop herself—her hand plunged between them, claiming, guiding, needing him as desperately as he needed her, until she enveloped him completely.

He groaned low, a sound that vibrated deep in her chest, and pressed her harder against him, every movement urgent, ravenous, like they couldn’t get enough of each other.

Rosa felt it before she saw him—a ripple in the air, a magnetic pull that made her spine straighten and her pulse spike.

“Having fun without me?” Noah’s voice murmured, low and dangerous, threading directly into her thoughts. “I don’t like being left out.”

She panted trying to make sense of her own mind. She couldn't even manage mental conversation, her body distracting her too much. 

“Mmm,” he murmured to himself, voice low, tasting the energy she was giving off. “So needy… so desperate.I can feel it all the way out here.”

He circled her, invisible to her eyes, yet every inch of his presence threading through her senses, brushing along her skin like a whisper. “Even like this… with him,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Every pulse, every shiver… it’s all mine to feel.”

He let the words linger, letting the satisfaction coil tight in his chest. “You’re so exquisite like this,” he continued, voice dropping lower, rougher, possessive. “Wanting, writhing… not knowing where to put yourself. And I… I could drown in it.”

Her eyes rolled back as her nails dug into Jolly’s shoulders, each movement pulling a low, primal growl from him that seemed to vibrate through the very air, reaching to the tops of the trees.

“He’s close, isn’t he?” Jolly grunted, voice rough and possessive. “He wants you… just like I do.”

Rosa couldn’t form words, couldn’t even think straight. Her body trembled under the weight of their combined attention—Jolly’s tangible, hot, relentless presence and the invisible pull of Noah’s magic teasing every nerve.

She gasped, heart hammering, cheeks flushed. The knowledge that both men were aware of her, claiming her, and feeding off her reactions made her pulse spike even higher.

Jolly’s grin pressed against her ear, warm and predatory. “You’re mine,” he whispered, every word vibrating through her, “and I don’t care who else wants you. You’re all I want right now.”

Her magic flared, reacting to the possessiveness, the teasing, the tension—every nerve screaming, every sense alive. She could feel it: the tug of Noah’s presence, the weight of Jolly’s claim, and the delicious torment of being caught between the two of them.

Her body moved on instinct alone, every gasp and shiver a response to the storm of attention surrounding her. In that moment, she didn’t want to resist. She felt him falter slightly in his rhythm before pressing her hard and firm against the tree trunk, the rough bark scratching her back. Her thighs clenched around him as she felt the heat of his release pool inside her.

Rosa’s eyes fluttered open, still hazy from the lingering heat of their release, and froze. A figure moved through the shadows of the trees—a sleek, jackal-like creature, its eyes glinting with intelligence and something almost… approving.

Jolly’s grin widened, dark and mischievous. He leaned close to Rosa, letting the warmth of his presence press into her. “You want her next pet?” he murmured, voice low and teasing.

The animal let out a sharp snort, a sound that carried both approval and challenge, as if it understood exactly what was being asked. Its tail flicked once, deliberate, and it padded closer, circling them with predatory grace.

Muscles shifted, limbs elongated, and in moments, the sleek creature dissolved into a familiar presence—Noah, standing there, smirk curving his lips, eyes glittering with that same predatory hunger she knew all too well.

Jolly chuckled darkly from behind her, his gaze roaming over her. “Was wondering how long it would take for him to make an entrance,” he murmured, voice low, teasing. “Thought you’d enjoy a little… surprise.”

Noah stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the magnetic pull of his presence wrapping around her. “Did you miss me?” he asked, voice husky. “Or were you… enjoying him too much?”

Her pulse raced, caught between Jolly’s lingering warmth and Noah’s sudden, possessive return. Every nerve in her body screamed at the proximity, the teasing energy, the undeniable claim he radiated.

“You look good like that,” Noah said, voice low, almost primal, eyes tracking her every shiver and movement. “Still trembling… still glowing. Perfectly undone… and mine.”

Jolly pulled back just slightly, brushing a strand of sweat-matted hair from her face. His grin was wicked, predatory—but there was a spark of mischief in it too.

Rosa’s chest rose and fell, senses still foggy, heart thundering. She didn’t know if she was dreading it or secretly craving it.

Jolly’s hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks, and he leaned close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. “Be good for him,” he whispered, voice rough, possessive. “Or don’t… I don’t care, just know… you’re mine. Always.”

He set her down gently on her feet, her legs like jelly as she stumbled the few steps into Noah’s outstretched arms. His eyes were dark, starved, fixed on hers. His face dipped low, capturing her lips in a forceful kiss, his tongue probing hungrily. She tasted his frustration, felt the heat, and her body writhed all over again. Pulling back with a gasp for air, his voice dropped low. “Down.” He turned her around, letting her fall to the forest floor onto her knees.

“You’re still trembling,” he murmured, voice low, rough, and deliciously possessive. “I can feel how much you want me… how much you need me after him.”

Rosa instinctively reached for a fallen log buried in the forest floor, spreading her knees as she felt Noah’s weight press in behind her. She could feel the heat of his flesh against hers… and realized, with a jolt, that he was already naked. Not that she cared.

His hands brushed up her spine, making her curve instinctively into his touch. One hand gripped a fistful of her hair, the other snaking around her throat. He leaned in so close she could feel the heat of his chest, smell the faint tang of him, feel the pull of his magic intertwining with hers. “I want to see how much of you is mine… how much you’ll let me take.”

His cock teased her, already swollen and wet. She could feel the desperation coiling at the back of her throat, ready to spill out in a plea for him. And he could feel it too—she knew it. In her mind, she knew at all times that he knew exactly what he was doing to her. He plunged into her and she mewled, the sound reverberating off the trees.

“Feel that?” he murmured, close enough that she could sense his heat. “That’s me, inside you, claiming you… making you mine before you even know it.”

He thrust deeper into her, his fingers tightening around her throat with each push, cutting off her air before releasing it just long enough for her to gasp, only to repeat it again.

Glancing up in the dark, her eyes caught Jolly fastening the last button on his shirt, leaning casually against the rough bark of the tree, one shoulder pressed into it. His gaze never left her. Dark and intense, it tracked every shiver, every subtle movement, every flare of her magic. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips—half amusement, half hunger—as if he could read every thought she tried to hide.

"God, you don’t even know how perfect you look like this,” he breathed, leaning back just enough to watch every movement. His eyes flicked between both her and Noah as he spoke. “Completely undone… and I love it.”

Noah’s hands gripped her hips like he couldn’t let go, every thrust deliberate, urgent, possessive. With each movement, he growled into her ear, the single word consuming the space between them: “Mine.”

Rosa had no thoughts left—no past, no future, only the raw, searing need that had taken over her body. She wrapped herself tighter around him, riding the rhythm of his hunger, feeling every pulse, every shiver, every shudder of him echo through her. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the feral edge in his eyes, and it sent her further over the edge, lost to every sense but the fire they shared.

They were one, the world reduced to the friction of skin, the press of bodies, and the deep, primal claim they held over each other. Every groan, every gasp, every desperate, dragging breath reinforced it—this hunger, this connection, was eternal.

And in that moment, she understood completely: they were hers, she was theirs, and nothing, not time, not reason, not the world itself, could ever take it away.

For the first time in hours, the tension faded, leaving only the quiet thrum of their hearts in sync. Her magic, still humming faintly, wrapped around all three of them, a delicate ribbon binding them together in warmth and trust.

The forest night had grown cold, the air crisp against her skin. Rosa shivered slightly, and both of them were immediately at her side. Noah’s hands were warm and steady as he lifted her shirt over her head, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, while Jolly’s fingers worked deftly with the buttons of her pants, straightening the fabric and smoothing it against her skin.

They moved around her with quiet attentiveness, neither rush nor words necessary—every touch spoke of care and desire tempered by tenderness. Rosa let herself lean into them, feeling the heat of their bodies against hers, the lingering echoes of their earlier passion mingling with this quiet closeness.

Jolly’s thumb brushed lightly across her collarbone as he adjusted the fit, and she shivered again, this time from the warmth of his touch. Noah’s hands lingered on her back, tracing the line of her spine with gentle pressure before settling on her waist, holding her snug and secure,

“You’re ours,” Jolly murmured, lips brushing her temple, voice soft now, full of affection rather than teasing. “Always.”

Noah’s hand found hers, thumb stroking lightly, voice low and intimate. “Mine too. And I’ll always be here… wherever you are.”

Rosa leaned into both of them, feeling the weight of their claim, their love, and their devotion. She could feel their warmth, their steady breathing, their quiet, possessive reassurance. It was intoxicating in a different way now—not teasing or hungry, but grounding, safe, and real.

“You two,” she whispered, voice small, vulnerable, and full of awe, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt… like this before.”

“You’ll always feel like this with us,” Jolly said, brushing a hand through her hair. “Safe. Wanted. Loved.”

Rosa stood at the center of the small safe house they’d called home for months, surrounded by the allies she had gathered the moment she’d found the courage to speak. Guardians and mages filled the cramped space, and even her fellow celestials seated beside her looked uneasy. They exchanged wary glances throughout her explanation—clearly, even they weren’t convinced by her plan.

“You said this person is from your past? That’s impossible. Immortality among our kind is a disgrace.” One of the newer mages spoke, his formal baritone commanding attention without needing to rise.

“To use magic to become immortal would require sacrificing your soul,” Jolly added. “It’s an old practice from Europe. We don’t talk about it anymore, but my grandmother heard stories.”

“So what if the guy is immortal?” Oli snapped. “He’s had centuries to perfect his craft. Meanwhile, we’ve got—what—forty years of collective experience in this room?”

“I am thirty-five,” Sonya muttered from Rosa’s left, clear distaste coloring her tone. She was undeniably the oldest in the group. Noah and several other guardians struggled to stifle their laughter.

“I think he’s been doing a lot more than sacrificing his own soul.” Maria pulled out her tablet, scrolling through the notes she’d compiled during their research. “Several deaths linked to a public disease called *The Rage* stood out to me. All the victims were lower‑class—many of them homeless. They were individuals who had participated in extreme medical trials recorded by our laboratories. It was all under the guise of developing a cure for cancer, but the classified files I found helped me piece together the truth.”

The other techs immediately pulled up the data, projecting the numbers and notes into the center of the room. “According to these records, the trial participants were injected with mage blood. Those who survived longer than three months were transferred to a facility where their blood was harvested.”

“We concluded that he likely couldn’t harvest real mage blood anymore without arousing suspicion. High-power mage families don’t just disappear,” Jethro interjected.

“I remember those trials,” Rose said, her voice dropping low as memories of her past life resurfaced. “They were the only way to pay the bills. In fact, we were trying to break into the lab the night you found me.” Her eyes met Noah’s, and in that unspoken glance, they both recalled the night they first met. “We were certain there was a cure inside.”

“Regardless,” Morgan, Sonia’s guardian, spoke from the floor. “No one gets close to the Magistrate. He has the most steroid powered guardians standing between him and anyone else.”

"His experimenting didn't start till ten years ago. He must have been desperate then." Jethro interjected.

Rosa glanced over her left shoulder at Joshua, her voice trembling slightly. “That’s why I’ve died so many times… he harvested my blood all those years.”

“Celestial blood is more potent,” Joshua said quietly, nodding in agreement. "Must have given him plenty of strength between doses."

“So you’re just going to hand yourself over to him?” Oli’s voice was tight with frustration. “Noah and Jolly won’t stand for that… and I won’t either!”

Rosa’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “But… I might be the only one who can get close.”

“Oli is right, sunshine. I’m not comfortable with you going.” Jolly glanced around the room, listening as others debated plans and weighed in with ideas. Over the past few months, he had quietly become the leading force uniting mages and guardians. His calm authority, fairness, and unwavering kindness had earned him respect from even the most skeptical factions. Whispers traveled through the ranks—some daring to suggest that, with the way he commanded loyalty and inspired unity, he could one day become the next Magistrate.

Rosa slumped back in her seat, Joshua and Sonya interjecting with plans of attack, leaving her feeling pushed aside and forgotten. Her past self wouldn’t have tolerated this. She had commanded the room wherever she went—so why hadn’t any of that translated to her life now? Frustration surged, and she stood abruptly, stepping outside to escape the commotion of voices.

The warm air enveloped her as she crossed her arms, holding herself tight, struggling to keep back tears.

“Sunshine,” a voice said, and she nearly buckled to her knees. Jolly’s hands rested on her shoulders, pulling her back flush against his chest.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Why don’t you believe I can do this? I’m not fragile, I’m not sick anymore… I’m not scared.”

“Rosa,” Jolly began, his voice low and steady, “I know you’re not fragile. You’ve had strength from the moment I met you. Even Noah saw it when he first met you. You’re not fragile—but you are someone I need to protect. Someone I can’t bear to see hurt.”

“We need to protect.” Noah’s voice cut through, resonating in her mind. He had been silently listening the whole time.

Jolly gently turned her around, cupping her chin so her eyes met his. His thumbs brushed away the tears tracing her cheeks.

“It doesn’t matter who you were before,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “All that matters is who you are now… and who you are is someone I love—with all my heart, with every part of my soul.”

Rosa’s breath hitched, and for a moment the chaos of the room, the arguments, the plans—they all faded into nothing. The warmth of Jolly’s hands, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms, anchored her in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’ve always thought strength meant facing everything alone. That showing weakness was… dangerous.”

Jolly shook his head gently, pressing his forehead to hers. “Strength isn’t about standing alone, Rosa. It’s about knowing when to let others stand with you. Let me stand with you.”

For the first time in months, Rosa let herself truly breathe. The tight knot of fear and doubt inside her loosened. She realized she wasn’t just fighting for herself anymore—she was fighting for the people who loved her, who trusted her, who believed in her.

Rosa stood there, heart still pounding, and for a moment the world outside—the looming threat, the plans, the chaos—faded entirely. She looked up at Jolly, really looked, and the weight of the time they’d spent apart hit her like a wave. She had almost forgotten… almost forgotten just how much she loved him, how much their connection anchored her in ways nothing else ever could.

Jolly’s eyes softened, searching hers with a quiet intensity that made her knees weak. “Rosa,” he whispered, voice low, almost reverent. “You’re here. You’re real. And… I’ve missed you more than I can say.”

Her chest tightened, tears threatening again—not of sadness, but of relief and longing. She stepped closer, until the warmth of his body brushed against hers, the world narrowing to just the two of them.

“I’ve missed you too,” she breathed, her hands resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I didn’t realize how much… until now.”

He tilted his head, giving her the slightest, inviting smile, and in that instant, all the fear, all the doubt, all the tension from their battles melted away. Rosa leaned forward, and he met her halfway, hands coming up to cradle her face.

Their lips met in a kiss that was slow, searching, and filled with all the unspoken words of the months they’d spent apart. It was soft at first, tentative, like rediscovering a melody long forgotten. Then it deepened, urgent and desperate, a tangible reminder of everything they meant to each other.

Rosa’s fingers threaded through his hair, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest, a steady, grounding fire. She realized in that moment that love wasn’t just a comfort—it was strength. It was what had brought her back from the brink, what kept her standing now, ready to face whatever came next.

When they finally pulled apart, just enough to breathe, their foreheads pressed together, Rosa whispered, voice trembling with awe and certainty, “I love you, Jolly. I’ve never stopped.”

“I know,” he replied softly, brushing a tear from her cheek. “And I’ve never stopped loving you either. Not for a single second.”

For a long, perfect moment, there was only the two of them, hearts beating in sync, connected in a way that no battle, no darkness, could ever break.

“If I were the two of you, I’d settle down out there—otherwise we’re going to have to have a threesome on the lawn.” Noah’s raspy voice drifted through her mind, and Rosa couldn’t help the giggle that slipped against Jolly’s lips.

“What's our pet saying, my love?” Jolly grinned, his hands still cradling her face, thumbs brushing over the lingering tears on her cheeks, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Rosa pressed closer, letting the warmth of him envelop her. “He’s being… ridiculous,” she whispered, laughter bubbling in her chest.

Their moment was cut short when a few of the mages inside called Jolly back to discuss their newly formed plans. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head before turning away, brushing his hand affectionately against Noah’s arm as he passed back into the house. Moments later, Noah stepped outside, heading straight toward her.

“They think they’ve come up with a solid plan,” he said with a teasing smirk.

“Do you think it’s any good?”

“No,” he admitted, exhaling slowly. “But it wouldn’t be good no matter what angle you take. There will be casualties… even if we do everything right.” His gaze drifted to the dark treeline, as if expecting danger to step out of it at any moment.

She swallowed hard. “With the kind of power he has… how are we supposed to go against him?”

A small, humorless laugh escaped him. “Shame you can’t read the future yet.”

“Apparently that’s a trick that takes years to master,” she murmured.

Noah closed the distance between them in a slow, deliberate step, shadows catching along the sharp line of his jaw. His voice dropped, low and rough, meant only for her.

“I wasn’t there to protect you before,” he said, eyes locked on hers with a fierce intensity. “None of our past lives ever gave us that chance… or that luck.” His hand brushed her arm, a touch that sent a warm shiver through her.

“But hear me now—no matter what plan they piece together, no matter where they think they need me…” He leaned in, his breath brushing her cheek. “I’m with you. You are my priority.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air around them felt impossibly still, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

Noah’s hand lingered on her arm, thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path over her skin—too gentle for someone with hands built for war, too intimate for a man trying to pretend he wasn’t affected. Her heartbeat stuttered in her chest, loud enough she wondered if he could hear it.

She lifted her gaze to him, trying—and failing—not to drown in the intensity simmering behind his eyes. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t guarantee,” she whispered, though her voice wavered just enough to betray her.

His jaw tightened. “I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep.”

The space between them had collapsed to barely a breath. Heat rolled off him, wrapping around her like a shield, a temptation. A breeze swept through the trees, carrying the scent of pine and smoke, but she barely registered it—her world had narrowed to the man standing inches from her.

“And what if keeping that promise puts you in danger?” she asked softly, her fingers curling at her sides to stop herself from reaching for him. If she touched him now, she knew she’d lose whatever restraint she had left—logic, caution, all of it would crumble the moment her hands found him.

His eyes flicked to her lips for the briefest moment—a spark, quick but electric. “Then danger will have to get in line.”

Her breath caught.

A shout from inside the safe house broke the moment, muffled but urgent. Noah’s eyes flicked toward the door, then back to her, torn—but only for a heartbeat. His fingers slid down her arm, catching her hand in his. The warmth of it grounded her, tethered her.

“We’ll finish this,” he murmured, squeezing once before reluctantly pulling away.

Whether he meant the conversation or the tension hanging between them, she wasn’t sure.

I bite the inside of my cheek, blinking down at the numbers. Salary: higher. Benefits: better. Schedule: flexible. Distance from everything I know and love? Significant.

My eyes drift toward the window, where the curtains hide the skyline I’ve seen through hotel glass for the past four years. Always different cities, always the same feeling—temporary. Transient. Like my entire life has been built in layovers and away games.

And maybe that’s what this is. A way out. A fresh start.

But then why does my chest feel so heavy?

I fold the contract closed and set it beside me on the bed like it’s suddenly made of lead. My hands stay on my lap, clenched, as if they know I’m teetering on the edge of something I won’t be able to undo.

Dad took me to dinner tonight.

He made reservations at that steakhouse near the arena—the one with the stiff white napkins and the framed jerseys on the walls. He didn’t say anything at first. Just asked how I was doing, how the training staff was holding up. Casual. Familiar. Safe.

But then, over coffee, he brought up the Boston offer.

"You gonna take it?" he asked, his voice neutral. Too neutral.

I’d stirred the cream in my cup like it held the answer.

"I don’t know," I told him. "It’s a good opportunity."

He nodded. Didn’t push. That’s how he is—quiet, proud, unreadable. But I saw the shift in his eyes. The flicker of something that looked a lot like loss.

"You’re good at what you do, sweetheart. You’d be a loss for us—but I’d get it."

I’d looked at him then, really looked at him. This man who’s been my biggest supporter, my harshest critic, and now... my barrier. The one thing Noah’s afraid to face.

I didn’t tell him about Noah, of course. That wasn’t the moment. It never seems to be the moment.

But maybe that’s part of the problem. Everything with Noah has been postponed, suspended between hope and hesitation. I love him. I haven’t said it out loud, but I do. It’s terrifying how much.

But love doesn’t always fix things. Sometimes it just complicates them.

I glance at the contract again. One signature and I could be gone by the end of the month. New city. New team. No more tiptoeing around locker rooms or holding my breath every time someone asks if I’m seeing anyone. I could finally be... free.

So why does the idea make me feel like I’m abandoning something precious?

Or someone.

Noah’s face flashes in my mind—I press the heels of my palms to my eyes. They burn. From exhaustion, from indecision, from the ache of wanting too many things at once.

I want to be good at my job. I want to make my own name, not just be "the coach’s daughter." I want to be proud of the life I’ve built.

But I also want to walk into a room and not have to pretend I don’t love the man across it.

A knock on the door takes me out of my thoughts. I know I should have checked the time, maybe checked the door before opening it, who knows if it was a murderer on the other end. But when I see Noah’s face I only slowly step aside and let him in. 

The door shuts behind him with a soft click.

Noah drops his bag by the wall, glancing around like he's expecting someone else to be here. Maybe he thought this was just another post-game visit. Another night where we pretend the world outside these walls doesn’t exist.

But I don’t turn to face him.

“You’re quiet,” he says.

I nod once. My arms tighten around myself. “We need to talk.”

He’s leaning on the door, shoulders slumped. He sighs, already bracing for something he won’t like. “I know.”

“I want to be exclusive.”

“I got a job offer.”

We both speak simultaneously. The words collide in the space between us like a slap.

Our eyes lock. Confused. Wide. Vulnerable. We both shout, “What?!”

He blinks first, stepping further into the room.“From who?”

“Boston,” I say. “Medical team. They want to fly me out next week.”

The silence is immediate, tense. I hear the shift in his breathing more than anything.

He scoffs softly, like he doesn’t believe me—or doesn’t want to. “What, you’re just gonna leave? Just like that?”

I finally turn to face him, arms dropping to my sides. “And what about you?! Now all of a sudden you want to be exclusive. A bit late isn’t it.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“No, it’s reality,” I snap. “I can’t keep doing this—sneaking into your room after games, pretending we’re just nurse and player in public. Hiding every time someone knocks.”

“You think I want that?” he fires back, stepping toward me. “You think this is fun for me? Pretending you don’t mean anything when you’re all I think about?”

“Then why haven’t you done something about it?” I shout, frustration breaking through. “Why won’t you talk to my dad? Why are we still pretending this isn’t real?”

“Because the second he finds out, I’m off this team!” he says, voice sharp. “And you—you—you’re the one who said we had to keep it quiet.”

“I said that months ago,” I fire back. “Before I realized I was falling for someone who only wants me when it’s convenient.”

His face contorts, hurt flashing across his eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” I ask, voice dropping. “I’ve bent over backward to protect you, to protect us, and for what? So I can lie awake every night wondering if I’m just a temporary distraction before you move on to someone easier?”

He closes the distance between us in three hard steps.

“You really think I don’t care?” he growls, voice low. “You think this is easy for me? Watching you walk through the locker room like you’re not mine? Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to tell the guys? To tell your dad? To pull you into my lap and kiss the hell out of you in front of everyone?”

I don’t realize I’m crying until he’s close enough to see the tears. I shake my head, voice trembling. “Then why don’t you?”

His hands come up like he’s going to reach for me—then drop back down.

“Because I didn’t want to cost you everything,” he says, voice ragged. “Because if your dad cut you off, or you got pulled from the team because of me... I couldn’t live with that.”

Noah stares at me like he’s just seeing me for the first time. Then something in him snaps.

He grabs my waist, drags me into him, and kisses me like a man who’s drowning. Like he’s been dying to. Like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

I melt against him before I can talk myself out of it.

The kiss is rough—angry and messy and full of all the words we’ve swallowed for weeks. His hands thread into my hair; mine grip the hem of his shirt, yanking him closer. There’s no pretense now. No restraint.

When we finally break apart, breathless and trembling, his forehead rests against mine.

“I don’t care anymore,” he murmurs. “I’ll tell him. I’ll tell everyone.”

I don’t say anything right away. I just let my fingers curl into his shirt and try to believe that this—we—might finally be real.

His breath is still unsteady against my cheek, the warmth of it ghosting over my lips like he’s debating kissing me again. Maybe I’m hoping he will. Maybe I’m terrified he will.

“Noah…” My voice barely works. It’s ruined from kissing him, from wanting him for too long.

He lifts his head, eyes searching mine like he’s trying to read every thought I’m too afraid to say out loud. The fierce determination in his expression hasn’t dimmed. If anything, it’s sharpened.

“I mean it,” he says, softer now but no less intense. “I’m done hiding. If your father wants to bench me, cut me, throw me out on the street—fine.” His fingers brush my cheek, slow and reverent in a way that makes my chest ache. “I’m not losing you again.”

My heart stutters, painfully hopeful. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he insists. “You matter more to me than my career. Than hockey. Than whatever lines we were pretending we weren’t crossing.”

I want to believe him, to fall into this moment like it’s safe—but the consequences press against my ribs like a warning. My father’s voice, his expectations, his rules… all of it tangles with the memory of Noah’s lips on mine.

“If he finds out,” I whisper, “he’ll feel betrayed. By both of us.”

Noah steps even closer, his forehead brushing mine again, grounding me. “He’ll be furious.” A small, crooked smile ghosted across his mouth. “Coach already hates me most days.”

I huff out a shaky laugh despite myself. “That’s not helping.”

“Then let me try this.”

His hands drop to my waist, not pulling me in—just resting there, warm and sure, giving me every chance to step back. I don’t.

“We’ve been dancing around this for months,” he murmurs. “You and me… it was never going to stay quiet. Not when it feels like this.”

My pulse tumbles. “What if we’re making a mistake?”

“Then it’s mine to make with you.” His thumb sweeps over my hip, slow enough to make my breath catch. “But I don’t think it is.”

The silence that follows is heavy and trembling and full of every unsaid thing we’ve carried alone.

Finally, I let myself lean into him—just a little. Just enough.

“Okay,” I breathe.

It’s not a promise. It’s not a plan.

She tosses the robe onto the hook, peels the lace from her body like it’s skin she doesn’t want anymore, and stares at herself in the mirror. The makeup’s still holding—barely. Mascara smudged, red lipstick faded into something more bruised than bold.

She looks good. But she doesn't feel it.

Sometimes she thinks about quitting. Going back to just being a student. Full-time. Poor. Invisible. But then she remembers what it's like scraping together coins for instant ramen, or worrying if her card will decline at the pharmacy.

No one tells you how expensive thinking is. Philosophy doesn’t pay bills.

Sex does.

So she showers, scrubbing the scent of other people off her skin until it’s raw. Then she wraps herself in the oversized hoodie she always hides in after work—the one that smells like clean laundry and nobody but her—the uber drops her off in the middle of the strip-empty and trashed- she walks the remaining four blocks home, past neon signs and half-dead tourists. She doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. She never does.

In the apartment, she throws her bag on the counter, opens a bottle of cheap wine, and drinks it straight from the bottle. Her laptop's still open from earlier—an unfinished thesis blinking on the screen.

She doesn't touch it.

Instead, she curls up on the couch, knees to her chest, wine in hand, staring out the window at a city that never shuts up. Her phone buzzes again. This time, she doesn’t even look.

Maybe tomorrow she’ll feel something again.

Maybe not.

She drifts in and out of sleep, finally waking nearly twenty-four hours later, the world outside having spun on without her. The unmade bed beneath her is a tangled mess of sheets and pillows, the faint scent of sweat and lavender still lingering in the air. Slowly, she pulls herself upright, muscles stiff and aching from the long, unbroken rest. She slips out of the worn nightshirt she’d slept in and pulls on a pair of soft cotton shorts and a loose, casual shirt—nothing fancy, just enough to feel put together.

Today marks the beginning of a new seven-day cycle of work, a fresh start she insists on embracing. Her nails are freshly painted in a subtle shade—carefully manicured to perfection, a small but necessary ritual of control in a life that often feels chaotic. After that, she makes a quick stop to pick up her dry cleaning; the crisp blouses and skirts she wears need to be flawless. Then, she ventures into one of the many lingerie stores nearby, wandering the racks with practiced ease, selecting a few delicate pieces—lace and silk, soft pastels and bold blacks—that will become her armor for the week ahead.

When it’s time to leave, Karah doesn’t even think about using her own car. She knows better. There’s always that one weird guy who somehow manages to memorize license plates, lurking at the edges of the neighborhood, thinking he can track a girl home. No, a public Uber is safer—a stranger driving her through crowded streets, blending her into the anonymity of the city.

The brothel pulses with energy when she arrives. The afternoon light filters through stained glass, casting fractured colors across polished floors and dark wood panels. The hallways are alive with movement—girls clattering in heels, their laughter and whispered conversations bouncing off the walls as they hurry to their assigned rooms. The air is thick with perfume, smoke, and anticipation, a strange mix of desperation and excitement that Karah has learned to navigate with practiced ease.

She pulls out the worn schedule log from the small locker beside the dressing room mirror, her eyes scanning the cramped, handwritten notes. Dance rotation—her name circled in bold red ink for the week ahead. A small, relieved sigh escapes her lips.

“Thank God,” she mumbles under her breath, a weight lifting from her shoulders.

Just then, Lana, one of the more seasoned dancers, slides into the cramped space beside her, adjusting her sequined bodysuit. “You lucked out this week,” Lana says, flashing a knowing smile. “No rooms, no awkward ‘clients.’ Just lights, music, and the stage.”

Karah nods, fingers still tracing the schedule. “Yeah. Men throwing money at me, dissociating to the beat… I can do that. It’s safer.”

Lana laughs softly, the sound mingling with the distant thump of bass from the main hall. “Safer, sure. But don’t get too comfortable. You never know when the rotation changes up—or when one of those ‘clients’ decides he wants more than a dance.”

Karah shrugs, already feeling the familiar pulse of the music calling her. “Tonight, I’ll just focus on the stage.”

Lana grins, patting her on the shoulder. “Good. Catch you out there.”

Karah pockets the log, takes a deep breath, and gets herself ready to step toward the glowing neon stage entrance, ready to lose herself in the music and the lights.

***

He told himself it was just curiosity. A one-time thing. But he keeps coming back—telling himself lies he no longer believes. It's not just the way she moves, or the black lace that barely hides anything. It's the way she talks. Calm, sharp, unexpected. One minute she’s unzipping his jacket, the next she’s quoting Simone de Beauvoir like it’s foreplay.

Karah isn’t like anyone he’s met. She’s working her way through grad school—philosophy, literature, ideas that hit harder than they should in the low light of her room. Their time together is more than sex, though there’s plenty of that too. It's charged. Tense. Messy in all the best and worst ways.

She draws lines. Keeps things professional. He tries to respect that. Fails, more often than not. That's how he got her first name out of her. There’s a pull between them—part danger, part something softer he doesn’t dare look at too closely. And beneath it all, something raw is starting to show.

Noah sat slumped in the recording studio, the thick soundproof glass separating him from the control room. The music pulsed through the speakers, a steady beat under discussion by the band and producers. They were hashing out fluctuations, debating whether the snare should snap harder, if the bass should drop sooner.

“Hey, Noah, you good?” Nick, the bassist, leaned over, his brow furrowed. “You’ve been zoning out for like, ten minutes.”

Noah forced a nod, tapping his fingers lightly on the armrest, but his eyes glazed over. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just thinking.”

“Thinking about the track or something else?” Folio, the drummer, asked, his voice edged with concern.

He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “Just trying to focus, that’s all. This stuff takes time.”

The two Nick’s exchanged a look. “Look, man, we need you here. You’re the frontman. We can’t have you checking out mid-session.”

Noah’s jaw tightened, frustration flickering in his eyes. “I said I’m fine. Just give me a second.”

But his mind was miles away, replaying the last time he saw her—the scent of her perfume still lingering in his memory. The way she looked at him, distant but unmistakably familiar.

Sitting on her couch, thumbing the edge of a paperback she tossed at him—The Ethics of Ambiguity—while she moves through the room, barefoot, glass of wine in one hand. The robe she’s wearing barely qualifies as clothing. Black silk, falling open just enough to be distracting.

“Page 52,” she says, sipping. “You should read it. You’re arrogant enough to need it.”

He smirks. “You always insult your clients after sex, or am I special?”

“You’re not a client right now.” Her eyes meet his—steady, unreadable. “You’re a problem.”

She crosses the room slowly, her robe slipping lower with each step. The book slides from his hand, forgotten, as she sinks into his lap like she belongs there. Her fingers are in his hair, pulling just hard enough to draw a low sound from his throat.

He presses her back against the cushions, hands tracing over bare skin and silk and nothing at all. She gasps when he bites her shoulder—soft, then not so soft.

“Still think I’m a problem?” he mutters, lips against her throat.

Her nails drag down his back. “Absolutely.”

The robe falls. Her head tips back. And for a while, the only philosophy between them is the kind spoken in sighs, in heat, in bodies that don’t know how to stay away.

Nick sighed, exchanging one last look with Folio before turning back to the mixer. “Alright, but you better snap out of it soon.”

Noah gave a small, distracted smile but didn’t respond. Instead, he closed his eyes briefly, willing himself to remember the beat—anything but the ghost of her.

***

There was one thing she truly loved about working the dance rotation. It gave her a rare kind of control—control over when and how she could say no.

Sure, she could always decline an offer from a client, but those no’s never came without consequences. Word got around fast in their world. The moment a girl started turning men away too often, the whispers followed—“difficult,” “too picky,” “not worth the trouble.” And soon enough, the no’s piled up until she found herself standing alone, watching others—girls who said yes without hesitation—pocket the money she desperately needed.

Dancing was different. On the stage, under the hot, colored lights, she could set the terms. The rhythm was hers to command, the distance between her and the men clear and defined. Here, the clients were buyers of an experience, not of her body. It was a boundary she could enforce, a line that wasn’t crossed without her consent.

It gave her freedom—a fragile, precious freedom—not just from the physical demands but from the feeling that her body no longer belonged to her. When she danced, she was in control, moving to her own beat, not theirs. And for that brief time, the power was hers alone.

The music throbbed like a second heartbeat, bass vibrating through the floor and up into her bones. Karah moved with it instinctively, not performing, not thinking—just existing inside the rhythm. The stage lights bathed her in gold and violet, casting long shadows and shimmering across her skin as she twisted with the beat, hair spilling down her back like liquid ink.

This was the part she craved—the disconnection. The freedom. For these few minutes, she wasn’t someone’s fantasy or product or price tag. She was just motion and music. No demands. No voices.

Her eyes stayed soft-focus, barely seeing the faces in the crowd, just shapes in the dark. Men watched from velvet couches, drinks in hand, hungry and hollow-eyed. She didn’t care.

But then—

A shift.

A shape that didn’t blend into the rest.

Stillness in the chaos.

Her gaze, mid-spin, caught on a figure leaning against the far wall, mostly shadowed but unmistakable. Hoodie half-pulled back, jaw clenched in that familiar way. Hair a little longer than before. Eyes locked on her like he’d been waiting.

Noah.

For a moment, she forgot the music. Forgot the choreography. Her body kept moving, muscle memory carrying her through the next steps—but her mind slammed into that stare.

He looked different, and exactly the same. The kind of tired that goes soul-deep. The kind of yearning you don’t show unless it’s for someone who already knows how you break.

Their eyes held—just a second too long.

Just long enough.

She turned sharply, letting her hair veil her face, swallowing the hitch in her breath.

The lights changed. The beat dropped again. And she danced harder.

Because if she stopped, even for a second, she might walk right off that stage and into whatever mess still lingered between them.

And she wasn’t sure she’d survive it twice.

***

His manager was going to kill him.

They were supposed to make a quick appearance—just long enough to shake a few hands, pose for a few pictures, and remind everyone that they were still part of the production family. It wasn’t the main event, not by a long shot, but it was still important that they be seen. That Noah be seen.

And yet, somewhere between the open bar and the velvet ropes, he’d slipped away.

He couldn’t help it. The urge was too strong. Like muscle memory, his feet carried him through the familiar backstreets until he was standing beneath the crimson neon glow of the club’s discreet signage. His heart thrummed harder the moment he stepped inside. The bouncer didn’t even need to ask his name—just gave a tight nod and spoke into his radio mic, low and quick.

“The usual’s here,” the bouncer murmured.

Within seconds, Madame appeared from the shadows near the velvet drapes. Her sequined shawl shimmered like oil in the low light, and her expression was equal parts indulgence and exasperation.

“She’s not working the rooms tonight,” she told him before he could ask. “Selene’s on stage rotation this week. Dancing only.”

Noah’s chest sank, but he masked it with a polite smile. Of course she was. That’s how it worked here—rotations, rules, distance. You couldn’t get too used to anything or anyone.

Still, he nodded. He’d take what he could get.

The bass hits first—deep and slow, like a pulse under the skin. Noah walks in through the velvet-curtained doorway, the air thick with perfume and sweat and too much cologne. It’s late, or maybe early. He’s not keeping track. Vegas doesn’t tell time.

The room is lit like a dream: soft reds, shadows licking the corners, a stage glowing under a single spotlight. Men line the edge of it—drinks in hand, eyes hungry, bills already half-raised.

And then he sees her.

Up on the pole, back arched, hair loose like a sin slipping down her spine. She’s moving slow. Controlled. Every shift of her hips is deliberate, practiced, but there’s something behind it too—something that feels real. Or maybe he just wants it to be.

She's wearing black lace again. Of course she is. But here, under this light, it looks like armor.

His throat goes dry. He doesn't move. Doesn’t breathe. Just watches.

She’s in command—completely. Twisting around the pole with an elegance that feels out of place in a room full of drunk men and dead-eyed lust. One guy near the front slides a wad of cash onto the stage. She doesn’t even look at him. Doesn’t need to. She knows exactly what she’s doing. And so do they.

Noah feels it in his chest. That sharp pull. A low burn of want and something darker—something possessive.

He hates it.

Hates the way the guy with the gold chain is leaning forward like he might reach for her. Hates the way her smile is just convincing enough to pass as real. Hates the fact that she’s here, on this stage, putting herself on display for men who will never get to know how brilliant she is. Or how careful. Or how alone.

She drops low—knees wide, fingers trailing along her thigh—and Noah has to clench his fists to keep from reacting. It's not the dancing that kills him. It's how easy she makes it look. How untouchable she is, even while they're all trying to buy pieces of her.

And then, just for a second, she sees him.

Their eyes lock. Across the lights, the crowd, the space where her body is currency and his presence is a secret. Her expression doesn’t change—still sultry, still in character—but her eyes go a shade darker.

He wonders if she's angry. If she knew he’d come. If she hoped he wouldn’t.

But she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t falter. Just keeps moving, like he’s no one at all.

It had been an unusual request for her to summon Joshua and Jolly to the shed, but she had her reasons, ones that weighed heavily on her mind. Instead of lying down on the cold, rough wooden floor, she chose to sit cross-legged in front of Joshua, her posture reflecting her resolve. Jolly, ever vigilant and supportive, perched directly behind her, ready to catch her if she stumbled or lost her balance.

“Are you absolutely certain about this?” Joshua asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Without a doubt,” she replied, her voice steady and resolute.

He didn't voice any further doubts; instead, he reached out, his hands extending toward her. With deliberate care, he placed one hand on each side of her head, his fingers resting gently near her temples. As he did so, she noticed a soft glow emanating from his skin, a faint shimmering light that hinted at the power coursing through him.

Almost immediately, she felt the pressure of his magic as it seeped through her skin and infiltrated her mind. It was a disorienting sensation, a wave of nausea washing over her as a torrent of memories flashed before her eyes. Joshua was diving deep into her subconscious, searching for something elusive. But rather than letting her memories overwhelm her, she took control.

With a determined movement, she reached up and grasped his hands, anchoring herself in the moment. She focused intently, feeling the delicate thread of his magic and holding onto it with all her strength. Instead of letting it spiral out of control, she nurtured it, allowing it to blossom within her mind.

Slowly, a singular memory began to take shape, vivid and clear. The familiar surroundings of the room in England materialized before her, and she honed in on that image, concentrating with all her might. Drawing upon her own magic, she sought to balance Joshua's energy, asserting her will over the vision that unfolded. She felt an exhilarating rush as she took command, guiding the memory into clarity and bringing it into the forefront of their shared experience.

She caught a glimpse of the shadow from the corner of her eye, but each time she turned, she could never quite see it clearly. The same voice echoed in her mind, insisting that she wasn't strong enough.

Bullshit.

She was more than capable, and she was determined to prove it. She felt herself lean into Benjamin's hands, urging him to amplify his magic; his fingers throbbed beneath her, somewhere distant as he fought against it, yet she compelled him to persist. The shadow was alert again in her peripheral vision, but this time, instead of twisting her head to catch it, she concentrated, forcing the shadow to move forward and into her line of sight, separating her old self from the new. Suddenly, she found herself standing beside the bed, gazing down at the person she had once been in a bygone era. She observed her memories unfold like an out-of-body experience, as if she were watching someone else concealed in the shadows.

"I certainly didn't see that coming."

She turned quickly to find the same woman who had been lying in bed, now standing in a light golden dress, her hair cascading down, her skin even paler than before, with a faint red mark on the lower right side of her abdomen where the lace was dark, revealing a small hole.

“I-I don't understand.”

"Not surprising," the specter replied with a hint of condescension.

They remained quiet for a moment, with Rosa attempting to comprehend everything as the memory she had previously witnessed replayed before her eyes. She turned when the nobles re-entered the room, eavesdropping on their discussion. This time, she could actually grasp the details of their argument.

“M’lady, you cannot keep him with you,” one of the lords implored.

“Says who?” her former self mocked.

“The law,” another gruff lord asserted. “The rules are clear: if you intend to marry a human lord, you must relinquish all magic and magical beings.”

Her guardian tumbled from the bed, transforming back into his four-legged form and growling at the lords.

“I believe you can see he would disagree.”

"How can I lift this curse?" Rosa's voice was resolute as she turned back to the golden-dressed specter, who gazed at the memory with glistening tears in her eyes.

"This was the night everything changed," Selene replied, her tone tinged with sadness, lost in her own reflections.

"What happened?" Rosa asked, glancing down at the dark tear in her dress. What had they done to her?

The surroundings faded away until it was just the two of them in the shed, with Jolly and Joshua absent.

"We’ve been devising a plan to rise against the lords. They believed our magic should remain confined to their Circle. They opposed my desire to marry a human. Initially, they intended for me to wed one of their highest lords, which would have amplified my magic for generations, but I would have been utterly miserable." She clasped her hands together and began to pace slowly in front of Rosa. "I turned down his proposal, sticking to my original marriage plans, when I learned from one of my spies that they were plotting to kill my fiancé and coerce me into marriage. For months, there had been whispers that the lords were trying to oust many of us from the seated council.”

“That's when you fought back.” The spectra nodded.

“We had gathered many of our faithful, easily bringing them out of the city and into a safe space. Thomas, my guardian and I were planning to leave that afternoon and head to the safe haven.” She choked back tears, her voice trembling with emotion. “Thomas had gone ahead of me, I was set to ride on horseback with my fiance. When I made it to the stables I found him dead.”

“It all unfolded so fast. I use the bond between me and Thomas to warn him to bring more back to fight. The circle took me as prisoner that night telling me that they would spare my rebellious friends if I were to accept their peace offering and marry the Lord that they had chosen. I had received confirmation from Thomas that he had gathered several guardians and only a few of our soldiers but they were hours away. I had to stall. I accepted the marriage to have a lady prep my hair and put on my finest dress.” Selene played with the thin layer of lace on the dress she wore.

“I managed to kill time and as we went through the ceremony I could only hope that they were moving fast. It was not soon enough.”

She must have seen the confused look on Rosa's face. She sighed, shaking her head as she dropped her shoulders. “Sacred marriages between celestials is a power bond, magic forever linked to one another. If one were to die the other would accept all magic that their partner had. One of the few reasons we celestials take marriage very seriously.”

“Could your human husband take your magic if, God forbid, something had happened to you?”

“If that was part of my marriage bargain, yes.”

“Wouldn't you think he would have betrayed you for that? Only married you for your magic!”

“Seems you know very little about love.” The spectra biased. “You have a guardian and a mage who love you, would you not think the guardian would lay down his life for you? That your mage would surrender all magic that he has in order to keep you alive?”

“I've never asked.”

“You need not ask. It's in the way they look at you. I have seen your memories just as you have seen mine.”

Rosa stood frozen, she'd been putting up walls, keeping her distance for fear that if she died this time around Jolly and Noah would be spared of the heartache.

“My guardian was too late.” fainted whisper broke their silence.

“As soon as they breach the castle walls I was stabbed, my magic lost. Taken.”

“That doesn't explain the curse, why must our lives continuously do this?”

“There is only one reason it would.”

The shed once again faded away and they were in the middle of a grand throne room. Rosa saw her former self standing in the same golden dress hand in hand with a man next to her. She watched as they exchanged vows and then a loud crash rumbled the castle walls. The man standing next to her brandished a dagger and stabbed it through her belly, her knees giving away and collapsing onto the floor. Rosa stated hard at the face of her betrayer, and her own breath caught in her throat.

Standing there a sneer on his face, younger than he was now, not as many wrinkles, not as much evil plastered into his features.

The Magistrate.