Chapter 19
NINETEEN
O nce outside, Clover tried to process everything they’d learned. Fated mates. The words thrummed through her veins like a forgotten spell suddenly remembered. It explained so much – the instant connection, the way his presence both calmed and excited her magic, the bone-deep certainty that had been growing since that first kiss...She knew shifters had fated mates, but she had no idea she’d be Rook’s.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Rook murmured, stepping close enough that she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. His hands settled on her waist, warm and steady. “I can practically hear the wheels turning.”
“This is a lot to take in,” she protested, even as her hands came to rest on his chest of their own accord. His heart beat strong and fast beneath her palm. “Finding a fated mate is rare, and with everything else going on...”
“We can do it.” His expression softened in a way she’d only seen directed at her. “But first, we should see Madame Zephyrine before Otis sends his entire library after us as an escort.”
A glance back showed several books pressed hopefully against the archive windows. One particularly ambitious volume of love poems appeared to be trying to squeeze through a mail slot.
“Good point.” She stepped back reluctantly, immediately missing his warmth. “Though I have to warn you – Madame Zephyrine can be a bit...”
“Eccentric?”
“I was going to say meddlesome, but that works too.”
His laugh wrapped around her like sunshine. “Lead the way, little witch.”
Madame Zephyrine’s shop occupied a corner of Mystical Grove, its windows filled with swirling mists and dancing lights. Even from outside, Clover’s magic picked up the powerful wards layered through the building’s foundations. No one got past those barriers without the seer’s knowledge.
“Last chance to run,” she murmured to Rook as they approached the door.
The door swung open before she could finish the warning. Madame Zephyrine stood in the entrance, resplendent in flowing purple robes embroidered with shifting constellations. Her silver hair caught the ethereal light from the shop’s enchanted lanterns, and her amethyst eyes sparkled with barely contained glee.
“Finally!” She clapped her hands together. “Neve, dear, put on the special tea. Our newest fated pair has arrived.”
Clover groaned. “Does everyone know about this?”
“Oh, darling.” Madame Zephyrine ushered them inside where her twin sister Neve already had cups of something shimmering arranged on a table draped in starlight-infused silk. “We’ve known since the moment you two met. The magical surge nearly knocked over my crystal ball.”
“It did knock over your crystal ball,” Neve corrected mildly, gesturing for them to sit. “Along with three tarot decks and that enchanted wind chime you imported from the fairy realm.”
“Details, details.” Madame Zephyrine waved a bejeweled hand. “The point is your bond practically sang through the ley lines. Even the town’s magical foundations responded. Why do you think the streetlamps outside Spellbound Lights always shine brighter when you’re together?”
Clover sank into a plush armchair, heat creeping up her neck. “I thought that was a power surge.”
“A surge of something, certainly.” Neve’s eyes danced with quiet mischief. “Though not the electrical kind.”
Rook sat beside Clover, close enough that their shoulders brushed. His tiger energy curled protectively around her, and she found herself leaning into his warmth despite her embarrassment.
“The bond between you pulses like a living entity,” Madame Zephyrine observed, sliding teacups across the table. The liquid inside shifted colors. “But someone seeks to destroy it before it fully forms. Drink – this will help clarify things.”
Clover sniffed the tea cautiously. It smelled of starlight and possibilities with undertones of... “Is this my grandmother’s secret recipe?”
“With a few modifications.” Neve smiled. “She always said it helped steady the heart when magic ran high.”
The first sip flooded Clover with warmth, memories of childhood summers spent learning potion-craft in her grandmother’s kitchen. Her magic settled, and she sensed Rook relaxing beside her as the tea worked its calming influence.
“Now then,” Madame Zephyrine leaned forward, her expression turning serious, “the ritual they attempt requires dark magic – corrupted tiger energy twisted against its natural purpose. But such magic can only succeed if the bond remains weak.”
“How do we strengthen it?” Rook’s voice carried that protective rumble that made Clover’s magic hum.
“Time together,” Neve replied. “Allow your magics to intertwine naturally. Work on joint projects. Share meals. Learn each other’s stories.”
“We’ve already got the medicinals for the spa we’re going to work on,” Clover said. “Let’s spend some time and work together on the signature scents at Weaver’s Botanicals. Blend your scientific approach with my magical one.”
“That’s a good start,” Madame Zephyrine beamed. “Especially since you’ll need a secure place to work.”
“Is there anything else we should be doing?” Rook asked.
“Communicate. Talk. Share your histories with each other and deepen that natural link between you. The one trying to break your bond will likely escalate their attacks now that you’re aware of them.”
“Hudson. I’m sure of it,” Rook growled, his hands clenching around his teacup.
“Among others.” Madame Zephyrine’s gaze turned distant. “Dark forces gather, drawn by the power of your potential mating. But remember – together, your magics are far stronger than apart.”
“What she means,” Neve translated with fond exasperation, “is don’t let fear keep you from exploring this connection. The strongest defense against dark magic is genuine emotion freely given.”
Clover caught Rook watching her, his expression soft in a way that made her heart flutter. “I suppose we should get started then,” she managed. “The sooner we create those protection formulas...”
“Yes, yes, go make your love potions.” Madame Zephyrine shooed them toward the door. “But, dear?” She caught Clover’s arm, lowering her voice. “Don’t fight what your magic already knows. Some bonds are written in the stars themselves.”
Outside, the late morning sun painted Mystical Grove in watercolor hues. Clover took a steadying breath, trying to process everything they’d learned. A warm hand settled at the small of her back.
“Hungry?” Rook asked, his thumb tracing soothing circles against her spine. “We could grab lunch before diving into formulation work.”
“Trying to follow Neve’s advice about sharing meals?” She smiled up at him, some of her tension easing at the answering warmth in his eyes.
“Maybe I simply want to spend time with you.” He guided her toward his car. “Besides, I hear Burgers After Dark is really good.”
“Burgers for a date meal?” She raised an eyebrow. “Not very alpha CEO of you.”
“Would you prefer caviar and champagne?”
“Stars, no. Burgers sound perfect.” She slid into the passenger seat, watching him round the hood with that fluid grace that never failed to catch her eye. “Though I have to warn you – I’m a strictly ketchup-only girl. No fancy aioli or truffle mayonnaise.”
His laugh filled the car, rich and genuine. “Noted. Any other condiment preferences I should know about?”
“I’m also strongly opposed to mustard in all its forms.”
“Clearly this mate bond was meant to be. I hate mustard too.”
The banter carried them to Burgers After Dark, a cozy spot tucked between a magical bookstore and an enchanted flower shop. Inside, strings of fairy lights cast a warm glow over rustic wooden tables, and the scent of grilled meat and fresh herbs filled the air. Their server, a young werewolf with bright blue hair, led them to a quiet corner booth.
“So,” Rook said once they’d ordered, “tell me about you growing up in Mystic Hollow. What was little Clover like?”
The question sparked memories – summer afternoons spent practicing spells in her parents’ garden, winter evenings curled up with magical texts while her mother brewed potions nearby. Joy mingled with old grief, and something in her expression must have shifted because Rook reached across the table to take her hand.
“You don’t have to?—”
“No, it’s okay.” She squeezed his fingers. “I want to tell you.” Taking a deep breath, she began sharing stories of her childhood – the magical mishaps, the adventures with Romi, the way her parents had encouraged her growing powers while teaching her the importance of using magic responsibly.
“They sound wonderful,” Rook said softly when she described how they’d constantly traveled for magical research, taking her along to conferences and expeditions.
“They were.” She traced patterns on the condensation of her water glass. “When they died... I was eighteen, fresh out of high school. There was a magical conference in San Francisco. An earthquake hit, and they...” She swallowed hard. “They stayed behind to help others evacuate. The building collapsed before they could get out themselves.”
Rook’s hand tightened around hers. “They died heroes.”
“Yeah.” She blinked back tears. “That’s why I opened the shops. They always said magic should be used to help people, to make lives better. I wanted to honor that.”
“You do.” His thumb brushed across her knuckles. “Every day, with every person you help. They’d be proud of you.”
The simple sincerity in his voice wrapped around her heart like a warm blanket. “Your turn,” she said, needing to shift focus before she completely fell apart in the middle of lunch. “Tell me about young Rook. Were you always so...”
“Alpha-y?” His lips quirked.
“I was going to say serious, but yeah.”
His expression turned thoughtful as their food arrived. “Honestly? I was kind of a mess after my father died...” He took a bite of his burger, gathering his thoughts. “I threw myself into studying. Anything I thought would help me live up to his legacy.”
“That’s a lot of pressure for a kid.”
“Looking back, yeah. But at the time...” He shrugged. “It gave me purpose. A way to feel close to him. The spa project though...” A soft smile crossed his face. “That’s more about my grandmother. Seeing her deal with the aches and pains of aging, watching other elders struggle... I wanted to create something that could truly help.”
“Hence the medicinal scents.”
“Exactly. Traditional medicine enhanced by science and magic.” His eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “Imagine treatments tailored specifically to shifter biology, or spells woven into aromatherapy to boost natural healing...”
Clover’s magic surged with answering excitement. “We could layer protection spells through the base formulas, add enhancement charms to the carrier oils...”
“See?” His grin turned playful. “This is why we’re fated mates. Who else would get this excited about magical aromatherapy?”
“Careful there, tiger.” She stole one of his fries. “A girl might think you’re actually happy about this mating thing.”
“I’m a shifter. A fated mate is a dream come true.” His expression softened into something that made her heart stutter. “Would that be so terrible?”
Before she could answer, her phone buzzed with a text from Romi: Dinner tonight at Golden Lotus? Xabir’s treating! Say yes because I need someone to help me convince him that enchanted fortune cookies are a brilliant business opportunity.
“Speaking of sharing meals,” Clover showed him the message. “Want to help your friend avoid my cousin’s more creative business ventures?”
“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t encourage them.” But his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Though I have to admit, enchanted fortune cookies sound potentially disastrous.”
“Dinner it is then. Purely to protect the citizens of Mystic Hollow from magical food-related chaos.”
“Of course.” She typed out a quick acceptance to Romi. “Nothing to do with following Madame Zephyrine’s advice about spending time together.”
“Absolutely not.” His foot bumped hers under the table. “Though I should warn you – Xabir knows some incredibly embarrassing stories about my college years.”
“Now I’m definitely going.”
His mock groan of despair carried them through the rest of lunch, and Clover found herself reluctant to leave the comfortable bubble they’d created. But work waited, and they had formulas to develop before Hudson could cause more trouble.
Still, as they drove to Weaver’s Botanicals, she couldn’t help thinking that maybe Madame Zephyrine was right. Maybe some bonds really were written in the stars.
Even if those bonds came with meddlesome seers, sarcastic familiars, and the constant threat of dark magic.
Weaver’s Botanicals welcomed them with a symphony of magical scents – lavender and rosemary mingling with more exotic aromas of moon-blooming jasmine and star peppers. The afternoon sun streamed through stained glass windows, painting rainbow patterns across workbenches laden with bubbling cauldrons and crystalline vials.