Chapter 39
Nia
“THE SWORD—LEADER, PROTECTOR, ZADDY.” —A PAGANS BLOG
The old manor stood at the edge of Stella Rune, nestled on twenty acres of rolling land.
Thick woods framed the property, giving it an air of seclusion.
For a building so old, it was in remarkable condition: the stone walls stood tall and sturdy, their surface dappled with ivy that climbed toward the roof like an offering to the sky.
Nia ran her hand along the banister of the grand staircase, its wood polished and warm beneath her touch. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting golden patterns across the floor. Everything about the manor felt like it was waiting—for life, for purpose.
“This place is gorgeous,” Ivy said, stepping out of a side room with a wide grin. “It’s perfect.”
Nia’s throat tightened as she looked around, her vision blurring slightly. She felt a wave of emotion rise, unbidden but welcome. “Yeah,” she said, her voice catching. “It is.”
It would be nothing like the house she grew up in. That hollow, empty manor with too much space and not enough warmth. This place—their place—would be filled with laughter, with people, with life.
Near the doorway, Rue watched with quiet amusement, her keen eyes flicking between them.
The woman was short and curvy; she looked like a ridiculously sexy nymph with mocha-colored hair.
But she wasn’t a woodland creature that lured lovers.
She came from a long lineage of fae, a bloodline as old as Stella Rune itself.
Most people wouldn’t see her pointed ears or the wild eyes that, in the afternoon light, appeared more purple than blue.
They’d see whatever glamour Rue chose to wear, the illusion of smooth, human features.
But Nia was a witch. Fae magic couldn’t fool her so easily.
“What will you do with it?” Rue asked, curious.
Ivy’s grin widened. “Everything.”
Rue laughed, the sound rich and full.
Nia knew the manor was a piece of Rue’s past she was sloughing off, something left to her that she’d never asked for. Nia could relate. Inherited titles, roles, expectations—they had a way of weighing you down until you had to decide: live for them, or live for yourself.
Rue had made her choice.
What would Nia choose?
Everything had been good—great, even—until now.
Something with Lochlan had begun to feel…
off. He’d been cagey, and that wasn’t like him.
When he’d locked himself in that office—an office she was now kicking herself for never searching or questioning—her stomach had twisted.
Now she wondered: why was it always locked? What was he doing in there?
The thought nagged at her.
“What will we do?” Nia said, turning back to Rue, shoving her worries aside. “For starters, we’ll host an after-school program for young supernaturals—not just for those from Stella Rune, but the surrounding areas. It’s in the perfect location.”
Ivy’s expression softened. “Maybe even turn some of the rooms upstairs into safe spaces?”
The idea hung in the air, heavy but hopeful. Nia reached out to grab Ivy’s hand and give it a firm squeeze. “An orphanage of sorts?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Ivy said, her gaze sweeping the room again. “But something.”
Rue clasped her hands in front of her, her gaze sweeping the grand hall before settling back on Nia and Ivy.
“There are two other houses on the property,” she said, her tone practical.
“They used to be staff quarters. You could turn them into housing, or something else. There’s also an empty greenhouse—it’s massive.
And a barn that can hold five horses or other livestock. ”
“Goats?” Ivy asked, her eyes lighting up with interest.
Rue’s eyes flickered violet as she smiled. “Anything you want.”
Nia, still taking in the sheer scale of the place, frowned slightly. “How much does it cost to run a property like this?”
Rue flinched. “Around four hundred thousand a year,” she admitted, her voice quieter.
Ivy winced. “Ouch.”
Rue offered a tight smile. “I’m willing to donate for the first year,” she said. “And I can help fill it with whatever furniture you need. I’ve been left with a lot of pieces.” Hesitation crept into her tone. “But, you know…”
Ivy tilted her head, her brows drawing together. “What?”
Rue’s thoughtful gaze shifted between Nia and Ivy. “You could get funding through the Videt,” she suggested, her voice cautious. “They have grants and other resources—”
“No,” Nia said flatly, the word leaving her mouth before Rue had even finished.
Beside her, Ivy turned, her brow furrowed. “But Nia, you do have an in—”
“I said no,” Nia interrupted. Her chest tightened as she looked at Ivy, then back to Rue. “I want this to be separate from him. This is our biggest venture, and I want it to be on our own. We’ll figure it out.”
Ivy didn’t look convinced. “Nia,” she said, her arms crossing, her tone teetering between persuasion and frustration. “Think about it.”
The silence stretched uncomfortably.
“I’ll give you two some privacy,” Rue said gently, breaking the tension. She offered a small, understanding smile before slipping out of the room, humming a lilting tune that faded as she walked away.
Ivy turned and gave Nia a pointed look.
“No, Ivy,” she said. “I won’t say it again.”
Ivy held her gaze, her expression shifting from mild annoyance to quiet curiosity. She tilted her head slightly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Nia scoffed, waving a hand dismissively.
But the word fell flat as she said it. Her thoughts drifted to Lochlan. He should be here. She’d asked him, wanted him close before signing off on something this big. But...
She rubbed her temple, sighing. Was he acting weird? Why couldn’t she just ask him?
“Something’s off with Lochlan,” she admitted, hoping saying it out loud would help. It didn’t.
Ivy frowned. “That man is head over heels for you.”
Nia gave her a skeptical look, her chest tightening. “I really thought things were good,” she said softly. “He went to Dover, he got his closure, but I still feel like… he’s holding something back.”
Ivy tilted her head, her curiosity clear. “Like what?”
“I’m not sure,” Nia admitted.
Ivy studied her for a moment before raising an eyebrow. “Have you used your powers on him?”
Nia’s eyes widened. “Of course not. That wouldn’t be fair.”
Ivy smirked. “So, you’ve never used them on me?”
Nia burst out laughing, the tension easing just slightly. “I don’t need my powers to know what lurks in your darkness.” She gave Ivy a playful wink.
Ivy shook her head. “If Lochlan is holding back—” She wrapped an arm around Nia’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “—I think he’ll let go of it eventually.”
Together they took in the room one more time.
Nia could see it so clearly—young supernaturals running through the halls, their laughter echoing through the grand space.
Tutors trained in every manner of magic guiding them, helping them flourish.
The libraries they could build, the resources they could provide—it was all right here, waiting to happen.
“I don’t want you to force anyone to donate to this place,” Ivy said, her voice hesitant. “I want it to be a hundred percent free of anything… bad.”
Nia turned toward her, and for a moment, the weight of Ivy’s past seemed etched into her features, every struggle and hard-fought victory written on her face.
She remembered a night their first year at Stella College, when Ivy had finally told her the truth.
Sitting on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, she’d said, “They didn’t know I was a witch.
Just that I was wrong somehow.” She’d bounced through group homes, always too much, too strange, until she learned to suppress the chaos.
It wasn’t until she was a teen that she even heard whispers of Stella Rune: a place where witches could be safe. Where she could be herself.
Nia reached for her hand. “We’ll make it work,” she said, “and we’ll do it on our own.”
But as the words left her lips, doubt crept in.
The idea of going it alone, in general, didn’t feel as certain as it once had.
She wanted more than just independence. She wanted to be part of a team.
And she and Ivy were—and had been—a fantastic team.
But Nia realized she wanted that in other areas of her life, too.
She wanted more. Someone more. No, not just someone.
She wanted Lochlan.
This thought tangled with the reality ahead of her: the final family dinner tonight. Another performance to prove Lochlan shouldn’t—couldn’t—be that person.
But could he?
She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.