Chapter 41
Lochlan
“MARRIAGE MISHAPS ON THE RISE—WILL THE VIDET STEP IN?” —A LEGAL THREAD
Lochlan sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped tightly as he stared at the floor. The faint sound of water running in the bathroom filled the otherwise quiet house.
Dinner had been torture, and he knew why. Nia was too smart not to notice something was off. He hated keeping things from her, hated the way her guarded looks cut through him.
He just needed time.
Before coming upstairs, he’d quickly fed Jade, who had stared at him with those big, judgmental eyes. It felt like everyone—even the dog—knew he was hiding something.
Now, he was here, waiting.
The water shut off and a few moments later the bathroom door opened. Nia stepped out, wrapped in a towel, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders. She stopped when she saw him, her brow furrowing slightly as their eyes met.
Lochlan swallowed hard, the words coming before he could stop them. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Nia tilted her head slightly.
Lochlan looked up at her, his throat tightening. “For not coming today.”
And for so much more.
“I have a feeling it was important,” he added.
Her expression softened as she stepped closer. He stayed seated on the edge of the bed, his hands still clasped in front of him, as she reached out and ran her fingers gently over his face.
“I didn’t tell you how important it was,” she said quietly. “I could have told you. But I didn’t.”
She was feeling bad? Guilt twisted in his chest like a knife. No, this couldn’t be right. He was the one who should grovel. He was the one keeping secrets, who needed to confess.
But then she leaned down, kissed him, and all his thoughts dissolved.
She was so warm, her skin still damp from the shower, her hair leaving droplets on his cheeks as her lips moved against his.
Lochlan kissed her back, letting her warmth and the soft press of her lips distract from the tension still lingering in his chest. But when she reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, his heart kicked into overdrive.
The towel dropped to the floor, and for a moment, all he could do was stare. Nia didn’t give him the chance to overthink. She pushed him back onto the bed, her hands quick to undo his pants and slide them down his legs.
He thought about slowing her down, his hands instinctively brushing her hips. But her grip was firm, insistent, as she guided him to her entrance, her body pressing flush against his.
“Nia—”
“Loch.” she murmured, cutting him off as she sank onto him.
This—sex with her—was as easy as breathing. They moved together effortlessly, like they were made for it, no thoughts, no worries. Except—
A voice in the back of his head: a quiet alarm bell, ringing faintly under the heat of their bodies. He shoved it down, tried to ignore it, to ignore everything else as she took him deeper, her hands braced on his chest.
Nia rode him like she couldn’t get enough, her head tilting back as she cried out, her release shattering through her. The sight of her undid him and a heartbeat later he followed, his hands gripping her thighs as he came hard.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing, the warmth of her body still pressed against his.
Lochlan reached for the towel she’d discarded, cleaning her up with gentle care before slipping off the bed and heading to the bathroom.
When he returned, she was already drifting off, eyes heavy.
She dragged herself from where she’d been curled in the blankets, and padded to the bathroom half asleep.
When she came back and crawled onto the wrong side of the bed, Lochlan slid in beside her.
He carefully gathered her into his arms, shifting until she fit snugly against his chest.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
Within seconds, her breathing fell into a soft, steady rhythm.
Lochlan didn’t sleep.
His mind refused to quiet, every secret he’d kept from her swirling in his head like a storm he couldn’t outrun.
* * *
Lochlan sat at his desk, holding a piece of paper that had slipped from the last diary.
The restoration of the volume itself was nearly complete—pages soothed of their burns, ink coaxed back from the brink of oblivion.
But the letter he held had been hidden deep within its spine, fragile and forgotten.
He had just finished repairing it.
The ink had darkened as his magic settled over it, the words growing crisp and whole once more. He hadn’t meant to read them. But the moment they surfaced, he hadn’t been able to stop himself. The letter was addressed to Nia.
From her mother.
Lochlan’s chest tightened, the weight of his discovery crushing. He’d known the diaries contained pieces of Nia’s past—known they might hurt her as much as they helped her—but this was different. This wasn’t history he was restoring. It was her history he was holding.
And he’d kept it from her.
The quiet of the house felt suddenly suffocating. Nia had been off lately, her energy guarded, her distance unspoken but unmistakable. She could feel his secrecy, even if she didn’t know its object or shape.
Whatever Wulfric had promised or threatened or wanted, he couldn’t do this anymore.
Lochlan scrubbed a hand over his face. The diary sat open before him, the letter resting atop its pages like a confession. Nia didn’t deserve this.
He was going to fix it.
Before he could second-guess himself, Lochlan was out of the office and then the house, his feet automatically steering him through the tunnels to the Videt, his resolve solidifying with each step.
He stormed past Francine without a word, ignoring her startled greeting.
His focus was singular, his frustration fueling every step as he pushed open the heavy doors to Wulfric’s office.
A blustering elder stood in the middle of Wulfric’s office, his face red with indignation and his hands gesturing wildly as if he and The Sword were mid-argument. The sudden intrusion left him flustered, his eyes narrowing at Lochlan, who’d entered without so much as a knock.
“I need to speak with you.”
Lochlan fixed his gaze on Wulfric, ignoring the elder, who straightened, puffing up with self-importance.
“Have some decency,” he barked, his tone dripping with disdain.
Lochlan didn’t flinch, and instead of retreating stepped deeper into the room.
“Leave us,” Wulfric said, low but commanding.
The elder’s smugness lingered for a heartbeat too long before he realized The Sword wasn’t speaking to Lochlan—he was glaring at the elder. The older witch’s self-satisfaction evaporated as he stammered, bowing before hastily exiting the room.
The doors slammed shut behind him, leaving Lochlan and Wulfric alone in the charged silence that followed. Wulfric leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable as he regarded Lochlan with a quiet, expectant air.
“I’m done,” Lochlan said, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment.
Wulfric arched a brow. “With what, exactly?”
“The lies,” Lochlan replied.
Wulfric’s lips twitched, something that wasn’t quite a smile ghosting at the edges of his mouth. “Which ones?”
“All of them.”
For a long moment, Wulfric studied him, his gaze sharp and searching. His expression shifted from carefully projected indifference to understanding, then something closer to pride.
“I heard what you said yesterday,” Lochlan went on. “I disagree. I need to be the one to tell her, and it needs to be now. It can’t wait until Samhain.”
His chest ached at the memory of Nia walking in on them at the manor, suspicion flickering behind her eyes. The distance between them had widened every second he’d held on to Wulfric’s secret.
No more.
Lochlan pulled out his phone and messaged Nia before he could talk himself out of it.
Me
Can I meet you at your office? Please. I need to talk.
He would bring her home and show her everything. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.