Chapter 2
Slade
Most summons feel like hooks. Violent. Abrupt. A yank through realms that tears the soul sideways. This one?
It felt like fingers sinking into my chest. Warm. Emotional. Too intimate.
I should’ve ignored it. And I usually do. But something in it—something sharp and bright and stubborn—sank deep.
Then the circle opened, the flames parted, and I stepped into a cramped little witch shop lit by twinkle lights and scented with dried herbs and panic.
And her—Piper Bellamy. Sitting there in jeans hugging thick thighs, curls wild around her head, chest rising in quick, furious breaths.
A pendant glows at her neck—Amethyst, maybe?
—and crescent-shaped moon earrings dangle from her ears.
Blue eyes like frost and fire all at once.
A body soft in ways I shouldn’t immediately notice.
Yet I do… Unfortunately.
She looks at me like I’m a home invasion. Fuck. I don’t get bound, or summoned by accident. And I certainly don’t get dragged through realms by witches who look like sin wrapped in sarcasm. But here we are.
She’s ranting now—hands flying, curls bouncing, chest heaving—and the more she spirals, the more I feel the bond tightening around my ribs. Annoying… Intriguing… Dangerous. “What are you staring at?” she snaps.
“You.”
Her breath stutters. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
I step closer. Deliberately. Slowly. Her back hits the counter with a satisfying little gasp. “Stop looming,” she demands, shoving weakly at my chest.
I let her shove me. She might as well punch a wall made of iron. A heated, amused spark crawls through me. “I’m not looming,” I say. “This is just how tall I am.”
“You’re doing it on purpose.”
I smirk. “Maybe.”
She crosses her arms, trying to look intimidating. It only draws my eyes to her breasts. I drag my gaze back to her face before she notices. Barely. “Why are you here?” she demands.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“I LIVE here.”
“And I don’t,” I counter. “Yet you dragged me into your realm anyway.”
Her jaw drops. “I didn’t drag anyone!”
I step closer. Close enough to feel her breath. Close enough to see panic spark in those blue eyes. I lift my hand slowly. Her lips part—and I wrap my hand around her throat.
Not to restrain. Or hurt. Just to claim the space between us.
Her pulse leaps against my palm like a struck match. Her thighs press subconsciously together. Her voice goes faint. “What… what are you doing?”
“Confirming something.”
Her lashes flutter. “C-confirming what?”
“That you feel it.”
“Feel what?” she whispers.
“The pull.”
The bond. The tether. The magic that should never have touched me—let alone chosen me.
She shoves at my chest again. “Get away from me.”
I lean in, thumb stroking her pulse. “I don’t think you want that, sweetheart.”
Her breath catches. Her magic flares, brushing against my aura like a curious animal. “This is insane,” she mutters. “I don’t even know who you are.”
Good. That’s better. Safer.
But the bond squeezes hard, demanding the introduction. Demanding the connection. I give in. Just barely. “Like I said, I'm just Slade.”
The name rolls through the air like thunder. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating. She feels it. The click. The lock. The ancient recognition.
Fuck.
I pull back before I do something reckless—like push her onto the counter and taste that pink mouth.
She bolts toward the shop door. “I—I need to close. Now. I need air. I need…” She grabs her phone, throws up a post on her social media about a “family emergency,” and flips the sign to CLOSED.
Then she turns and points a shaking finger at me. “You’re not following me.”
I follow her anyway. Down the street. Through the cold. Up the stairs to her apartment. She keeps looking back like she expects me to vanish. Or… combust. Or explode into bat wings.
Cute.
She unlocks her door and steps inside. I cross the threshold—and something launches at me. A cat. Black. Round. Feral. It attaches itself to my boot like a tiny demon attempting murder. I stare down at it, bewildered confusion mixed with annoyance.
Seriously?
“Newt!” she shrieks. “Let go! He’s—he’s not a chew toy!”
“He attacked me,” I say flatly.
“You walked through the door!”
“That’s hardly justification.”
She runs to pry him off.
I lift the creature by the scruff, eye to eye. “You’re lucky she’s cute,” I inform him.
“HEY.” She snatches the cat away.
I step deeper into her apartment—warm, cozy, cluttered with books, plants, and blankets. Soft lighting, colors, and apparently a soft witch. It smells like vanilla, cinnamon, magic, and her. The bond twists in my chest—hard.
Too hard.
I drag a hand through my hair, grounding myself before I do something catastrophically stupid—like press her against the wall and introduce her body to mine. She rounds on me, cheeks pink, curls wild. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”
I lean against her wall, arms crossed, holding her gaze like it’s a leash. “Sweetheart,” I murmur, “I’m not going anywhere.”