Chapter 8
Piper
The next morning begins with exactly three goals… Run my shop. Pretend everything is normal. Keep Slade at least ten feet away from me at all times.
Goal one is questionable. Goal two dies before breakfast. Goal three was always delusional.
I fling the front lightswitch with a little more aggression than intended. The shop hums awake—twinkling fairy bulbs, lingering incense, soft chimes near the window. Comforting, familiar, safe.
Unlike the demon currently leaning in my doorway.
Slade’s silhouette fills the frame, arms crossed, posture loose and predatory, green eyes bright with amusement like he’s already won some argument I haven’t started yet. “You’re scowling,” he says.
“I’m TRYING,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“To scowl?”
“To pretend you don’t exist.”
He steps inside. “I can help.”
“No.” I point at the floor. “Stay there.”
He raises a brow. “You’re giving a demon boundaries?”
“Yes,” I snap. “Healthy ones.”
“Mmh.” His gaze travels slowly—too slowly—down my body and back up. “You look delicious when you’re flustered.”
I nearly throw a candle at him.
Customers begin trickling in as the morning settles. Locals, tourists, magic-aware folks, gossipmongers. The usual mix of curious and nosy. I force a smile, answer questions, ring up purchases. All while Slade prowls the shelves like he’s casing the joint—or, worse, like he’s guarding it. And me.
Every time I glance over, he’s there. Like smoke, or fucking gravity. Like he’s incapable of not orbiting me.
And the customers notice.
Two older witches by the incense rack whisper loudly. “He’s still here,” one mutters.
“He’s following her like a storm cloud,” the other notes.
“A handsome storm cloud,” the first says.
“I heard he carried her home,” a third newcomer says, eyeing me with curiosity. I pretend not to notice that, too.
“I heard he claimed her,” the second says in a near whisper.
Slade smirks, and I want to scream. I force my focus onto a cauldron-shaped wax warmer someone is purchasing. “Did you need this gift-wrapped?”
“Yes, please,” the woman says sweetly—but her eyes keep darting to Slade. “Is that your… um… boyfriend?”
“No,” I say firmly.
“Not yet,” Slade offers.
The woman’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh my.”
I slam the register shut with unnecessary force. Slade finally drifts closer—close enough that his body heat radiates against mine, close enough that my pulse reacts before my brain catches up. “You’re tense,” he murmurs. Like that thought offends him.
“Gee,” I whisper back, “I WONDER WHY.”
“I could relieve it.”
“Slade,” I hiss, “I am WORKING.”
“That doesn’t change my offer,” he says with a feral grin.
I swear my soul tries to exit my body. I storm away to restock crystals, hoping distance will fix something—anything. Instead he trails me, a silent shadow with too much presence. “Stop following me,” I mutter under my breath.
“I’m not,” he argues.
“You are literally breathing down my neck.”
“I like the way you smell.”
I choke, sputtering as I try to regain my composure. A jar of rose quartz rattles. That damn curse is listening again. “Go away,” I plead.
“No.”
“Why?”
He steps in front of me, cutting off my escape route. “Because the moment you walked out of that bar last night, you decided you hate me more than you actually do.”
My breath catches. “I don’t hate you.”
“Correct,” he says softly.
“That doesn’t mean I LIKE you.”
His head tilts. “Your magic does.”
“That is irrelevant,” I argue, dismissing him with a wave of my hand.
He leans closer, voice dropping. “You’re my mate, Piper.”
I freeze. “And you didn’t know it would be me,” I whisper.
“No.” His expression softens—not much, but enough that it cracks something inside me. “I expected someone ruthless. Power-hungry. Vicious. Someone who would destroy me before I could destroy them.”
My throat tightens.
“But I got you instead.” His voice roughens almost imperceptibly. “And you are… infuriatingly human. Stubborn, bright. Braver than some demons I know. Soft in ways I don’t deserve.”
That catches my breath. But I shove the moment aside because I can’t—can’t—accept this. “You only want my help because of the curse.”
“No.” He moves closer, crowding into my space, heat rolling off him. “I want you. The curse is incidental.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Demons don’t lie,” he says quietly. “Not about this.”
Something beats hard against my ribs. I step back. “I don’t want any of this.”
He doesn’t chase me this time. He just watches. Patient… Hungry. Certain. “Liar,” he murmurs.
Before I can react, the front door bursts open and Rhea barrels in like a chaotic missile wrapped in a peacoat. She stops dead, sees Slade, then me, and how close we are. “Oh,” she says slowly. “Well. This looks… charged.”
I bury my face in my hands. Slade grins like he’s been handed a holiday gift soaked in gasoline.
Rhea drops her purse. “Okay. Someone start talking. Preferably Piper. Slade looks like he’s seconds from doing something… irreversible.”
Slade’s gaze flicks to me—low, dark, promising. “I won’t do anything irreversible,” he says lazily. “Yet.”
Rhea fans herself. “Yup. I’m staying.”
I groan. “Please leave.”
“No,” both of them say at once.
I glare up at the ceiling, searching for divine intervention. Instead, a strand of tinsel on the nearest tree twitches and floats toward Slade like it wants to perch on his horns. I smack it down.
He smirks. Rhea squeals. The curse hums, and I realize—with bone-deep dread—that keeping him away from me?
Is becoming impossible.
***
“Okay,” Rhea says, planting her hands on her curvy hips, brown hair spilling in glossy waves past her shoulders. Her amber eyes glitter with mischief and concern—heavy on the mischief. “Someone explain the tension in here before I spontaneously combust.”
“You won’t combust,” Slade says with a lazy smirk. “You would sizzle.”
Rhea blinks. “Oh my gods, he finally speaks.”
“He talks too much,” I snap.
Slade tilts his head, amused. “You enjoy it.”
“No, I don’t.”
Rhea’s lips curl into a wicked grin. “Oh, she enjoys something, alright.”
“Rhea,” I warn.
But she’s already circling me like a shark drawn to drama. “Pipes, babe, I love you, but you look like you slept three minutes and have been refusing to process something emotionally significant. Spill.”
I grit my teeth. “Not here.”
“Why not? Because of him?” She jerks her chin toward Slade, eyes gleaming.
“Yes!” I hiss. “Because of him.”
Slade smiles like I handed him a compliment wrapped in velvet. “She means she’s distracted by me.”
I whirl on him. “I mean I cannot think straight with you breathing near me!”
His brows lift. “My breathing affects you?”
“Everything about you affects me!” The words fly out before I can choke them back. Rhea makes a noise suspiciously close to a celebratory shriek. I slam a hand over her mouth, and she licks my palm. “Rhea!”
She shrugs. “Don’t put your hand near my face if you don’t want consequences.”
Slade’s shoulders shake with quiet, entertained laughter.
I snap toward him. “Stop enjoying this!”
“Impossible,” he says simply.
I might explode. Explode… and then haunt everyone out of spite.
Rhea loops an arm through mine. “Okay, come here. Girl talk. Private. Away from Captain Demon Thirst Trap.”
“No,” Slade says immediately.
Rhea freezes. “I wasn’t talking to you, shadow boy.”
“It wasn’t a request.” He steps closer, voice a low rumble. “She doesn’t leave my sight.”
I jab a finger into his chest. “I am not yours to monitor!”
“You summoned me,” he says for the thousandth time like a broken record.
“By accident! We are NOT rehashing this.”
“You still did it,” he argues smugly.
“That doesn’t make me your property!”
His jaw ticks—just slightly. “I never said you were property.”
“Then stop acting like I have a tracking collar!”
“I’m ensuring your safety,” he practically whines.
“From WHAT?” I demand. “You? The mistletoe? The universe’s poor life choices?”
Rhea watches the argument with visible delight. “Oh, this is juicy.”
“RHEA,” I bark.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says, waving her hands. “I’ll tone it down. But seriously—do you know what’s going on with the curse?”
I stiffen. She notices immediately—because of course she does. “Piper.” Her voice softens. “You’ve been avoiding my calls. Avoiding asking for help. What do you know?”
I swallow hard, glancing at the customers still browsing. “Not here.”
“Then let’s step into the back,” Rhea says, tugging me gently.
Slade blocks the doorway like a six-foot-four stone wall with muscles and bad ideas. “She’s not going anywhere alone.”
Rhea stares up at him—unimpressed. “Big guy, please. I’m a Bellamy. I’m more likely to hex her into telling me the truth than hurt her.”
“That,” Slade says without blinking, “is exactly the issue.”
I throw my hands up. “Both of you… Stop.”
They look at me at the same time. Like I’m a rope in the middle of a very territorial tug-of-war. I inhale deeply. “First… Rhea, I have no idea what’s happening with the curse.”
Slade’s eyes narrow.
“Second… Slade—back up. I can talk to my cousin without you hovering over my shoulder like a sexy gargoyle.”
His lips twitch. “You think I’m sexy?”
“THAT IS NOT THE POINT.”
“It’s relevant.”
Rhea gives a dreamy sigh. “It kind of is.”
“Rhea!”
She winces, then motions me closer. “Okay, seriously. I came because the wardline in your house flickered. And the shift wasn’t random. It was… resonant.”
My stomach drops. “Resonant with what?”
“With someone,” she says, glancing meaningfully at Slade.
He looks… smug. I glare murderously at him.
Rhea continues, lowering her voice. “We need to figure out what’s triggering the curse. And what exactly you learned last night. Because the more information we have, the better chance we have of stopping this before it spirals.”
Slade steps forward. “I can help.”
“You already AREN’T,” I snap.
His eyes flash. “You’re pushing me away because you’re afraid of what this means.”
“I am pushing you away because you are overwhelming and territorial and—” I wave both hands at him, unable to articulate the rest. “And you know something and WON’T SAY IT.”
Rhea’s gaze darts between us. “Okay, wait—what does he know?”
Slade’s expression shifts. He meets my eyes, slow and deliberate, voice dropping low enough that my magic thrums in response.
“I know what the curse wants,” he says.
The room stills. Rhea’s amber eyes widen, horror creeping across her face.
“Slade. No,” I whisper.
He steps toward me—just one step—but it’s enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
“The curse wants what it lost five centuries ago,” he murmurs.
“And what was that?” Rhea asks, and I dread hearing the answer.
Slade’s gaze burns through me. “You,” he says softly. “Or rather—the Bellamy meant for my ancestor.”
My heart lurches painfully. Rhea gasps. And for a moment, the whole shop holds its breath.