Chapter 18
Slade
The moment we step out of the archives, the air changes. Not the realm—her. Piper’s magic hums under her skin, bright and trembling, like a tether pulled too tight. The bond claws at me, stretching between us in a low, electric current I feel deep in my bones.
She stumbles, falling into my arms. And the bond nearly snaps into place.
Her breath brushes my cheek. Her body fits against mine as though molded for me. Her pulse is a frantic, beautiful rhythm calling to every ancient instinct I possess. I lower my head—her eyes flutter, her lips part…
And then—Draven groans loudly behind us. “For the love of hellfire, get a room.”
Piper jerks back like she’s been splashed with cold water.
I turn slowly, very slowly, eyes blazing with pure fury. The spineless little—
Draven holds his hands up. “What? I didn’t realize this was Three Seconds Till Destined Mating Time.”
I step toward him.
He steps back. “Slade—”
“You interrupted us.” My voice drops into something rough and primal. “You interrupted her.”
“Oh please,” he scoffs, “you’ll have centuries to—”
I lunge. He vanishes in a swirl of shadow—reappearing ten feet down the hall. “Slade,” Piper hisses, grabbing my sleeve, “please don’t murder your brother in the middle of Hell.”
Draven draws himself up, smoothing his jacket. “Listen to your mate.”
I snarl. “Shut—”
But the bond pulses. Piper swallows. Draven smirks like he knows exactly what just happened. “Let’s go before someone else in the court decides to test their luck.”
Reluctantly, I let her guide me toward the portal chamber.
The air crackles around us all the way home.
***
The moment the portal flickers out behind us, something feels… wrong.
Lights on. Scent of cinnamon. A faint thump from the living room.
Piper stiffens. “Rhea’s here.”
I blink. “Already?”
She rounds the corner—and stops dead.
Rhea stands in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips, hair a wild halo around her face, wearing an expression that can only be described as done.
Newt sits beside her in what appears to be a tiny cat-sized corner of shame.
Rhea jabs a thumb toward him. “Your fuzzy demon gremlin clawed my four-hundred-dollar curtains. FOUR. HUNDRED. DOLLARS. PIPER.”
Newt meows loudly. Zero remorse.
Piper’s face softens. “Oh, baby—”
But Newt leaps straight into my arms. He curls there, purring like I’m his chosen deity.
Piper’s jaw drops. “Excuse me.”
I stroke the cat’s head. “He likes me.”
“He liked me FIRST.”
Draven wanders in, looks at the scene, and snorts. “Gods above, the creature has taste.”
Rhea turns sharply, eyes narrowing at him. “And… Who are you?”
Draven’s smirk blooms instantly. “Draven Athalar. And you are?”
“Done with today,” she snaps. “And apparently with your face.”
He clutches his chest dramatically. “You wound me.”
Piper mutters under her breath, “Oh, fuck—hell no. Absolutely not—”
I set Newt down, and the traitor immediately twines around my legs. Rhea glares at him. “Traitor beast.”
Draven watches Rhea the way a python watches a spark—interested, surprised, maybe even a little baffled. “Fiery,” he murmurs.
Rhea shoots back, “Annoying.”
They lock eyes. The tension sharpens. Piper drags a hand down her face. “I am too tired to deal with a hate-flirt right now.”
I step closer to her, steadying her by the elbow. “You’re exhausted.”
She leans in—just for a moment—and the bond tugs again, hungry, eager, electric. I lower my voice. “If that invocation had been any longer, you would have collapsed.”
She exhales shakily. “I know.”
Rhea looks between us, eyes widening. “Oh. Oh gods. This is worse than I thought.”
Draven folds his arms like he’s settling in. “You have no idea.”
Piper shoots him a murderous glare. “Don’t you start.”
Draven lifts his hands. “Fine. But we need a plan. Because the entire Ninth Realm felt what happened tonight.”
Newt hops onto the couch, kneads a blanket, and stares at all of us with the disdain of a creature who survived nine of his own lives already.
Rhea plops into a chair. “First order of business? Food. Second? Sleep. Third? Slade explaining literally everything he didn’t tell you.”
Draven grins. “Oh, this will be fun.”
I growl. Piper groans, and Newt purrs loudly. And Rhea? She glares at Draven like she’s already planning his burial. Draven, of course, leans into it—folding his arms, lifting a brow, swagger in every inch like he’s inviting the challenge.
Idiot.
Rhea ignores him entirely and sweeps her attention back to Piper, curls bouncing with each step as she moves into strategist mode—a mode she clearly lives in.
“Okay,” she says, pointing at the coffee table like it’s on her shit list. “Let’s get organized.
I have contacts. Real ones. Not your witchy-woo, bullshit, crystal social media influencers. ”
Piper snorts. “I don’t follow any—”
Rhea cuts her off. “You follow two. They cry on live and sell moon water. I worry about the amount of brain cells you’re losing watching that drivel.”
Draven chokes on a laugh. She spins on him. “You. Shut it.”
He raises both hands in surrender. “I’m merely observing excellence.”
Rhea blinks—momentarily thrown—then snaps back to me. “Slade. Tell me everything.”
I fold my arms, meeting her gaze with equal intensity. She has Bellamy steel, that’s certain. A kind of brash confidence most witches fake. Rhea wears it like perfume. “We found Veda’s ring,” I tell her. “The one meant to bind her to my ancestor, Lord Aresh Athalar.”
Rhea’s expression sharpens—calculating, quick. “That would explain why the curse latched onto your line specifically. If Veda broke the bond, the magic could’ve… rerouted? Mutated?”
“Corrupted,” Draven offers.
Rhea nods slowly. “That too.”
Piper wraps her arms around herself. “And the scroll said she vanished before anything could be discovered.”
I continue, “She sought power elsewhere. Something unnamed. Something hidden.”
Draven adds lazily, “Something the archives themselves tried to wake up the minute your girl here opened her mouth at dinner.”
Rhea winces. “Yeah, I felt that blast from three blocks away. Piper, my Christmas cactus bloomed in the middle of the night. In December. Do you know how cursed that is?”
Piper groans. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh, I know. That’s the problem.” Rhea paces, tapping thoughtfully at her cheek. “Okay. I have someone. A historian—well, more like a magical antiquarian with questionable morals and a penthouse in Prague—but she owes me a favor. She can dig. Deep.”
Piper brightens. “Really?”
Rhea nods. “But don’t get too excited. She’s not cheap, and she’s definitely not stable. She once tried to resurrect a library.”
Draven looks impressed. “I like her already.”
“You would,” Rhea mutters, rolling her eyes.
Piper sinks onto the couch, Newt crawling instantly into her lap, traitor, eyes softening with equal parts hope and exhaustion. “So we’ll contact her?”
Rhea nods firmly. “I’ll handle it. But I need everything you two know.” She points between Draven and me. “Including the part where Piper accidentally summoned the ghost of a five-hundred-year-old Bellamy matriarch in front of the fucking Prince of Hell.”
Piper buries her face in her hands. “Please stop reminding me—”
“No,” Rhea says sweetly. “I want you to suffer.”
Draven grins. “I like her.”
Rhea shoots back, “I don’t like you.”
Their eyes lock. A spark—sharp, violent, magnetic—crackles between them. Piper’s head snaps up. “Uhm.”
I agree. “Fuck no.”
Newt meows dramatically. Rhea tosses her hair. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll call my contact tonight.”
Draven adds smoothly, “I’ll escort you home.”
“I’d rather chew glass,” Rhea replies. But she still grabs her purse.
Piper blinks. “Wait—are you two—?”
“NO,” they say in unison. Then immediately glare at each other again.
Piper whispers, “Oh gods. This is going to be… feral.”
I watch them walk toward the door—Rhea storming ahead, Draven gliding behind her like a patient predator—and sigh. Piper leans into my shoulder, soft and sleepy, her magic curled like embers around us both. “You okay?” I ask quietly.
She nods. “Just… overwhelmed.”
She meets my gaze. I feel the bond tremble again, desperate and hungry. Soon. But not tonight. “Get some sleep, Piper,” I murmur.
She nods, rising, Newt trotting after her with a final disdainful flick of his tail in my direction.
And as the door shuts behind her, I’m left staring into the quiet—ring burning in my pocket, curse stirring, and the knowledge that Veda Bellamy’s shadow is only beginning to wake.