Chapter 30
Slade
The Bellamy estate glows like it remembers what joy feels like.
Warm candlelight drifts through garlands of evergreen and gold ribbon, each strand humming faint pulses of old magic—Bellamy magic, familial and bright. Frostlight charms hang like suspended stars above the ballroom, casting shifting halos across velvet gowns and tailored suits.
And for the first time in centuries, I am surrounded by witches who are not afraid of me.
Not because they misunderstand what I am—oh, they know exactly what I am—but because tonight, I am hers. Piper’s. And they see that as something worth celebrating.
My fingers brush her waist as we move through the crowd, her evergreen gown clinging lovingly to every curve. She glows under the lights. The gold snowflake belt at her waist catches every flicker of candlelight, throwing little sparks across the room like she’s wearing a constellation.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” she murmurs, eyes bright.
More than she realizes.
“Yes,” I say simply, because anything more would spill into poetry I’m not ready to embarrass myself with. “Your family is… overwhelming.”
Piper laughs, the sound slipping down my spine like warm wine. “Oh, trust me, they’re on their best behavior tonight.”
Best behavior involves three different aunts trying to charm protective spells into my pocket, a group of cousins debating whether I shed, and Uncle Rowan loudly asking how many wings I can summon at full power.
So yes. Best behavior.
Music swells—a string ensemble swirling into a traditional Yule reel. Couples pull toward the dance floor. Others drift toward the hearth at the far end of the room, where the Yule log burns in a huge stone fireplace, flames tinted gold and green by Bellamy rites.
Piper squeezes my arm. “Want to join the reel?”
I look at the dancers spinning in intricate patterns designed for witches with precise footwork and impeccable balance.
“No,” I say dryly.
She grins. “Coward.”
“Accurate,” I reply.
She rewards me with a soft kiss at the corner of my mouth that almost makes me reconsider humiliating myself in front of her entire lineage.
Almost.
Instead, we join Rhea and Elle near the dining tables, where platters of roasted chestnuts, spiced meats, glazed carrots, berry-wines, and Yule cakes fill the air with warm sweetness.
Rhea’s plate is stacked like a small hill.
Elle’s is an artfully arranged miniature painting.
Piper collects a mix of both, because she is chaos wrapped in elegance.
We talk, eat and laugh merrily as the time goes by.
I watch her move through the room like she was always meant to be at the heart of it. I watch her mother’s side of the family beam when she smiles. I watch magic circle her like a loyal, eager thing, humming softly as if it recognizes her strength now.
The bond between us pulses—not demanding, not forceful. Just present. Certain. Waiting.
I swallow against the weight of what I have in my pocket.
The ring rests against my chest beneath my jacket—a dark green stone caught between black diamonds, set in a band forged from hellforged obsidian alloy. A promise crafted by hand. By intention.
I plan to ask her during the Yule Blessing, after the log blessing is spoken and the spell of renewal is cast.
It will be perfect.
Until—“Attention!” a cheerful voice booms across the ballroom, amplified by magic.
Aunt Petunia.
Piper stiffens. Rhea mutters something unrepeatable about their mother. Elle looks like she’s witnessing a train crash she can’t stop.
Aunt Petunia stands at the front of the ballroom, cheeks rosy with wine, raising her glass high. “Everyone, gather round! I have wonderful news!”
The room hushes. I inhale, bracing for impact.
Petunia beams at us—the kind of smile only an overeager aunt can manage.
“I’d like to congratulate Piper,” she announces grandly, “on finally finding a man who is tall, handsome, and not a complete disaster. And Slade”—she gestures broadly with the grace of a tipsy goddess—“we are delighted to welcome you into the family!”
The ballroom erupts in applause. Piper flushes scarlet. Rhea’s eyes widen in horrified delight. Elle chokes on her wine.
And I… stand there with a ring in my pocket and every ounce of thunder stolen from me by a woman in sequins and sheer enthusiasm.
Petunia continues, unfazed. “Now, before we begin the Yule Blessing, I think it’s only right that Piper say a few words about the person she—well—clearly loves.”
The crowd murmurs with eager anticipation. Piper’s hand tightens in mine. She looks up at me—not nervous, not overwhelmed.
Sure. Certain. Ready.
And something inside my chest loosens under the weight of her choice.
She takes a slow breath, steps forward, and the room quiets without a single spell.
“Thank you,” she says, voice steady. “Truly.” She looks over her family, her eyes softening.
“This year has brought a lot I didn’t expect,” she continues.
“Some difficult things. Some terrifying things. But it also brought me someone who stood by me even when I didn’t know what I wanted.
Someone who stayed. Someone who fought for me. Someone I—”
Her voice catches. She turns toward me fully, and the world narrows to just her. “Someone, I choose.”
Heat thunders through my chest. The bond pulses—soft, then stronger, then burning bright and wild.
She steps toward me. “Slade,” she whispers, “I accept the bond.”
The rush hits us both at once.
Magic pulls taut between us—then surges, brilliant and unrestrained. Her power rises like a tide, luminous and warm, blooming against my shadows as if they’ve always belonged together.
A wind sweeps through the ballroom—not harsh, but cleansing—carrying the scent of pine and spellfire.
The curse shatters.
Not slowly. Not gently. But like a chain breaking under the force of her choice.
A soft gasp ripples through the room as golden sparks lift from Piper’s skin, swirling upward like freed fireflies.
Her eyes glow. My chest burns. The bond seals with a final, perfect snap—an ancient lock finding its missing key. She exhales, swaying slightly, and I catch her before her knees give.
Around us, the Bellamy family bursts into joyous noise—cheers, laughter, applause, warm magic sweeping the room in waves of relief and celebration.
The curse is broken. She chose me. And I realize, holding her against me, that this—this exact moment—is the truest magic I’ve ever witnessed.
I lean down, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “Piper Bellamy,” I whisper, “you’ve just rewritten the fate of your entire line.”
Her smile wavers, soft and luminous. “We did it together.”
Aunt Petunia dabs at her eyes dramatically. Rhea hoots. Elle fans herself like she’s overheated.
The room returns to joy and celebration as the orchestra swells into a jubilant Yule hymn.
And I stand there, holding the woman who just broke a five-hundred-year-old curse with nothing more than her heart…
While the ring in my pocket burns quietly, patiently, waiting for the moment I will finally ask her to be mine forever.
***
The applause is still echoing in my ears when I take Piper’s hand and guide her away from the center of the ballroom. She’s glowing—literally glowing—her skin lit from within by the bond, by her choice, by the new magic settling into place inside her blood.
I can’t breathe in this room anymore.
Not when every instinct in me screams to taste her gratitude on my tongue. To feel her in my arms without half the Bellamy family watching like happy vultures.
I lead her down a quiet corridor lit by floating candles, the noise of the ballroom fading into a warm, distant hum. Evergreen garlands wrap the banisters. The air smells like pine and winter berries. The enchantments woven into the walls hum with old magic.
Piper laughs breathlessly. “Slade—people are going to notice—”
“Let them,” I murmur, pulling her gently but insistently until her back meets the wall. “You just broke a curse older than your bloodline. They can indulge me for five minutes.”
Her breath catches when I step closer. The light from the candles glints off her skin, her gown, the gold snowflake belt around her waist. My fingers find her hips instinctively, fitting there like they’ve belonged there from the beginning.
“You’re radiant,” I whisper against her throat, brushing my lips along the place where her pulse flutters unevenly. “I felt every part of that bond settle. Every piece. Every breath you took.”
She shivers—beautifully, uncontrollably. “You felt all of it?” she whispers.
“All,” I murmur, trailing my mouth higher. “Every thought. Every doubt melting away when you chose me. Every ounce of your power rising to meet mine.”
Her hands slide into my hair, tugging me closer, her lips brushing my jaw. “Slade…”
I tilt her chin up with a single finger, the gesture gentle despite the heat simmering under my skin.
“I need you to hear this,” I say, voice rougher than I intend. “I need you to know it.” Her eyes lift to mine—soft, shining, full of the trust she never had at the beginning. “I love you, Piper Bellamy.”
The words settle between us like a vow. Not dramatic. Just certain. Steady. True.
Her breath trembles. “Slade…I—”
“I love you,” I repeat, brushing my thumb over her lower lip. “Not because of the bond. Not because of fate. I love you because you walk into hell itself and dare it to blink. Because you face everything afraid and still choose to stand. Because you choose me—every time.”
Her eyes brim with something I want to drown in. She pulls me down into a kiss—not desperate, not rushed. Slow. Intentional. Deep enough that the room spins around us.
Her fingers curl around the lapels of my jacket, pulling me closer until our bodies align perfectly. My hand glides along her thigh, up to the slit in her dress, brushing warm skin as her breath hitches.
I whisper against her mouth, “Five minutes isn’t nearly enough.”
She smiles against my lips, wicked and soft all at once. “Then take your time.”
I do.
I kiss her like the night is ours alone, like the bond glowing under her skin is a living thing calling to every part of me. Her magic hums against mine, brushing, teasing, curling around my senses like warm silk.
My mouth finds her throat again. Her fingers tighten in my hair. The world narrows to us—heat, breath, magic—
“ARE YOU TWO SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?” Rhea’s shrill voice cracks through the air like someone fired a spell into the wall.
Piper jolts. I drop my forehead to her shoulder and inhale very slowly to keep from vaporizing her cousin on instinct.
Rhea stomps down the corridor in heels that absolutely shouldn’t allow her to storm in any capacity. Her gown swishes behind her like a furious comet.
“It is time for the Yule Closing,” she huffs.
“The elders are lighting the final candle, Mom is seconds away from telling the entire room how she delivered Piper as a baby, Elle is placing bets on whether Slade can blush, and you two—” She gestures at us with outrage.
“—are making out behind the druidic blessing alcove like horny teenagers.”
Piper covers her face with both hands. “Rhea—”
“Nope. No arguing.” Rhea points at Piper. “You look perfect. Stop ruining your lipstick.” Then she points at me. “You. Stop being six and a half feet of temptation. Now come on. They’re waiting.”
Piper snorts into her hands. I straighten my jacket, fighting the smirk threatening to break free. “You have impeccable timing.”
Rhea glares. “I take pride in ruining emotional moments.”
“Accomplished,” I say dryly.
She flips her hair. “Thank you.”
Piper threads her fingers through mine, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. When she looks up at me, the bond hums again—warm, settled, certain.
“You said five minutes,” she murmurs teasingly.
“And you,” I murmur back, brushing her knuckles with my thumb, “were worth every bit of getting caught.”
Rhea groans dramatically. “Oh my GOD. Move.”
Piper laughs, tugging me forward, and we walk back into the light and sound of the ballroom—hand in hand, magic settled between us like a promise.
The Yule closing waits. Everything ahead of us waits.
And for the first time in centuries, I’m looking forward to all of it.