Chapter Eleven
Willow folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at the woman across from her.
No, not woman—witch? Cat? Possibly. Pain in the ass?
Abso-fucking-lutely! Her brain still hadn’t fully processed the reality that her beloved Hugo, the furry, judgmental, couch-hogging ball of fluff who’d been the one constant in her life, was in fact.
.. Saffie. Her lawyer. Her rescuer. And apparently, part-time feline.
“So, let me get this straight,” Willow began, voice sharp enough to cut steel. “You’ve been living as my cat. My cat. Do you have any idea how many things I’ve confessed to you? Things that were meant for a cute, silent, purring creature and not a sarcastic witch in disguise?”
Saffie had the nerve to grin, all wicked amusement and unapologetic charm. “Oh, I think I do. And for the record, you should really stop singing in the shower. Some of those high notes could raise the dead.”
Willow groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “This is my life now. Mocked by my own damn cat. Out loud and in English for the world to hear and judge.”
Across the room, Ursula, perched on the arm of her chair with a mug of tea, raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got a more important question. Why were you a tomcat, Saffie? Why not a girl cat? Seems like the obvious choice.”
Saffie shot her a look. “Because if I’d gone around as a female cat, do you know how many ridiculous entanglements I’d have had to deal with?
Stray toms sniffing around, kittens, neighborhood cat drama.
No thank you. Better to be the aloof, unapproachable tom who nobody messes with.
Besides”—her grin turned mischievous—“I figured it was better to be a badass boy cat than the girl who keeps falling for the wrong tom.”
Willow blinked. “Did you just compare yourself to a... slutty alley cat?”
“Only if the shoe—or paw—fits.”
Ursula snorted into her tea, muttering, “Goddess save me from the two of you.”
Willow’s exasperation cracked into reluctant amusement.
“I don’t know whether to be furious or impressed.
Probably both.” She shook her head, then her expression sharpened.
“Okay, fine, but explain this. How the hell did you escape the fire? Because last time I checked, cats don’t exactly walk out of infernos looking perfectly groomed. ”
The smile slipped from Saffie’s face, her expression shadowing. “I didn’t escape on my own. A firefighter pulled me out. Risked his life to go back in when he saw me.” She looked down at her hands, her voice softer, thoughtful. “He didn’t know I wasn’t just a cat. He just... saved me.”
Willow tilted her head. “That’s... wow. Did you at least thank him?”
Saffie’s grin returned, sly and unapologetic. “Sort of. I gave him a swipe across the cheek with my claws for holding me too tight. He bled. That counts as gratitude, right?”
Willow burst out laughing despite herself. “You’re unbelievable. A man saves your life, and you maul him.”
“I said thank you in my own way,” Saffie protested unrepentantly. “Besides, he probably thought I was traumatized.”
“You think?” Willow rolled her eyes and pushed on before her amusement could turn to exasperation again. “Fine. Fire escape story covered. Now, let’s talk about the actual problem. The curse.”
The air in the room shifted immediately, humor fading into tension. Ursula set her tea aside, face drawn, while Saffie straightened her shoulders, all traces of levity gone. Willow pulled her knees up onto the couch, hugging them close as she braced herself.
“This curse,” Willow began, “it isn’t just about me, is it?
It’s not just about Liam and Jacob, either.
There’s more. Every time I close my eyes, I see flashes of things—Matthew with the Council, people I don’t recognize, rituals that look older than dirt.
And now, I know there’s a timeline. The new moon tomorrow night. ”
Saffie nodded slowly. “You’re right. It’s not just about you. It’s about balance. Without shifters, the world tilts too far. Marcus wants to hoard power that was never meant for one man. His curse was designed to bind more than your mates—it binds the future of entire bloodlines.”
Ursula leaned forward, voice steady but laced with sorrow. “And the only way to break it is for you and your mates to face him together. At dusk tomorrow, on the night of the new moon, when the veil is thinnest. That’s when you’ll have the strength to sever his hold.”
Willow’s stomach twisted, part fear, part determination. “So, I have until then to get my shit together, bond with my mates and figure out how to kill the bastard?”
“That about sums it up,” Saffie said dryly. “Oh, and maybe don’t die in the process.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.” Willow flopped back against the couch, covering her face with her hands.
Sarcasm was her shield, but beneath it was a raw ache.
She wanted her mates beside her—really beside her—when Marcus tried to corner her again.
She wanted to see their muscles ripple as they beat the shit out of him.
Not because she was weak, but because she wanted to watch them be strong, protective, hers.
And because facing this monster alone hurt in ways she wasn’t ready to admit.
“Willow,” Ursula said softly, as though she could hear her thoughts. “You’re not alone. Not anymore. But you’ll need to be ready.”
Willow sat up straighter, sarcasm spilling out like a safety valve.
“Ready? Sure. Because I always dreamed of spending my weekend preparing to face off against a demon-eyed narcissist with a god complex. Marcus should’ve been an infomercial scam artist—or better yet, a Multi-Level Marketing recruiter.
He’s got the pitch down. ‘Join me and live forever. Reject me and die screaming.’ Real charming. ”
Saffie snorted. “Add in a free tote bag, and he could’ve filled stadiums.”
That coaxed a reluctant grin out of Willow. She looked between the two witches and the humor faded into something sharper, harder. “Okay. Enough jokes. We need a plan. If Marcus thinks he can curse me into submission, he’s about to learn that I don’t do submissive. I do survival. And I do revenge.”
Ursula’s eyes softened, pride shimmering through her sorrow. “That’s more like it.”
For a heartbeat, silence fell—weighted, but not hopeless.
Willow pressed her palm flat over her stomach, over the bond to her mates.
She closed her eyes and whispered, half to herself, half to them.
“Hold on. We’re going to figure this out.
And when the time comes, we’re ending this curse together. ”
****
The exhaustion pressed into Jacob’s bones like lead weights, but he knew it wasn’t just physical.
It was the relentless push and pull of hope and despair, the curse gnawing at their bond and the fury of watching their mate forced to shoulder more than any woman should ever have to.
Willow deserved joy, not war. She deserved peace, not Marcus.
But tonight, at least, she had them.
They had been talking about the curse, the three of them still on the couch with Ursula perched in the chair by the window and Saffie leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
The words echoed in Jacob’s head. How do you kill a man the curse itself protects?
The lines they remembered from Matthew’s twisted spell circled like vultures.
No man could end his life. The curse was tied to him, to his blood, to whatever eternity he thought he had claimed.
Even Ursula had muttered darkly that she’d never heard of such binding magic, though her sharp tongue had faltered for once, awe flashing in her eyes as Saffie spoke.
The witch’s sarcasm slipped, her usual bite replaced with something rawer.
She pushed off the wall and stepped forward, voice low and vibrating with pain.
“Do you have any idea what it cost me to do this?” she demanded, eyes flashing.
“To weave myself into the curse, to counter it just enough to drag us forward through centuries? I burned lifetimes into that tether. Centuries of loneliness, of silence, of carrying the weight of failure again and again. We wouldn’t even be here without it. Without me.”
Willow had blinked, shock widening her eyes. “You mean, you actually bound yourself into it?”
Saffie gave a humorless laugh. “Bound, bled, branded my soul into it. Every time the wheel of fate spun, it pulled me back. I’ve lived more lives half-anchored than you can imagine, carrying the knowledge of what was lost, waiting for the chance that maybe, just maybe, this life would be the one where we finally end him. ”
Ursula’s voice softened, almost reverent. “You never told me how deep you wove yourself into that curse.”
“Would you have let me?” Saffie shot back, but there was no real bite, only weariness. “This was the only way to keep hope alive. To keep them alive. To ensure that shifters could return.”
Ursula narrowed her eyes, leaning forward in her chair. “And what about you? What did centuries of sacrifice buy you, Saffron Burrows?”
Saffie’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. “An unbroken heartache and a front-row seat to failure. But also, the chance to be here. To stand with her.” She glanced at Willow, eyes shimmering with something fierce and fragile. “If I had to do it again, I would. A thousand times over.”
The weight of her confession had stunned them into silence. Ursula had looked at her as though seeing her for the first time—equal parts respect, guilt and awe softening her normally unflinching expression.
“We’re missing something,” Jacob muttered earlier, pacing, fists clenched. “There has to be a weakness.”
“Or a loophole,” Liam had added, green eyes storm-dark. “Every curse has one. But damned if I can see it.”
Willow had sat between them, her chin lifted though her hands trembled. “Then we’ll find it. Together.” Brave words, but Jacob had seen the flicker of fear in her eyes. He hated that Marcus had put it there.