Chapter 19. Blaise
Before today, I had never shed a single tear in my entire life.
I suppose I’d never really had anything to cry over.
Until six months ago, I’d been living the dream—rambling through my youth with friends, adventuring through the mortal realm in my teens, and spending my adult life with my best friend by my side.
And even after everything that happened with Ambrose, after I’d all but destroyed our friendship, I still hadn’t cried. Maybe my body simply didn’t know how to process emotions like that, instead focusing desperately on searching for a way to fix what couldn’t be fixed.
But artificial though the tears today might have been, they left behind an odd afterglow. It felt as if my body had finally been given permission to grieve, a weight lifting just enough for me to articulate what I’d been carrying for so long.
And my mate understood. She accepted my pain without flinching. She wasn’t rejecting me. She wasn’t jealous or angry, or any of the worst outcomes I’d played over and over in my head.
She was here. Her hand warm against my cheek, quietly telling me it was okay.
That we were okay.
I don’t think Fate could have matched me with anyone more perfect than Caitlyn. She was perfect in every conceivable way. Intelligent, ambitious, emotionally mature, supportive—
And turned on by the thought of a threesome, my brain added unhelpfully.
That spike of her desire I’d felt when I admitted how I’d fed with Ambrose at my side had set my body alight. It took real effort not to drag her down onto the couch and lose myself in her, to whisper all the ways a pair of incubi could pleasure her.
The only thing that stopped me from slipping my hands into her pants and teasing out every one of those blooming desires was the fact that I was supposed to be forgetting about Ambrose—not lingering on the memory of him just because my mate wasn’t repulsed by the idea of a threesome.
And so, as Caitlyn looked down at me with those big hazel eyes, her hair a tangled halo around her, I made a promise to try even harder to forget him.
I was going to need a bigger rubber band.
Maybe even a shock collar.
But I was determined to do it. For her. For us. For our future together.
Caitlyn’s lips were soft as she pressed them to the tip of my nose. “I think we need to stop putting pressure on ourselves to be perfect,” she said.
“But you already are perfect,” I replied, enjoying the way her cheeks flushed.
“I’m far from perfect,” she said with a small laugh. “But what I mean is that we should stop worrying about whether the sex is perfect or feeling guilty if a memory of a past lover pops up—or if a possessed doll decides to spike our food with superglue.”
“Has Creep ever done that?” I asked, mildly horrified.
Caitlyn wrinkled her nose. “No... but now I’m regretting putting that idea out there.
Anyway.” Her eyes met mine. “Let’s just take a break from the whole perfect life thing.
I mean,” she hurried on as my brow furrowed, “not a break break. I still very much want to be your mate. But let’s just..
. chill. Have some fun. Let things happen naturally. ”
She shifted slightly. “If we want to have sex, we do that and get to know each other’s bodies.
If we want to binge every season of Hexes at Noon, we do that too.
And if we want to...” Her cheeks flushed scarlet.
“I don’t know... have some alone time to, like—” She chewed the inside of her lip in the most adorable way.
“—physically work through some of the more... complicated memories, then that’s okay too. ”
It took a moment for her words to sink in. Was she... was she saying that if I needed to take myself off and work through the lingering thoughts of Ambrose, she’d be okay with that?
I mean, I wouldn’t. Jerking off to the memory of Ambrose would probably be the worst way imaginable to try and get over him. But at least I knew my mate wouldn’t judge me if he crept back into my thoughts now and again.
“Or whatever,” she added, her voice flustered. “What I’m saying, Blaise, is that I’m not expecting everything to just miraculously fall into place because we’re fated mates. I just want to spend time with you. Get to know you.”
I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my lips.
“Let’s start simple,” I said, “and spend the evening binge-watching the first season of Hexes at Noon.”
“You know you can’t do a Hexes at Noon marathon and stop at the end of the first season,” she said.
“There are only six episodes. We’d have to aim for at least halfway through season two.
Which means we’re going to need supplies.
I kind of ate, like, a month’s worth of snacks on the journey over here. ”
“Yes, I do recall an obscene amount of candy wrappers on the dashboard.”
Caitlyn shrugged. “It’s the Myers curse. We all have an insatiable sweet tooth. Anyway, there’s a town about half an hour away.” She jumped to her feet. “I’ll get two months’ worth of snacks for us, just in case.”
“Let me go for you,” I said, that uncontrollable, freshly mated urge to see my mate pampered kicking in full force. But the demonic need to tease was just a little stronger. “I don’t think the Mean Machine has another journey left in her.”
Caitlyn’s response was a playful flick to my nose. “Her name is Ms. Monroe, thank you very much. And she’s been a faithful, reliable car for the last seven years—”
“Seven decades, more like,” I muttered under my breath.
“—and I’ll prove it to you with a smooth and successful journey—”
“To the local scrap yard?” I finished, unable to stop the chuckle sneaking into my voice.
Caitlyn mock-glared at me, but my mate couldn’t keep up the pretense for long. A split second later, she leaned down, her arms slipping around my neck as she pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
My hands moved automatically, trailing down her ribs—somewhat hindered by the oversized denim overalls she was wearing—my body screaming to skip the snacks and the TV marathon and get straight to the—
A sharp tingle cut off my thoughts.
Caitlyn spun around, staring in confusion at the coffee table, where a set of car keys now sat. “Um... thank you, Creep?” she said, her voice uncertain, as if she’d sooner believe a flying pig had dropped her keys than her newly benevolent house.
“Final offer,” I said lightly, “for me to be on snack-retrieval duty.”
Caitlyn shook her head. “Ms. Monroe and I have it covered. And I need to stop by the local magic shop to pick something up.” She grinned. “Besides, you’re on nest-making duty.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her.
She held up her fingers, ticking them off as she listed, “Blankets, pillows, bowls for snacks, soft lighting, laptop...”
I snapped a quick salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
With one last kiss to my forehead, my mate bounced gleefully out of the room and toward her death trap of a car.
***
As it turned out, unlike erecting a tent, I was a natural at nesting.
I had briefly considered constructing my masterpiece of soft blankets and plump cushions on the bed but ultimately settled on the living room couch.
As much as I appreciated quick access to somewhere we could spread out for all our horizontal activities should the evening lead us there, I’d also witnessed the snack-induced chaos that was Ms. Monroe's dashboard and footwells.
Spending the night picking popcorn out of my ass felt like a guaranteed mood killer.
Creep had already worked her unusually benevolent magic, lighting every candle I had found. After one final plump of the pillows, I settled into the nest, smiling to myself as I imagined Caitlyn’s reaction when she walked in.
A disembodied, trumpet-like duh-duh-duh-duh filled the room, announcing the arrival of my delivery from Witchmart.
A sharp crack, accompanied by a fizz-like sparkle of light just above the coffee table, caught my attention.
A second later, a tiny box with a card resting atop it appeared just where the sparkling light was sputtering out.
I glanced at the Thank you for your purchase!
card, which doubled as the warranty card (Five years of snoreless sleep and spelless study sessions guaranteed!) and a discounted subscription to one of their partners (Fireball wine—50% off your first 3 months, 1 year minimum subscription), before scrunching it into a ball and shoving it into my pocket to throw into the trash later, promising myself that I would definitely remember to take it out of my sweatpants before they went through the wash.
The box of Hushbuds+ was, thankfully, small enough to also slide into my pockets. I wouldn't be using them for a few days anyway.
Still in love with someone else was probably enough for my mate to deal with tonight without adding And you snore to the conversation.
My fingers traced absent-minded circles over the fleece velvet throw as I took in the room.
Grime-free and dappled in candlelight, it was.
.. beautiful. I’d never really thought about what my forever home might look like—and a creepy, semi-haunted manor certainly hadn’t featured—but sitting here now, I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.
I loved my apartment. I was going to miss it. But it was Ambrose who’d made it a home.
I wondered how he’d take the news that I’d stumbled across my mate.
His current job was due to wrap up in another couple of weeks.
Would it be kinder to slip back to the apartment before he returned?
Pack up my things quietly and just leave him a note?
Or casually pop by, offer my best nonchalant “It was fun while it lasted, dude—hope it’s your turn next” and make a clean, awkward exit?
He’d probably prefer that to a long, painful sit-down where we picked apart everything that had happened. After all, for him, that night had been one of shame and regret. For me, it had been something else entirely.
A night of realizing I’d spent years beside a soul I could have fallen in love with. Had fallen in love with.
Snap.
He squeezed your hand just as hard during the Samhain Summoning, a voice in my head reminded me.
And just like that, the memory dragged his soothing, familiar, bergamot scent back with it.
Snap. Snap.
My fingers flexed, curling into a white-knuckled fist at my side as I tried and failed to force the scent from my memories. Shame pooled heavy in my gut. Anger, too. At myself, for letting my thoughts drift back to Ambrose so quickly when they should have been anchored solely with my mate.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
Even the pitter-patter of Creep’s little boots on the hardwood floor didn’t break the spiral. Nor did the slam of a car door outside, the creak of the porch beneath footsteps, or the sharp rap of knuckles against the door—
Odd.
Caitlyn shouldn’t be back for at least another ten minutes. And she wouldn’t knock unless Creep had locked her out. Still swimming in the memory of Ambrose’s scent, I pushed myself to my feet as the sound of the front door slowly creaking open echoed through the house.
When I reached the hallway, I froze.
Because standing in the open doorway—locs disheveled, eyes dulled with hunger—was Ambrose.