8. Caius #2
“Professionally.” Her voice carries an edge that might be disbelief or might be amusement. Hard to tell with Anouk, even after all these years.
“Caius.” She says my name like it costs her—like every syllable requires effort she’s not sure she has. “Why?”
The question hangs in the pre-dawn air. Behind us, the attackers are starting to stir—we’ll need to deal with them soon, call in the Network, figure out who sent them and why. There are practical matters requiring attention. Professional obligations demanding focus.
I don’t care about any of it.
“Because I’ve been worried about you.” The words come easier than I expected. “For years. Because losing Corwin nearly broke you and you wouldn’t let anyone help. Because you’re so determined to be strong that you’re destroying yourself, and I—”
I stop. Force myself to breathe. The wolf is howling in my mind, demanding I say the rest, say everything, finally put words to the decade of longing I’ve kept locked away.
“I can’t watch it happen.” The confession emerges barely above a whisper. “I won’t.”
Silence stretches between us.
The mist brightens where we stand, silver threading into gold as the first hints of dawn touch the rooftops. Somewhere in the distance, a shop door opens—Sunny, starting the morning rush at Moonpetal Bakery.
Anouk’s magic settles. The sparks fade.
“Thank you.” Her voice is rough, cracked around the edges, nothing like the measured tones she uses in council meetings. “For the patrol. And the intervention.”
“You’re welcome.”
I extend my hand. An offer. A bridge.
She looks at it for a long moment—my palm open, my fingers steady despite the chaos of the past few minutes. Looks at me, at the bare chest I haven’t had time to be self-conscious about, at the face I know probably shows more than I want it to.
Then she takes my hand.
The touch runs through me like lightning.
Her fingers close around mine, warm and calloused from decades of potion work. Her grip is strong—stronger than I expected, as if she’s holding on to keep herself grounded. I feel the moment her magic responds to the contact: a settling, a steadying, the wild sparks finally going quiet.
The wolf goes silent too. The restless pacing that’s plagued me all night stops dead, replaced by a stillness so profound, it’s almost disorienting.
This. This is what we’ve both been missing.
“Your magic.” The observation comes out before I can stop it. “It’s stabilizing.”
“I noticed.” She’s staring at our joined hands with an expression I can’t quite read. Surprise, maybe. Wonder. The faintest edge of fear. “That shouldn’t happen. Touch doesn’t affect magical stability.”
“Maybe it does. Under certain circumstances.”
Her gaze lifts to mine. “Certain circumstances.”
“Specific ones.” I don’t let go of her hand. Can’t make myself release her, even though I know I should. “Involving specific people.”
“You’re being cryptic.”
“I’m being careful.” My thumb traces across her palm—an unconscious gesture I don’t realize I’m doing. “You scare me, Anouk Darkwater. You have since the day we met.”
“I scare you.” Disbelief colors her voice. “The wolf alpha who just took down two attackers without breaking a sweat is scared of me.”
“Absolutely.” I step closer, our joined hands the only point of contact between us. “You could destroy me without lifting a finger. Not with magic. With whatever this is between us.”
Her free hand rises, hovering near my face before falling back to her side. The almost-touch burns more than actual contact would.
“I don’t know what this is.”
“Neither do I.” I lift our joined hands, press my lips briefly to her wrist where her pulse pounds. “But I’m done pretending it doesn’t exist.”
The sound she makes is barely audible—a soft exhale that might be surprise or might be relief. Her fingers tighten around mine, grip shifting from desperate anchor to deliberate hold.
“We should deal with them.” She nods toward the attackers, still groaning in the street. “Before someone sees.”
“We should.”
Neither of us moves.
The dawn light strengthens, spilling gold across the cobblestones. The mist begins its morning transformation, thinning to silver shimmer as the town slowly wakes around us. Normal life, continuing unaware of the violence that just occurred three blocks away.
“Caius.” Anouk’s voice is steadier, but warmth creeps beneath the armor she’s rebuilding. “I need you to understand. I’m not—” She pauses, choosing words with the care she applies to everything. “I don’t know how to do this. Whatever this is. I’ve never…”
“I know.” I release her hand slowly, reluctantly, letting my fingers trail across her palm before breaking contact entirely. “I’m not asking for anything. Not yet.”
“Then what are you asking for?”
“Permission.” I hold her gaze, letting her see the truth I’ve hidden for years. “To stop pretending. To stop maintaining distance. To be here—actually here, not just watching from the shadows—when you need someone.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. I watch her process, watch the careful consideration that makes her such an effective leader. She’s weighing options, calculating risks, determining whether the potential cost outweighs the possible benefit.
I can be steady. I’ve always been steady. I can be steady a little longer.
“Permission granted.” The words come out soft, almost reluctant. But her eyes hold mine without wavering. “For now. Provisionally. Subject to revision if you become insufferable.”
My laugh surprises us both—rough and genuine and nothing like the controlled sounds I usually allow myself.
We stand in the growing light, the distance between us somehow smaller than it’s ever been despite the arm’s length of physical space. The attackers groan behind us. Responsibilities await. The investigation continues.
But for this moment—just this moment—none of it matters.
She’s finally given me permission to stop pretending. That’s enough.
We deal with the attackers efficiently, the practiced rhythm of two leaders who’ve handled crises before.
The Protection Network arrives within minutes of my call—Torin leading the response, his massive frame somehow conveying both urgency and unflappable calm.
He takes in the scene with a single sweeping glance: unconscious Preservers, scattered debris, Anouk with her hair half-fallen and me conspicuously shirtless.
His eyebrow rises approximately one millimeter. For Torin, that’s practically a theatrical reaction.
“Alpha.” He nods to me, then to Anouk. “Coven Leader. Busy morning.”