20. Caius
TWENTY
CAIUS
Iwake to find Anouk sprawled across my chest.
Her hair is tangled, dark strands escaping what was once an immaculate updo. One of her hands rests over my heart, fingers curled loosely, like she’s holding on even in dreams.
My wolf rumbles satisfaction.
She’s beautiful like this. Not the coven leader, not the untouchable authority figure everyone else sees. Just Anouk. Just my mate.
“You’re staring.” Her voice is rough with sleep, eyes still closed.
“You’re beautiful. I’m allowed to stare.”
“That’s a very wolfly justification.” But she’s smiling, pressing her face against my chest. “What time is it?”
“Early. We have nowhere to be.”
“We have many places to be.” She stretches, and the movement does interesting things to the sheets. “The council needs debriefing. Cordelia needs interrogating. The coven needs reassurance that their leader hasn’t completely abandoned her duties for—”
I kiss her. It’s the most effective way I’ve found to stop her from spiraling into responsibility.
When we part, her cheeks are flushed and her protests have evaporated.
“That’s cheating.”
“That’s efficiency.” I tug her closer, enjoying the way she settles against me without resistance. “The council can wait. Cordelia isn’t going anywhere. And the coven has managed without you for exactly one night. They’ll survive a few more hours.”
“A few more hours sounds dangerously self-indulgent.”
“You’ve been selfless your whole life. Try self-indulgent for a morning. See how it feels.”
She pretends to consider. “It feels strange. Uncomfortable. Like I should be doing paperwork.”
“You are doing important work. You’re letting me hold you. Very productive.”
Her laugh is soft, genuine—a sound I’m still getting used to hearing from her.
“Your ego is impressive before breakfast.”
We lie there in comfortable silence, the morning light warming the room, her magic humming contentedly around us. My wolf is quieter than he’s been in years—no restless pacing, no desperate longing. Just peace.
I could get used to this.
The knock at the door comes forty minutes later.
I know who it is before I even scent the air. Only one person in Mistvale would appear at my cabin unannounced, bearing baked goods and unsolicited wisdom.
“That’s Grandmother Peach,” Anouk observes, sitting up.
“It is.”
“How does she know we’re here?”
“She knows everything. It’s unsettling.” I swing my legs out of bed, reaching for discarded clothing. “We should probably answer before she invites herself in.”
“She would do that.”
“Without hesitation. She did it to Torin and Sakura three times during their first week. Sakura’s weather nearly caused a flood.”
We dress quickly—Anouk’s elegant clothing from yesterday slightly wrinkled, my own practical attire assembled in seconds.
By the time we reach the front door, Grandmother Peach is already settling herself at my kitchen table, a covered dish in front of her and a stack of ancient-looking documents beside it.
“Congratulations on your claiming,” she says without preamble. “I brought cobbler. And information.”
“In that order of importance?” Anouk takes a seat across from her, and I settle beside my mate, close enough that our shoulders brush.
“Cobbler is always important. Information is merely urgent.” Peach uncovers the dish, releasing the scent of fresh peaches and brown sugar. “Eat first. Then we talk about the fate of magical society.”
“That escalated quickly.”
“It’s been escalating for centuries. You’re just now catching up.”
“How long have you been the Guardian?” Anouk asks between bites. “Of the ritual site, I mean.”
“Since before the Registry was built on top of it. Since before most of the current magical families existed.” Peach’s smile is enigmatic. “I was there when the Severing happened, dear. I’ve been waiting—well, that’s not quite accurate. I’ve been preparing ever since for someone to undo it.”
I set down my fork. “You were there.”
“I was young. Foolish. I believed the people who said the pairings were dangerous, that witch-shifter claimings created imbalance.” Her expression shifts—regret, old and deep. “I helped perform the original ritual. And I’ve spent centuries trying to atone.”
The silence that follows is heavy. Anouk reaches for my hand beneath the table, and I grip her fingers, grateful for the anchor.
“You helped perform it.” Anouk’s voice is careful. “You were one of the thirteen.”
“I was the youngest. Barely more than a child, convinced by elders who seemed so certain.” Peach stares at the cobbler, but I don’t think she sees it.
“When the ritual completed, when I felt what we’d done—the severing of ties, the breaking of paths that should have led so many to happiness—I knew immediately we’d made a terrible mistake. ”
“But you couldn’t undo it.”
“Not alone. The magic required what it required. Multiple pairs, working in concert, at the original site.” She looks up, meeting our eyes.
“The other twelve died, over the centuries. Some of guilt. Some of age. A few at the hands of the very Preservers they helped create. I alone survived, bound to the site I helped corrupt.”
“That’s a long time to carry guilt.”
“That’s a long time to plan redemption.” Her smile is sad but genuine. “You can’t imagine how it felt, watching the first pairings form in Mistvale. Leire and her tiger. Sakura and her bear. Seeing the magic struggle back to life after centuries of suppression.”
“And now us.”
“And now you. Three pairs. The beginning of what I’ve been preparing for.” She pushes the documents toward us. “The Severing is cracking. Each new claiming weakens it further.”
“But to break it completely…” Anouk trails off.
“We need to undo the original ritual. At the original site.” Peach taps the documents. “Beneath the Registry. Where I’ve been standing guard.”
I flip through the papers. Ancient diagrams. Ritual specifications. Notes in languages I don’t recognize and some I do.
“The dragon mentioned thirteen pairs to undo the ritual,” I say. “Do we have to wait for them to form?”
She meets my gaze. “As close to that number as we can find. The magic isn’t precise. It responds to intent, to commitment, to the strength of the claim. Three pairs might be enough to crack it further. Seven might break it open. Thirteen would guarantee success.”
“Guarantee.” Anouk’s voice is skeptical. “Nothing in magic is guaranteed.”
“Where do we find ten more pairs?” I think about the logistics. “It took years for the three we have to form.”
“The magic is accelerating.” Peach produces another document from her seemingly endless supply.
“Now that the Severing is weakening, pairs that might have taken decades to recognize each other are forming in months. Weeks, even.” She pauses meaningfully.
“I have my eye on several potential matches. Some of them might surprise you.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“That sounds like efficient matchmaking, dear. There’s a difference.”
Chione has promised aid when the time comes. We’ll need her witness as much as her power—someone who watched the Severing take hold and understands what undoing it will cost.
Grandmother Peach leads us to the Registry that afternoon—beneath the matching-room floor, beneath the records going back centuries, to a space that smells of old stone and older magic.
The ritual markings are still there. Dormant.
Waiting. “When you’re ready,” Peach says simply, “bring the others here.” She doesn’t say it like a burden. She says it like a gift.
We walk the Warding Line as the morning matures into afternoon.
“It’s different.” Anouk’s voice is wondering. “Stronger than I’ve ever felt it.”
She’s right. The Warding Line pulses with power that wasn’t there a week ago—fed by our claiming, by all the claimings forming in Mistvale. Where it once felt like stretched fabric, thin and fragile, now it resonates with depth and strength.
“This is what it was supposed to be.” I feel it through my wolf, through the territory instincts that tie me to this land. “Before the Severing. The protections were anchored by claimed pairs, not just familiar bonds.”
“Chione said the Severing was a wound.” Anouk traces the shimmer with her fingers, and it brightens at her touch. “Wounds heal.”
“If they’re given the chance.”
“We’ll give them the chance.” She turns to face me, her hand finding mine. “Whatever it takes. However long it requires. We’ll find the other pairs. We’ll undo what was done.”
“That’s a significant commitment.”
“I’m apparently committed to you for eternity. A long-term magical restoration project seems manageable in comparison.”
I laugh—a genuine laugh, the kind that surprises me still. “Eternity. You’re using big words now.”
“You proposed it. Last night. Several times, as I recall.”
“I proposed forever. Eternity is your escalation.”
“Same concept.”
“Not technically—”
She kisses me, and I decide technical distinctions aren’t worth arguing about.
We stand at the edge of the Warding Line, wrapped in each other, the mist swirling around us in patterns I’ve never seen.
Not the anxious thickness of threatened magic, not the golden tinge of a pairing forming.
Just… peace. Contentment. The visible exhale of a town that feels its protections strengthening.
In the distance, a bell rings.
Clear and sweet, carrying across the town from the direction of the Familiar Registry. The sound that signals a fated pairing forming somewhere in Mistvale.
“Another one.” Anouk’s voice is soft.
“The magic is remembering.” I wrap my arms around her. “More pairs will form. The Severing is cracking faster than Peach expected.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good for the magic. Possibly complicated for us.” I consider the implications. “More pairs means more targets for whatever Preserver cells remain. More people to protect.”
“More allies to help fight.”
“Also that.”