Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
DAHLIA
Dahlia’s legs gave out.
Not dramatically—she didn’t collapse or crumple. She stopped being able to hold herself up. The adrenaline that had been keeping her upright drained, leaving nothing but exhaustion and fury and a fear so vast, she couldn’t see the edges of it.
Cal caught her.
His arms came around her without hesitation, pulling her against his chest. Solid. Safe, in a way that had nothing to do with physical protection and everything to do with the simple act of being held.
“I’ve got you.” His voice was a rumble against her hair. “I’ve got you.”
Dahlia pressed her face into his shoulder and let herself shake. Let the fear out in trembling breaths and the tension out in muscles that finally, finally relaxed.
They stood there in the empty meeting room, holding each other. It should have been awkward. It should have been strange—they’d known each other less than two weeks. They’d held hands once, shared one charged morning in the mountain meadows.
But this felt like coming home.
“He’s lying.” Dahlia spoke into Cal’s shoulder, her voice muffled. “The surveys. They’re fraudulent. I don’t know how yet, but I know they are.”
Cal’s arms tightened around her. “What makes you so sure?”
“The boundary stones.” She pulled back enough to look at him, her hands still fisted in the fabric of his sweater. “The original markers. They’re warded to show the true territorial lines—magic can’t be altered the way paper can. If Magnus’s claims don’t match the stones...”
“Then we have proof.” Cal’s features shifted—the anger giving way to focus. Hope, maybe. Or determination. “Do you know where they are?”
“Some of them. My grandmother showed me a few when I was young. I’ll need to do research, find the others, figure out how to read the wards properly.” She took a breath. “But it’s a start.”
Cal’s hand came up to cup her face. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, gentle despite the calluses, and heat bloomed through Dahlia at the tenderness in his touch.
“You’re amazing.” His voice was churned gravel. “You know that? He threatened to destroy your livelihood, and you’re already plotting how to take him down.”
“I’m terrified.” The admission slipped out before she could stop it. “I’m absolutely terrified. But being scared doesn’t mean I have to give up.”
“No.” Cal’s thumb traced another slow path across her cheek. His pupils had darkened, his pulse visible at his throat. “It doesn’t.”
The air between them shifted. Charged. Dahlia became suddenly, acutely aware of how close they were standing. Of his hand on her face and her hands on his chest and the heat of his body seeping into hers.
She should step back. Should put distance between them before this became something they couldn’t undo.
She didn’t move.
“Cal...”
“I know.” His voice was strained. “I know, we shouldn’t. The timing is wrong, there’s too much going on, you’re overwhelmed right now, and I’m—”
“Stop.” She pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing him. “Stop trying to be noble.”
He stopped breathing. His eyes locked on hers, dark and unreadable.
“I’m not fragile.” Dahlia dropped her hand, but she didn’t step away. Didn’t break the charged space between them. “I’m furious and scared and overwhelmed. But I’m not fragile, Cal. Don’t treat me like I am.”
His careful control cracked. Just enough to show the raw need underneath.
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“Yes, you were.” She rose up on her toes, closing the distance between them until her lips were a breath away from his. “So stop.”
Cal made a sound—half groan, half growl—and his mouth found hers.
The kiss was nothing like she’d imagined. Not gentle, not tentative, not the careful first exploration she might have expected. It was heat and hunger and a desperation that made her dizzy, his hands pulling her closer while her fingers dug into his shoulders.
He kissed her like he’d been starving for it.
Like she was air and he’d been drowning.
His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting her, claiming her, and Dahlia gave back as good as she got.
Her teeth caught his lower lip. Her body arched into his.
The sound she made when his hand slid into her hair was somewhere between a moan and a whimper.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard. Cal’s forehead rested against hers, his eyes dark and wild, his chest heaving.
“Dahlia.” Her name on his lips sounded like a prayer. Like a promise. “We can’t—not here. Not like this.”
She knew he was right. They were standing in the middle of Town Hall, anyone could walk in, and they had a battle to fight that required clear heads and focused attention.
But God, she wanted to ignore all of that. Wanted to drag him somewhere private and finish what they’d started.
“Soon?” The word came out breathless.
Cal laughed—a rough, broken sound—and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Definitely.”
He stepped back, putting space between them. Dahlia felt the loss of his heat immediately, but she understood. They needed to think clearly. Needed to plan.
“The boundary stones,” Cal said, visibly pulling himself back under control. “We need to find them. Verify the truth.”
“Then we start there.” Dahlia smoothed down her hair, trying to look like a woman who hadn’t been kissed senseless in a public building.
They walked out of Town Hall, side by side, not touching, but the air between them still crackling with possibility. The fight ahead would be brutal. Magnus had decades of preparation and resources they could only imagine.
But Dahlia had something Magnus didn’t expect: a community that refused to be bullied. A coven of witches digging through ancient grimoires. A network of alphas who’d chosen integration over isolation.
And a bear shifter who looked at her like she was everything.
Magnus had underestimated Haven Shores. He’d underestimated her.
That would be his biggest mistake.