Chapter 17
On the way to New York, Eli made a plan.
It wasn’t complicated. That’s what had gotten him here in the first place.
He’d spent three months overcomplicating everything and convincing himself that the only way to protect Olivia was to leave her, that hunting Garret alone was somehow noble instead of selfish, that she and the baby were better off without him dragging his damage through their lives.
This time, he would show her. Every day, as many days as it took, he would be there. Not with speeches or grand promises. She didn’t trust his words anymore, so he’d have to do it through his actions and his presence.
Unfortunately, it seemed she was not going to make it easy.
“Go away,” Olivia said, her violet eyes flashing as soon she as spotted him outside of her condo building.
“Olivia, please,” he began. “Just give me—”
“I said I’d think about it,” she reminded him. “Thinking requires space.”
“I know. I’m just here.”
She walked past him without slowing down and didn’t look back, and even though his wolf urged him, he didn’t follow.
The next morning, he was outside again, holding two coffees. “I heard you have a doctor’s appointment today at the Medical Wing. I could drive you.”
She stopped on the sidewalk. “How do you know about my appointment?”
“Your mom mentioned it.”
“My mother. I can’t believe this.” Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Betrayed by my own mother.”
“She just wants—”
“I know what she wants.” She eyed the coffee in his left hand. “Is that decaf?”
“With oat milk.”
She took it and got in the car without another word.
He drove her to The Enclave and didn’t try to come inside.
He didn’t ask about the appointment or attempt conversation.
He parked, told her he’d be here when she was done, and stayed in the car.
Two hours later, when she came back out, he had a bag of pastries from the French bakery on Columbus Avenue sitting on the passenger seat.
She took the pastries and ate two before they reached the bridge. She did not thank him.
Over the next few days, he kept showing up.
He left groceries with the doorman, plus bags of the jalapeno chips she’d been craving since Kentucky.
The next day he placed an order with the burger place down the block for a dozen bacon cheeseburger and enough fries to feed a pack of wolves.
He drove her to a lunch with Sloane and waited in the car.
He walked beside her at the farmer’s market in Jackson Heights because she’d mentioned wanting fresh peaches, and he carried the bags without being asked.
Eli didn’t push. He didn’t try to have conversations she wasn’t ready for or get too close. He was just there, consistent and steady.
One evening, about five days in, she let him sit on the couch while she ate dinner.
They watched a cooking competition on TV for two hours without speaking.
Afterwards, he was loading up the dishwasher when she reached for a jar on the top shelf of her kitchen cabinet.
Even at her height, this particular shelf was a stretch so she was on her tiptoes.
“Here,” he said. “Let me.” Before she could protest, he reached up over her and grabbed the jar. As he brought it down, his forearm brushed against her belly.
The baby kicked.
They both froze. His hand hovered an inch from her stomach, not touching, but not pulling away either.
“You can,” she said quietly. “If you want.”
He placed his hand flat against the curve.
The kick came again once more. His breath caught in his throat, an unnamed emotion keeping it stuck there.
His inner wolf went completely still, focused entirely on the sensation under his palm.
They stood there for a long time, unmoving, until Olivia cleared her throat and took a step back.
She turned around and walked into her bedroom, the door closing shut.
Two days later, he asked her to dinner.
“I’m not ready for a date, Eli.”
“It’s not a date. It’s food. You’re hungry.”
“I’m always hungry. That’s not a reason.”
“It’s a good enough reason. There’s a place I want to take you. One hour. If you hate it, I’ll bring you straight home.”
Her lips pressed into a tight line. “One hour.”
He drove them into Manhattan. She didn’t ask where they were going, and he didn’t volunteer it. When he pulled up to the familiar block and she saw the sign above the sleek black door, her head snapped toward him.
“Blood Moon?”
“Yeah.”
“Why here?”
He cut the engine. “I want to show you something.”
She didn’t say yes, but she got out of the car anyway and followed him in. The place was busy, but not packed, and he led them toward the rear.
“Where are we—” She stopped when they reached the narrow hallway in the off-limits section. “Are we headed to the rooftop?”
“Uh-huh,” he said as he pressed the elevator call button. He had called ahead to Marco, a bartender who owed him a favor. Marco had made sure the rooftop would be empty the entire night. He gestured for her to go in when the doors opened.
The rooftop was bare except for a few planters on the same ledge with the metal railing Olivia had leaned over the night they met. The sprawl of Times Square glittered below, the cacophony of car horns and wailing sirens serenading them.
“Okay,” Olivia said, crossing her arms. “I’m here. What did you want to show me?”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a handful of small glass vials, each filled with plain water. He set them on the ledge of the nearest planter as Olivia watched, her brow furrowing.
“Water?” she said.
“For now.” He picked up the first vial and closed his fingers around it. He shut his eyes, and the warmth spread from his chest, down his arms, and into his hands. The yellow glow seeped between his fingers, surrounding the glass.
Olivia blinked. “That’s what you did at the diner. When you saved me.”
“Same power. Different recipe.” He opened his eyes and held the vial up so she could see the liquid inside, which had turned from clear to a deep emerald green.
“Growth potion. My mother’s recipe. She used to make this every spring for her garden.
” He poured it into the planter’s soil. Within seconds, green shoots pushed through the dirt.
They grew taller and thicker, leaves unfurling.
White jasmine blossoms opened in clusters along the stems and its sweet scent filled the rooftop.
Olivia’s arms dropped to her sides.
He picked up the second vial, and once again, infused it with his magic. This time the liquid turned a deep indigo. “This one accelerates blooming. Works on anything dormant.” He poured it into the next planter and morning glories spiraled upward, winding around the railing.
“This is amazing,” she gasped. “How … I mean, you explained how your power works, but I still can’t wrap my head around it. You just think of what you want and you can turn any liquid into a potion?”
“Kind of. First, I have to know the recipe from memory. Almost any liquid works, but water is the easiest because it’s pure.
” He reached for the third vial, and this time, it turned into a violet liquid.
“Lavender propagation. My mother made this one to help her sleep.” He poured, and lavender spilled from the planter, filling the air with its scent. The fourth produced gardenias.
The fifth he poured into a shallow dish of water he’d placed near the railing. His hands glowed as he placed them over the surface, and the liquid turned iridescent.
“Luminescence,” he said. “She made this one just because she thought it was pretty.”
He held the last vial in his palm. The glow came slower this time, gentler. The water turned a pale gold. He didn’t pour it, but offered it her instead.
“This one was my mother’s favorite. She made it every spring. Said it smelled like the place she grew up.” He swallowed. “I haven’t made it since she died.”
Olivia took the vial. She uncorked it and held it under her nose. Whatever she smelled made her eyes close.
“Eli,” she whispered.
“My mother taught me that magic could make beautiful things. I spent my half my life hiding it because I was afraid of what people would do if they found out. But I don’t want to hide anymore.” He took in a sharp breath. “It’s part of who I am, what shaped me. Like my mother’s coven.”
She opened her eyes.
“I asked the Featherstones to come to New York,” he said. “They’re arriving next week. Margaux, Tabitha, and Astoria.”
Her lips parted. “You did?”
“I called Margaux. We talked for two hours. It wasn’t easy and we’ve got a long way to go.
But I asked them to come, and they said yes.
” He met her gaze. “Not just for you. For me. You told me once that I’d turned what they did to my mother into my excuse for never letting anyone in.
You were right. I’ve been holding onto that anger my whole life because it was easier than dealing with what was underneath it. ”
He wanted her to see that he’d made peace with his past, that he had taken her words from that last night in Kentucky and understood what he had to do.
He planned everything carefully, but he hadn’t figured out what happens after this part.
So, he just said the words he’d been longing for her to hear.
“I love you, Olivia.” Once he said that, the rest came easy.
“I thought Garret and Ronan and the Boston clan had beaten it out of me, that I wasn’t capable of it.
But then I remembered my mother. How she loved me and taught me that love wasn’t about being strong enough to protect someone.
It was about being brave enough to stay.
She stayed, even when her coven threw her out, even when she was sick and alone, she stayed with me as long as she could. ”
His voice roughened, but he kept going. “For a long time, I forgot. And then I met you, and you reminded me. And I walked away anyway, because I was scared. Because staying meant letting you see all of it, the coven, Garret, everything. And I didn’t think I was worth that.”
A tear slid down Olivia’s cheek.
“Garret told me to break the cycle, that’s what I’m doing.
And I’m starting with the Featherstones.
I’m not running anymore.” He stepped closer and took her hands in his.
“I can’t undo the last three months and I can’t earn your trust with magic or flowers.
But I’m asking you to let me try. You deserve someone who stays and I want to be that person. ”
Olivia gazed up at him and held his hands for the longest time before she spoke.
“You grew me a garden.”
“Yeah.”
“On a rooftop. In Manhattan.”
“I told you, I wanted to take you on a date and buy you flowers and stuff.”
A smile broke out on her face. She pressed her forehead against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. The bump pressed between them, and the baby kicked once, hard, as if to say finally.
“I love you, too,” she said into his shirt. “I’ve loved you since the waffles.”
“The waffles?”
“Don’t ask. I’ll explain later.”
He held her tighter. The smell of jasmine drifted in the breeze and the glowing water cast patterns on the railing. His wolf lay down and exhaled, relaxed and at peace for the first time in months.