Chapter 26
The morning light that filtered through the sheer curtains of her bedroom window felt impossibly bright.
Marigold groaned, a low, guttural sound, and buried her face in her pillow.
Her body was a map of aches, the kind of delicious soreness that only comes from reckless abandon, and as the physical sensations subsided, yesterday’s memories came flooding back, sharp and clear.
The Wild Magic Mocha. The way it had stripped away her caution, turning her decade of simmering feelings for Lucian into a single, desperate, feral act.
She hadn’t just given in to temptation; she had orchestrated it, dragging him into a dark storage tent and seducing her ex like a woman possessed.
A tidal wave of shame and regret washed over her.
She hadn’t realized how wild the courage-and-chaos spell would make her, or that her version of “chaos” meant shattering ten years of emotional defense in a frenzy of passion against a stack of cedar crates.
Goldie pulled the thick, comforting blanket over her head, grateful to the point of tears that Enchantresso was closed today—a play day for the last day of the Pumpkin Festival.
Since there was no work today, she could just hide here, a hermit in her own cottage, and not have to see a single person, especially Lucian.
From the kitchen, she could clearly hear the low, cheerful humming of her aunt, Lettie, already busy at the stove. The sound was too close, too grounding, too full of gentle, knowing energy, reminding her she wasn’t alone.
Goldie burrowed deeper beneath the covers, unable to face Lettie, unable to articulate the ruin she had just brought down on her own head.
I was supposed to be strong, her thoughts swirled, turning bitter and self-accusatory.
I was supposed to not give in to his temptations, not after he finally admitted that Ellie lied and he was the fool who believed her.
She clamped her eyes shut against the traitorous memory of his touch.
And I damn well cannot forgive him for how he has treated me for ten years.
The reckless physical act had been a betrayal of her own self-respect, giving him exactly what he wanted without him having to earn a single sliver of trust back.
Goldie was so lost in the swirling vortex of her thoughts—replaying Lucian’s face, her own frantic giggles, the sheer, undeniable reality of the passion that had consumed her wholeheartedly—that she didn’t hear the flutter of wings until it was too late.
Nibbles landed on her face with the grace of an elephant, his oversized paws cushioned by her blanket from the impact on her forehead, his sharp little golden beak immediately pecking insistently at the edge of the blanket.
“Go away, Nibbles!” she groaned, swatting blindly at the little Grifflet with a hand that was tangled in her blanket.
He responded with a series of frantic chirps and continued to pester her, his tufted tail twitching in annoyance that his morning routine was being delayed by her emotional breakdown.
“Fine,” she grumbled, her voice thick with sleep and self-pity, throwing the heavy covers off her body in a single, dramatic move. The sudden rush of cool air was a shock to her warm skin.
Nibbles, triumphant, launched himself from the bed and flew off, a streak of mottled grey and cream heading directly towards the door.
As Goldie stretched and groaned, stiffly pulling herself up, Aunt Lettie’s cheerful voice called up the stairs. “You awake, lovey? I’ve got coffee on and breakfast underway!”
Sighing, Goldie dragged herself to the doorway in her pajamas and yelled back, “Yes, I’m awake!”
She followed the distant click-click-click of Nibbles’ talons on the hardwood floor until they reached his food station in the laundry room.
The Grifflet stood beside his empty, metal food bowl, tapping it once with a tiny talon before looking up at her with enormous, demanding amber eyes, then repeating the routine.
She sighed dramatically, leaning against the doorframe.
“I just had a very chaotic night, little man, don’t try me.
” She crossed the room and grabbed the large, resealable bag of specialized high-protein kibble formulated for magical creatures like him.
The food smelled strongly of dried liver and something vaguely fishy—perfect for a Grifflet who needed energy for destruction.
She poured a generous serving into his bowl, and Nibbles immediately dove in, chomping contentedly.
As Goldie turned back toward the kitchen, she felt a wave of shame hit her anew.
She padded toward the kitchen, where Lettie was already pouring two mugs of coffee.
Will her witchy intuition kick in and she sense that something happened with Lucian and me?
Goldie nibbled her lip as she looked down at the floor.
“Morning, lovey,” Lettie said, handing her a steaming mug. The coffee smelled strong, a grounding, earthy scent; she inhaled deeply. “How was the festival? Did you cause any trouble last night, or eat anything good?”
Goldie took a large, desperate gulp of the hot liquid, wincing slightly as it scalded her throat. She gripped the mug tightly. “Auntie,” she grumbled, her voice flat, “we don’t talk about anything that happened after 5 PM until after my second cup of coffee. Preferably one I didn’t brew myself.”
Lettie laughed, a warm, melodic sound. “Perfectly fair, my love. Just checking. Plus, there is plenty of coffee left to refill your mug.”
Goldie had barely taken her third restorative sip of Aunt Lettie’s potent brew when a sudden, authoritative rap sounded at the front door.
The sound was sharp, too loud for a peaceful Sunday morning, and felt like a physical assault on her already frayed nerves.
Her hand, still gripping the coffee mug, flew to her chest in alarm.
She looked down at the soft, oversized pajamas she was wearing—a childish pair patterned with smiling, tiny broomsticks and teacups.
She was just immensely grateful she had bothered to put something on at all.
Aunt Lettie, who was already at the stove, chuckled softly. “Well, who on earth could be here this early, lovey? Did someone stop at the cafe and see it was closed and come here?”
“I don’t know,” Goldie grumbled, reluctantly shuffling toward the entryway. “But if so, they are going to be greatly disappointed.”
“You can offer any of our neighbors to come in for a cup.”
“Not before my second cup, Auntie,” Goldie groaned. “You finish breakfast, I’ll go check who it is.”
She reached the door and cautiously peeked through the peephole, bracing herself for a delivery driver or a well-meaning but misguided neighbor.
Instead, her stomach did a dizzying flip as her vision filled with the familiar sight of a broad, leather-clad chest. Lucian stood on her porch, looking entirely too solid and entirely too handsome for 9 a.m. on a Sunday.
“Open the door, Goldie,” his voice, deep and commanding, filtered through the thick wood as if he knew exactly where she was standing. “I know you're there.”
Exhaling a slow, shaky breath—half resignation, half lingering exhaustion—she unlocked the door and opened it only a crack, leaving her body as a barrier that was shielded by the door.
“I am not awake yet, Lucian, and this is a godawful time to show up,” she grumbled, channeling her inner grumpy bog witch. The coffee had clearly not worked fast enough.
“It’s nine in the morning,” he replied, sounding utterly baffled by her complaint.
She frowned, turning her head to stare at the old-fashioned wall clock in the hall. It was indeed 9:07 a.m.
“It’s Sunday, Jackal, and I wanted to sleep in,” she insisted. “Or something like that. Go away.”
He didn’t argue. He simply nudged the door with the solid weight of his shoulder, the unexpected force making her stumble backward a step. The small space he created was just wide enough for her to see the intense, lingering lust and something far more predatory in his golden eyes.