Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
JUNIE
Junie pulled her hand away.
Not because she didn’t want his touch—she wanted it desperately, wanted to lean into him and let herself be held and forget about all the complicated feelings churning through her. But she couldn’t think clearly when he was touching her. And she needed to think.
“I don’t know what to say.” The words came out smaller than she’d intended. “I’m not—I don’t have a lion telling me what I’m supposed to feel. I have me, and I’m not exactly reliable when it comes to this.”
Leo waited. Patient. Giving her space to work through it.
“I’ve never done this,” Junie admitted. “The vulnerability thing. The letting someone see me thing.” She stopped, her throat closing around the words. “Because if they can’t see the broken parts, they can’t—”
“Leave.”
The word landed with the weight of truth. Junie felt tears prick at her eyes and blinked them back furiously.
“People leave.” The words came out small and raw. “I learned it early. I never quite unlearned it.”
“Junie—”
“And now you’re sitting here telling me that your lion recognized me as a mate, and you fought it.
For weeks. You looked at me and your first instinct was to run away.
” She laughed, the sound broken. “Which is honestly relatable, because that’s my first instinct too.
But it doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, you know?
That you spent weeks trying not to want me. ”
Leo’s expression shifted. Pain flickered across his features.
“I wasn’t trying not to want you.” His voice was quiet.
“I was trying to convince myself that wanting you was a choice I could refuse. That I could walk away from Haven Shores and go back to my controlled, empty life and never think about a laugh that sounds like—” He stopped.
Swallowed. “But I couldn’t. I can’t. Every day I spent trying to fight it, I fell further. ”
“And the fighting didn’t feel great from my end either.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He reached for her hand again, and this time she let him take it. “I was an idiot. I was so afraid of losing control that I almost lost you instead.”
Junie stared at their joined hands. His thumb was still tracing those slow circles on her palm. Soothing. Grounding.
“I’ve never let anyone see the real me.” Her whisper was barely audible. “Not the jokes or the deflection or the chaos witch persona. The scared, broken parts underneath. I’m terrified that if you see them—if you see all of it—you’ll leave. The way everyone else does.”
“Junie.” Leo’s voice was soft. “Look at me.”
She raised her gaze to his.
“I’ve already seen them.” His free hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “The fear and the sadness and the way you hide behind humor when things get too real. I’ve seen all of it. I’m still here.”
“You don’t know—”
“I know that your magic is unstable and you’re terrified it means you’re broken.
I know that your grandmother’s book being stolen feels like losing her all over again.
I know that you push people away before they can get close enough to hurt you.
” His gaze held hers, steady and certain.
“I’ve seen you, Junie. The real you. And I’m not going anywhere. ”
Glimmer made a soft sound against Junie’s neck. Her scales shifted, pulsing from amber to a deep, glowing gold that Junie had never seen.
Acceptance, she realized. Her familiar was offering acceptance.
“Glimmer likes you now.” Her voice came out thick. “That’s new.”
“Should I be honored?”
“You should be terrified. She has high standards.”
Leo’s mouth curved into the closest thing she’d seen to a genuine smile. “I’ll try to live up to them.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Not the heavy, weighted silence from before—this was easier. Softer. The silence of two people who had said the hard things and were still sitting across from each other, hands entwined.
“What happens now?” Junie asked.
“What do you want to happen?”
She thought about it. About the weeks of tension and denial and stolen glances. About last night—the blood and the fear and the kiss that had felt like coming home.
“I want to try.” Her words came slowly, testing each one. “To try. Not the deflection and running away I usually do. Giving this—us—a real chance.”
“Even though I’m a control freak who spent weeks fighting what I should have embraced?”
“Even though you’re a control freak.” She felt her lips curve despite herself. “Although, for the record, I reserve the right to remind you of that frequently.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
“And I’m still terrified.” She added. “That hasn’t gone away. I’m probably going to panic and try to push you away at least three more times before I figure out how to do this.”
“I know.”
“And my magic is still unstable, and my shop is still destroyed, and there’s still a jackal shifter out there who wants to hurt everyone I care about.”
“Also true.”
“So this isn’t exactly starting from a position of stability.”
Leo leaned forward, closing the distance between them. His forehead rested against hers.
“For the first time in years, you’ve made me feel like I can breathe.” His murmur brushed her skin.
“That’s either romantic or concerning.”
“Both, probably.” He pulled back enough to meet her gaze. “We can figure out the details later. The investigation, the future, where we go from here. Right now, I need to know—are you in? No more running?”
Junie thought about running. About the safe, comfortable life she’d built—alone in her apartment, surrounded by potions and chaos, never letting anyone close enough to hurt her.
It had been safe. It had also been lonely.
“No more running.” Her voice was steadier than she felt. “But I reserve the right to occasional strategic retreats for emotional processing.”
“Acceptable terms.”
“And you have to be patient with me. I’m not good at this.”
“Neither am I.”
“And if Glimmer decides she hates you again, you can’t take it personally.”
“I would never.”
“And—”
Leo kissed her.
It was different from last night. Less desperate, less driven by fear and adrenaline. This kiss was slow. Deliberate. A seal on a promise, an acknowledgment of everything they’d said.
Junie melted into it, her hands finding his shoulders, careful of his healing wounds. His fingers threaded through her hair, tilting her head back, deepening the kiss until she couldn’t remember why she’d ever been afraid of this.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Leo’s eyes were dark with want. The kind of want that made her stomach flip and her skin flush.
“I should probably let you rest.” She managed. “You were attacked by three jackals less than twelve hours ago.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re still healing.”
“Shifter metabolism.” His thumb traced her lower lip. “I could run a marathon right now.”
“That seems like an exaggeration.”
“Maybe.” He kissed her again, softer this time. “But I’m not tired.”
They didn’t leave the room for hours.
Not because of anything scandalous—they were both too raw, too newly exposed, for that.
But they stayed in bed, talking. The kind of conversation that started with breakfast ordered through Avine and stretched through lunch and into late afternoon, covering ground neither of them had shared with anyone.
Leo told her the rest—things he’d only ever carried alone. She listened without flinching.
Junie told him about her grandmother. The afternoon lessons at the brewing station, learning to stir counterclockwise for calming potions and clockwise for energy.
The way Rosalind’s magic had felt—steady and infinitely patient, like being wrapped in a blanket made of safety.
The scent of herbs that still made her throat tight with longing.
The last morning, when Junie had kissed her grandmother’s papery cheek and gone to school, not knowing she’d never see her again.
“I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” Her voice came out small. “She died while I was in math class, learning long division. And then my mother fell apart, and six months later she was gone too, and I was living with my aunt and pretending I was fine.”
They talked about fear. About the walls they’d both built and the different shapes those walls had taken. About the specific terror of wanting and losing.
“I think that’s the worst part,” Junie admitted, her head resting on his shoulder. “Not the losing itself. The anticipation. Knowing it’s possible. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“It’s exhausting.” Leo’s fingers traced patterns on her arm. “I’ve spent decades waiting for everything to fall apart again. Preparing for the worst. Never letting myself hope for anything good, because hope meant vulnerability.”
“And now?”
“Now—” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Now I’m choosing to hope anyway. Choosing to want even though I might lose it. Because the alternative—never wanting anything—was starting to feel like I’d already lost.”
Glimmer had fallen asleep at the foot of the bed, scales a contented gold. Outside the window, the afternoon light was fading toward evening.
“We should probably eat,” Junie said. “I think the last thing I had was one of Dahlia’s truth pastries, and that was over twenty-four hours ago.”
“Avine will have questions.”
“Avine will have opinions. And probably champagne. She’s been waiting for this since you arrived.”
“She knew?”
“Everyone knew.” Junie laughed softly. “The only people who didn’t know were us. And we were in denial.”
Leo’s arm tightened around her. “I’m sorry it took me so long. To stop fighting. To choose.”
“I’m sorry I spent weeks convincing myself you were an arrogant ass.”
“To be fair, I was being an arrogant ass.”
“True. But you were also being an arrogant ass who left coffee outside my door every morning and helped me sort through the wreckage of my shop and looked at me like…” She trailed off.
“Like what?”
“Like I was worth choosing.”
Leo shifted, rolling to face her. His expression was serious, intense in a way that made her pulse skip.
“You are.” The words were simple, direct. “Worth choosing. Worth fighting for. Worth every sleepless night I spent trying to convince myself you weren’t exactly what I needed.” His hand came up to cup her face. “You’re worth all of it, Junie. Every terrifying, wonderful moment.”
She kissed him because she didn’t have words. Because sometimes the best response to being seen—broken parts and all—was to show exactly how much that meant.
When they finally emerged from the room, hand in hand, Avine was waiting in the hallway with a knowing smile and two glasses of champagne.
“About time.” She pressed a glass into each of their hands.
“Seriously?” Junie raised her brows.
“It was the most watched slow-motion collision in Haven Shores’s history.” Avine’s smile softened. “I’m happy for you. Both of you.”
Junie glanced at Leo. At this man who had fought so hard against wanting her, and then chosen her anyway. Who had seen her broken parts and decided to stay.
“Yeah.” She squeezed his hand. “Me too.”
Glimmer, coiled around Junie’s wrist, turned her scales a brilliant, unmistakable gold.
For the first time in her life, Junie’s familiar was showing unqualified approval.
Maybe this choosing thing wasn’t so terrifying after all.