Chapter 6
Slade
The day drags. Humans talk too much, touch too much, breathe too loudly, and yet Piper moves among them like she belongs—like someone born to warmth and soft lights and glittering shelves of charm-laced nonsense.
I watch her… All day. I’ve tried to stop… But, I can’t help it.
She doesn’t notice me most of the time, too busy ringing customers up or laughing at something someone says, curls bouncing around her shoulders in ways that make my hands itch.
But I notice everything.
The way her magic flickers gold around her fingers when she’s focused. Or the way she tries, and fails, to hide each spike of irritation when I hover nearby. And the way she keeps glancing at me like I’m a ticking bomb she can’t defuse.
She’s wrong. I’m the one trying to defuse her.
I find myself wandering the shop—casually, like a predator pretending to be a house pet—trailing fingertips over jars of herbs and glass ornaments, feeling the faint hum of old Bellamy magic stitched into the walls.
She watches every time I touch something. Suspicious. Tense. So adorably cute.
Gods, since when do I use the words cute and adorable?
At one point she mutters under her breath, “If you break anything, I’m billing Hell directly.”
I hum. “Send the invoice to the Ninth Circle. Mark it attention to Slade.”
She glares, and I enjoy it way more than I should.
I keep circling her, observing her from different angles. Her movements. Her scent. Her mood shifts. I’m looking for clues. Because she insists—loudly, repeatedly, and with increasing fury—that she didn’t summon me.
She did. Like I told her… Emotion is a stronger conduit than ritual.
Whatever she felt last night was strong enough to punch a hole between realms and drag me through. But what emotion? Fear? Longing? Desperation? Anger? Or something else—something she refuses to name.
Every time I get close enough to her magic, it pulses toward mine like a hand reaching in the dark—hungry, curious, even familiar.
Bound.
She’s fighting it so hard she’s exhausting herself. Near closing, she’s rounding up stray candles while muttering to herself. “…doesn’t make sense… I didn’t summon anything… I was warding, not conjuring—”
I lean against a shelf beside her. “Still denying the obvious?”
She jumps, and I grin.
“Slade,” Piper warns. “You’re giving me wrinkles.”
“You should thank me. Fated mate wrinkles are flattering.”
She smacks a box of tea charms against the counter harder than necessary. “I’m not your fated anything.”
“You keep saying that,” I murmur, “and your magic keeps disagreeing.”
She narrows her eyes. “Stop analyzing me.”
“Stop being interesting.”
Her lips part—offended and flustered. What a lovely combination.
She flips the sign to CLOSED, turns off the main lights, and begins locking the door. Her movements are brisk, practiced, a little shaky.
I can tell she’s pretending she’s in control. I let her pretend. For now… I follow her outside, taking in the small and sleepy town.
Snowglobe Hollow glitters under early evening light, frost collecting along the cobblestones.
Piper pulls her coat tight, curls spilling from her hood in a dark, stormy halo.
She keeps walking fast enough that she thinks she’s outpacing me.
I stroll lazily beside her, matching her every step without effort.
“Stop hovering,” she mutters.
“I’m walking,” I reply, arching a brow.
“You’re hovering while standing.”
“That’s called existing near you.”
She groans dramatically. “I need a vacation.”
“You need answers,” I retort.
“I need wine.”
“You want to know about the curse.”
She stops walking. Looks at me. Really looks. Her breath clouds the cold air, cheeks pink from wind and frustration. “I don’t want your help,” she says softly.
“But you want the truth.”
Her jaw flexes. She says nothing, which is as good as a yes. I step closer—not touching her, not yet—but close enough that the magic between us shivers in recognition. “You didn’t summon me by accident,” I say quietly. “Something inside you called for something stronger.”
Piper swallows hard. “I don’t want to talk about this outside.”
That’s fine. I like her walls. They’re fun to break.
And I do intend to break them down…
***
The moment she opens the door, the cat waits for me. Newt sits proudly in the entryway like a tiny gargoyle, tail wrapped around his paws.
Piper sighs. “Newt, don’t start. Mommy’s had a day.”
I step inside. Newt stands, approaches… and rubs against my leg. Purring. I stare down at him. The creature looks smug.
Piper blinks. “…what are you doing?”
Newt headbutts my shin. She squints at him like he’s betrayed the entire Bellamy bloodline. “Newt. Sweetie. Wh—why are you—why are you being NICE?”
I crouch, scratch the cat behind the ear. Newt melts like butter under my hand.
Piper’s eyes widen. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?”
“Nothing,” I say truthfully.
“You bribed him with demon treats.”
“Demon treats don’t exist.”
“Well they SHOULD,” she snaps, pacing and pointing accusingly. “Because my cat does not trust easily, and he is not cuddly with strangers, and he definitely doesn’t like you—”
Newt hops into my lap. Stretches. Purrs even louder.
Piper stares at us like she’s witnessing the fall of civilization. “Oh my god,” she whispers. “He likes you.”
I give her a slow, satisfied smile. “I told you,” I say quietly. “Your familiar recognizes the bond.”
“HE IS NOT MY FAMILIAR.”
“Sure,” I say, stroking the cat. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Her glare could melt stone. But underneath it, her magic flickers, curious and unsettled. I lean back against the couch, cat sprawled across me like a traitor, and watch her unravel in slow motion. And I know… she’s already mine.
She doesn’t realize it—not deep down, not consciously—but her magic does. It keeps reaching for me. Testing the edges. Pulling like a subtle gravitational force.
Piper crosses her arms hard over her chest, as if that alone could keep me out. “Okay, demon,” she snaps, “since you’re already turning my life into a train wreck, let’s cut the shit. What do you know about my curse?”
I stroke the cat absently, watching her. “Not enough to give you the answers you want.”
“Not enough,” she repeats, incredulous. “Are you kidding me? You’re a higher demon. You should know something.”
“I know pieces.”
“Start connecting them.”
I tilt my head. “You didn’t say please.”
“Slade,” she hisses, “I am two seconds away from snapping and you haven’t even seen me cranky yet.”
Gods, she’s exquisite when she’s angry. “I know the curse is ancient,” I say slowly, “Old-magic. Tied to emotion. And reactive. Very reactive.” My gaze drags over her deliberately. “Especially for you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Wow. So helpful. I could’ve googled that.”
“And I know,” I continue, letting my voice drop, “that there are places—old places—where your family kept records. Histories. Spellwork diaries. The kind you witches love. One of them might still exist.”
Her expression cracks, just a little. “Where?”
I shrug. “I have an idea.”
“Slade. I swear, if you don’t pony up the information, I will—”
“You’re getting impatient,” I murmur. “Interesting.”
“Of COURSE I’m impatient! I summoned a demon, accidentally bonded with said demon—”
“You did summon me,” I agree.
“—and my CAT likes you now—”
“I’m very likable.”
“—and the town thinks I’m attracted to you—” she groans.
“They’re not entirely wrong.”
She sputters. “EXCUSE ME?”
I stand slowly, letting Newt slide off my lap. Her eyes widen as I tower over her. “You feel it,” I say softly.
“That is NOT what I feel!”
“Your magic thinks otherwise.”
She shakes her head so hard her curls bounce. “Absolutely not. I am NOT—under ANY circumstances—attracted to some arrogant, broody, musclebound—”
“Keep going,” I murmur.
“—horny HELL-spawn—”
“Mm.”
“—with an ego the size of the moon and no concept of personal space—”
“I do enjoy your space,” I retort.
“—and a face that’s—” She clamps her mouth shut. Hard.
I step closer. Predator close. Heat rolling off me in waves. “A face that’s what?” I coax.
She shoves my shoulder. “PUNCHABLE.”
I laugh—low, delighted, hungry. She has no idea what she just did to me. My demon surges, slow and thick and possessive. “I could help you,” I say quietly. “With all of this. With the curse. With the pull you’re feeling.”
“I AM NOT FEEL—”
“There’s a very simple way to ease the bond’s pressure.”
Her mouth opens—and snaps shut. Piper’s voice drops to a horrified whisper. “If you say sex…”
I smile.
Her eyes go huge. Horrified. Flustered. Pink creeping up her throat. “You are UNBELIEVABLE,” she sputters. “I cannot—are you out of your infernal MIND—sex does NOT solve CURSES—”
“It would solve this one.”
“No it wouldn’t!”
“Yes it would.”
“No—NO.” She points at me wildly. “We are not doing ANYTHING. EVER.”
I step in. Close enough that she bumps into the wall behind her. Her breath stutters.
“You insult me,” I murmur. “And it excites me.”
Her breath catches in her throat. “Don’t—don’t say things like that—”
“Why?” I ask. My hand comes up. She freezes. I slide my fingers along her jaw, down her neck, curling softly, possessively around her throat. Not squeezing—just holding. Just claiming territory I know belongs to me.
Her eyes flutter. Her lips part. Magic crackles between us like static in a storm.
“Slade…” she whispers, voice breaking.
“You want answers,” I say.
My thumb brushes her pulse. “Fine. We’ll find them.”
She shivers. “But right now,” I murmur, leaning in, “you need to sleep. Before the curse gets another foothold.”
I press my lips to her temple—slow, warm, intentional. A kiss that is not a kiss. A claim disguised as comfort.
Her knees soften. A soft, helpless sound escapes her throat—barely audible. Heat floods off her in waves. Sweet. Wild. Unmistakable. Piper’s scent shifts—warm, sultry, blooming with magic she can’t hide.
Desire.
I inhale once—slowly—and it hits me like a blow to the chest. She’s wet… for me.
She stiffens immediately, sensing the change in my breathing, the way I go still. Her eyes dart up to mine, wide and defensive, like she knows I’ve just discovered a secret she didn’t mean to reveal.
I lean in, my lips brushing her temple. “Go to bed, Piper.”
She tries to scowl at me, but the edges of it tremble.
Her pupils are blown, pulse fluttering against my fingers.
Her magic skitters over her skin like sparks desperate to leap.
I tilt my head, inhale again—purposefully this time.
And she goes bright red. “Slade,” she hisses through clenched teeth, “don’t. ”
“You’re soaked for me,” I murmur.
She lets out a shocked, furious noise—somewhere between a gasp and a squeak. “That is—NO—it’s—SHUT. UP.”
I smile against her cheek. Dark. Slow. Knowing. “Liar.”
She shoves me again—weak, embarrassed, and absolutely melting under my hand. “I hate you,” she snaps.
“No.” I step back just enough to let her breathe. “You wish you did.”
She whirls around and storms down the hallway, curls bouncing violently, indignation in every step. I stay where I am. Listening.
Her heartbeat—fast, uneven, desperate. Piper’s magic—humming, needy, reaching even as she tries to push it down.
The moment she throws herself into bed, I hear it. A soft, helpless exhale of frustration and want. A woman trying very, very hard not to think about me.
Exactly as intended.