Chapter 12
Slade
Newt is sprawled across my lap like he owns me. Which, frankly, is embarrassing.
I never intended to befriend the creature—yet here we are. He purrs like a tiny engine, kneading the muscle of my thigh with sharp little claws he absolutely uses on purpose. “You’re manipulative,” I inform him.
Newt purrs louder. I stroke behind his ears—apparently his favorite spot—and he melts like butter under my hand, tail twitching with smug satisfaction.
This cat has chosen me. And for reasons I cannot begin to articulate, that pleases me more than it should.
My phone vibrates on the table. Newt stretches, planting one paw on the screen as if claiming it. As if saying… No work. Only cat. “I have to answer that,” I mutter.
Newt refuses to move. I sigh and slide the phone out from under his paw, which earns me a slow blink of reprimand.
Draven. Of course.
I answer. “What.”
“Slade.” His voice is pure fury wrapped in suspicion. “Why are you topside?”
I rub my temple. “Hello to you too.”
“No. No greetings. You vanish for days. I can’t reach you. You break protocol. And then—THEN—I hear rumor that you’re walking around the mortal realm like some trench-coat-wearing menace. What the hell is going on?”
Newt headbutts my hand, demanding more pets. “I’m fine,” I say.
“You’re NEVER ‘fine.’” Draven snaps. “You’re controlled. You’re predictable. You follow rules like a self-righteous martyr. So if you’re up there, something happened.”
A long beat of silence stretches between us. I breathe once. Calm. Measured. Knowing I’m lying through my teeth.
“I found my mate.”
Draven goes silent. Dead. Fucking. Silent. Then— “…the fuck you did.”
I smile faintly. “Yes.”
“A mortal?” he demands.
“A witch.” A tiny pause as I gather my strength. “A cursed witch.”
“Oh gods.” Draven sounds personally attacked. “A WITCH?! A fucking cursed witch?! Are you insane?!!! ”
Newt chirps as if agreeing.
Draven barrels on, voice rising, “Okay—okay—hang on—tell me you didn’t CLAIM her. Tell me you didn’t—”
“I haven’t claimed her.”
A long, heavy pause fills the line. Then Draven exhales—slow, sharp, like he’s bracing himself. “Good,” he says quietly. “That would’ve been… premature.”
Newt flicks his ear, unimpressed. Draven continues, voice cooling into something more controlled. “Slade… you don’t claim someone when you know nothing about the curse wrapped around her blood. You wait. You assess.”
I roll my eyes. “I am assessing.”
“You’re terrible at assessing when you’re emotionally compromised.”
“I’m not emotionally—”
“Yes, you are,” he cuts in. “Which is why I’m asking this next part very carefully.” A beat passes before he speaks again. “Is there another reason why you’re waiting?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Because claiming her binds us permanently. She’s terrified. And barely tolerating me.”
Draven mutters, “So she’s sensible.”
“Shut up.”
He snorts softly. “I’m not judging you. I just needed to know you weren’t hesitating because you’re injured or poisoned… or controlled.”
“I’m fine.”
“You say that like it means anything.”
“Do you at least know what kind of curse it is?” He asks with another long suffering sigh.
“I don’t know all of it yet. It’s old. Older than her coven records. Older than her bloodline, maybe.”
Draven curses under his breath. “So you walked into a mate bond and an unidentified hereditary curse? Do you even LIKE surviving?”
I flex my jaw. “I didn’t choose the timing.”
“No one does,” he mutters. “But a curse tied to a witch’s bloodline? That’s messy. Dangerous. Probably comes with expectations. And enemies.”
He hisses a breath. “Slade. You need backup.”
“No.”
“You need information,” he says, trying a different angle.
“I’m getting it.”
“How?” He asks.
I glance at Newt. He stares back, entirely unimpressed. “…carefully,” I say.
Draven groans. “Which means recklessly.”
“I didn’t ask for advice,” I say flatly.
“You never do,” Draven fires back. “You just brood until someone calls you and forces you to talk.”
I grit my teeth. He’s not wrong.
“I called because you disappeared,” Draven continues.
“Because something changed and I knew it was something delicious. You always did keep secrets better than me. You sound—different.” Newt headbutts my hand again like a tiny traitor.
I pet him anyway. Draven lowers his voice. “It’s because of her, isn’t it.”
I don’t answer. Which is answer enough.
A long exhale drags through the line. “Slade… gods. You actually care for her.”
The truth lands like a blade between ribs—precise, undeniable.
More than I should. More than she knows. More than either realm would forgive.
Silence speaks for me.
Draven’s voice shifts—less furious, more grim. “Then listen carefully. If she’s cursed, she’s your mate, and you’re helping her? Whatever coils through her bloodline is now wrapped around yours.”
I already know. Still… It doesn’t make it easier to hear.
“And if she goes to the Ninth Realm—”
“She hasn’t decided,” I say, though even I can hear the doubt. Though, I’m sure she won’t learn anything new with Rhea.
“She will.” Draven sounds certain in a way only older brothers and prophets ever are. “Mortals always come to us when they want answers. Especially answers they shouldn’t have.”
Newt rolls onto his back, exposing his belly. I scratch lightly, and he purrs like a damn engine.
Draven continues, tone tightening. “And you need to remember something. The Ninth Realm may look like heaven. Peace. Warmth. Gardens and golden air. It fools mortals—makes them feel safe.” A long pause that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“But it’s still hell, Slade. And your mate will be surrounded by beings who would take her power, her curse, or her life if it gave them an inch of advantage. ”
My magic coils, dark and lethal. Protective. Possessive. “No one touches her.”
Draven makes a tired, resigned noise. “Yeah. I knew you’d say that.” Another pause. “I’ll prepare for your arrival. Quietly.”
The line crackles—soft static, then nothing. I lower the phone. Newt shifts, crawls higher into my lap, and presses his warm little face against my chest with surprising trust.
I stroke his fur and stare toward the front door—toward where Piper walked into the world, still cursed, still stubborn, still so heartbreakingly mortal.
“She has no idea what she’s walking into,” I murmur. Newt purrs, a low, steady sound. “But… She won’t walk into it alone.”
Not ever again.