Chapter 31
Piper
Christmas morning in my apartment smells like cinnamon, cloves, and the faint sweetness of the spell-protected pine tree glowing in the corner. For once, the holiday doesn’t feel like a loaded gun pointed at my head.
Slade is in the kitchen humming an old Ninth Realm winter song—quiet, low, a melody that curls along the edges of my skin like warm smoke. Newt sits on the counter beside him, acting as foreman, occasionally smacking Slade’s hand away from the mixing bowl like he’s afraid he’ll ruin breakfast.
I’m dusting powdered sugar across the cinnamon rolls when—KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!
“OPEN UP! IT’S CHRISTMAS, YOU HAG!” Rhea yells.
I unlock the door and she flies in wearing an emerald peacoat, amber eyes sparkling like she swallowed mischief for breakfast.
Elle appears behind her—in a red sweater dress, black leggings, and winter boots, her honey-brown hair straight and tucked behind her ear. Her lighter amber eyes brighten when she sees me.
“Pipes!” she squeals, hugging me tightly. “You look adorable.”
“You look like a holiday goddess,” I laugh.
Elle steps aside so someone behind her can enter.
A tall man with bronze-tousled hair and warm hazel eyes fills the doorway. He carries a tin wrapped in holly-patterned paper and smiles like he was born charming.
Before I can ask—another knock, smooth and deliberate.
Draven strolls in wearing a deep green coat and a scarf that looks like he bullied someone for it. Snow melts in his dark hair. His eyes flick to Rhea—and they both freeze.
She goes rigid. He goes still. The air tightens. Elle mutters behind her hand, but it’s so low I miss it.
The hazel-eyed newcomer—steps forward with a grin and extends the tin toward me. “Draven said you might appreciate some homemade fudge,” he says warmly. “I’m Caelan Athalar. Cousin to these two.”
He gestures at Slade—who has just stepped into the room—and then at Draven, who nods in greeting before returning to staring at Rhea like she’s become an unsolvable riddle.
I smile, taking the tin. “Thank you. Welcome.”
Rhea finally finds her voice—sharp, brittle. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone.”
Draven shrugs. “You didn’t ask.”
Elle elbows her. “Be nice.”
Caelan’s grin widens, completely unbothered. Slade crosses the room, brushing a kiss against my temple, his presence curling protectively behind me. “Cousin,” he says to Caelan. “You get dragged here willingly, or did Draven bribe you?”
“Bribed,” Caelan says. “Five minutes of peace. I haven’t seen him this tense in years.”
Rhea scoffs loudly. “I’m sure he isn’t tense.”
“You are,” Elle whispers.
Rhea shoots her a murderous look.
Everyone spills into the living room. Presents gather under the tree like a constellation of bright paper and ribbons. Cinnamon rolls warm the table. The entire apartment hums with magic—gentle, festive, almost content.
We settle on the couch and floor, exchanging gifts we’d bought for each other.
Slade unwraps a leather-bound cookbook from Elle—full of witch-approved, familiar recipes.
Draven gets enchanted socks from Rhea that warm themselves automatically.
He pretends he hates them. He absolutely doesn’t.
Rhea unwraps a gold tarot pendant from Elle.
Elle receives a starlight hair comb Rhea “totally didn’t spend a fortune on.
” Caelan gets a charmed flask that refills with mulled wine from Draven.
I open a delicate gold bracelet from Slade—its charm shaped like a crescent moon engraved with my initial. My throat tightens.
Elle is knee-deep in wrapping paper, humming off-key and wielding ribbon like a weapon, when she suddenly blurts at full volume, “Rheadora Aureline, hand me the scissors!”
The room freezes. Slade stills mid-stir. Caelan’s fork stops halfway to his mouth. Newt lifts his head, ears twitching like he knows some serious shit has just went down.
I blink once. Twice.
Draven… Draven looks like someone just slapped him with destiny.
Rhea goes red from collarbone to scalp. “ELLE,” she snarls, “I swear on all Bellamy secrets—”
Elle yelps, clapping her hands over her own mouth. “Oops! I panicked! The tape was stuck and—”
I’m already laughing. “I always forget your full name exists.”
Rhea shoots me a look that could curdle milk. “It doesn’t exist. We do not say it. We do not breathe it. We do not acknowledge its presence in mortal planes.”
Draven murmurs the name under his breath like he’s testing it on his tongue. “Rheadora…” Rhea freezes. He continues, slower this time. “Rheadora Aureline. That’s—”
“Don’t,” she warns.
His lips curve. “Beautiful.”
Rhea throws a bow at his head hard enough to qualify as a threat. “Choke.”
Caelan cackles. “Oh, I like her.”
Slade leans in close to me, voice warm against my ear. “Your family is… extraordinary.”
“You mean chaotic,” I whisper.
He kisses the corner of my jaw. “That too.”
Dinner turns into exactly the kind of warm, loud, borderline-dysfunctional feast I always wished my childhood had included.
Rhea complains about Elle’s wrapping technique.
Elle complains about Rhea’s control issues.
Caelan steals garlic knots off everyone’s plates except Slade’s.
Draven and Rhea bicker so intensely it might actually be flirting.
Newt sprawls in the middle of the table like he’s the centerpiece.
The air smells like roasted herbs, melted butter, cinnamon sugar, and the faint spark of magic that always hangs around a Bellamy celebration.
At some point, Rhea nudges Slade and demands he “stop brooding and pass the cranberries.” He does with surprising grace.
Draven tells a story about a demon noble who once accidentally cursed himself into speaking only compliments for a week. Rhea snorts wine out her nose. Caelan applauds like we’re on Broadway.
Elle sighs dramatically. “Isn’t this nice? A calm, peaceful Bellamy Christmas.”
Rhea shoots her a look. “Don’t say ‘peaceful.’ That’s how you summon disaster.”
Elle shrugs. “Too late. Pass the stuffing.”
The laughter, the teasing, the clatter of forks and crystal—it all turns warm inside my chest, settling in places I didn’t know were empty until now.
Slade brushes a hand along my thigh under the table. Not demanding. Not claiming. Just… there.
And in the soft glow of the tree lights, with my chosen family bickering around me, I realize tonight feels like a promise.
A future wrapped in warmth and wickedness and the kind of love that doesn’t ask permission. A future where Slade Athalar fits beside me like he was built for that place all along.
And when he kisses my temple softly, reverently—I know I’m not wrong.
This is home.
***
The warmth of the apartment finally starts to feel heavy, the rich scent of dinner giving way to the faint smell of melting wax and pine needles.
Draven, who has been locked in a low-volume, hostile-flirting discussion with Rhea about the merits of enchanted holiday lighting, finally stands up, stretching his intimidating height.
“Right. My work here is done,” he announces to the room at large.
Rhea scowls. “What work? Being irritating?”
“Achieving peace,” Draven counters, his dark eyes sparkling with something too close to satisfaction. “And delivering this one safely home.” He gestures to Caelan, who is still eating a stolen garlic knot and laughing at Draven.
Caelan claps Draven on the shoulder. “Good luck with your brooding, cousin. Thanks for the wine, Piper.”
Draven nods. “Thank you for the meal, Piper. Though I suspect you poisoned the gravy, it was surprisingly tasty.”
“It’s a Bellamy recipe,” I say sweetly. “Only works on demons.”
He gives me a half-smile that is actually genuine. Rhea stands up, dusting crumbs off her emerald coat. Elle scrambles over to her, grabbing her arm.
“Rhea, I am so sorry about the name!” Elle whispers frantically. “It just came out!”
“It better not come out again, or I’ll curse your entire wardrobe to turn beige,” Rhea snarls.
Elle laughs. “Got it.”
Rhea turns to me. “I suppose I should go before I accidentally stab someone with a dessert fork.”
Elle hugs me tightly. “Happy Christmas, Pipes!”
“You too, you beautiful bitch,” I laugh, hugging her back. “Go enjoy the rest of the day. Get some rest.”
“No setting the apartment on fire, Lord Athalar. I like this pine tree,” Rhea instructs, her amber gaze flicking over Slade, sharp and assessing.
“I’ll try to resist the urge,” Slade drawls, his eyes locked on mine.
One by one, they file out. Draven, Caelan, then Elle, and finally Rhea, shutting the door with a deliberate click.
Silence descends, heavy and satisfying. Newt, relieved the chaos is over, simply sprawls out on the rug, a furry, orange sigh.
I turn to Slade, the peaceful, wicked smile I usually reserve just for him tugging at my lips. “Your family is utterly exhausting.”
“Mine?” He tilts his head, his eyes deep as shadows in the dim light. “One of yours named me a brooding Christmas hazard.”
I cross the room to him, running my hands up his chest, feeling the solid heat beneath his shirt. “She’s not wrong. Now, come here, hazard.”
Slade’s hands immediately settle on my waist, pulling me flush against his hard body. The gentle spell of holiday contentment vanishes, replaced by the familiar, hot surge of desire that always flares between us—a delicious collision of witch and demon.
“I was humming a Ninth Realm love song earlier,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my earlobe. “Did you catch the lyrics, little witch?”
“Something about frozen mountains and eternal damnation?” I tease, my fingers tangling in the dark hair at his nape, pulling him closer.
“Close. It was about stealing the sun and chaining it to my hearth, where it would shine only for me,” he rumbles, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper.