Chapter 33
Slade
Normalcy feels strange.
Not unwelcome—just… new. A rhythm I’ve never known but instinctively fall into, as if the bond has carved a groove between our lives and I simply step into it each morning.
Three days after Yule, the world softens around us again.
Piper wakes tangled in my arms, warm and bright against my chest. She presses a drowsy kiss to my jaw before slipping out of bed, hair a riot of black curls haloed in early light.
She brews coffee, and I pretend I don’t notice the obscene amount of sugar she adds.
Newt claws at my ankles. She curses at her curling iron.
I steal her toast at breakfast, and her laugh settles deep within my marrow. Ordinary. Perfect.
After breakfast, our day diverges. She heads to the shop bundled in scarves and determination, and I return to hell.
My estate is already lit with preparations, staff moving like rippling shadows beneath vaulted obsidian arches. The Ninth Realm hums with anticipation and curiosity. Every demon with a tongue is talking about the Yule Ball or the witch who shattered a five-hundred-year curse with a kiss and a vow.
I ignore the stares. The whispers. The smug grin on Draven’s face when he asks how I’m “enjoying domestic life.” I check in with the tailors, confirm the final touches on a few arrangements, inspect the wards around my estate—everything I can do to ensure the night I plan for her will be flawless.
But even here, even surrounded by my own power, my thoughts drift back to her.
To the way she smiled when she saw the charmed snowglobe I left on her nightstand, how she whispered I’m yours like it was truth she’d been waiting centuries to say.
And my favorite part? The way her magic curls around mine now—quiet, instinctive, content.
By the time I return to the mortal realm, dusk is settling in, painting the city in shades of gold and violet. Piper is in our living room, arranging bundles of crystal towers and cinnamon sticks for winter blessing kits.
She looks up, eyes brightening when she sees me, like light blooming behind her ribs. “Perfect timing,” she says, sweeping over and kissing me once, soft but sure. “I need you.”
Those three words ignite me even when she’s not meaning them in the way I’d prefer.
“For what, little witch?” I murmur against her mouth.
She pulls back, rummaging through her tote until she finds her phone. “You, my very serious, very intimidating demon lord, are about to help me make social media content.”
I blink, totally confused. “I’m sorry, what?”
She grins—wicked, brilliant, and completely irresistible. “You heard me. Promotional stuff. For the winter sale at my shop. Ya know… For fun.”
“I don’t… do social media,” I grumble.
“You’ll be great.”
“I terrify mortals,” I snort.
“You terrify everyone.” She pats my cheek like I’m a reluctant puppy. “That’s part of your charm.”
Before I can protest, she drags me into the kitchen, where she’s set up a little corner with holiday decorations: candles, faux snow, shiny baubles, and a tiny chalkboard that reads Slade’s Spicy Spell Picks in glittering gold handwriting.
“I did not authorize that name,” I say dryly, arching an eyebrow.
“I did. Now stand here,” Piper huffs.
She positions me beside a display of herbs and crystals, fussing with my hair like I’m being prepped for a magazine cover. Newt sits nearby, tail flicking, already judging us both.
“Okay,” she says, stepping back. “Look… powerful. But approachable-powerful. Not I will drag your soul into the void powerful.”
“That’s… literally my only setting.”
She snorts and hits record, and we end up filming three videos.
The first is a simple product promo—except Piper keeps accidentally brushing my arm, and each time the bond flares warm and bright, and she blushes so hard the camera picks it up.
The second is supposed to be a tutorial, but Newt leaps into frame, steals a cinnamon stick, and Slade Athalar, Lord of the Ninth, ends up chasing him down the hall while Piper cackles.
The third is a trending audio that Piper insists I participate in—something about “my hotter-than-hell boyfriend doing witchy things.” She tries not to grin. She fails abysmally. I stand behind her and wrap my arms around her waist for the final shot, burying my face in her neck.
Her laugh in that moment is soft, breathless, joy distilled to sound.
We spend the next hour editing the clips on her phone, Piper perched in my lap, humming absently every time she cuts a frame or adds glitter text. She shows me the final videos, pride glowing in her eyes.
“See? Perfect,” she says.
I kiss her temple. “If you say so.”
She turns, cupping my cheek, expression softening into something quieter. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being here,” she says simply. “For fitting into my life like you’ve always belonged here.”
The bond thrums deep in my chest—warm, steady, anchored. I tuck her against me, nuzzling into her curls. “I do belong here, Piper. With you. Wherever you are.”
She exhales shakily, leaning into me, letting the truth settle between us like a vow neither of us needs to speak aloud.
Later, we cook dinner together—her chopping vegetables while I stir the pan, our bodies brushing, bumping, orbiting in a dance that feels instinctual, familiar, effortless. She steals a taste from the spoon; I steal a kiss from her fingers. The apartment smells like ginger, garlic, and sage.
When we finally sit down to eat, Piper tucks her knee against mine beneath the table and smiles at me like I’m one of the only things her heart has room for.
And I realize—this is what eternity is supposed to feel like.
Not fire, or war. Not loneliness, but this. Softness, warmth… home.
And as Piper rambles cheerfully about tomorrow’s plans, I watch her. Heart full to the edge, knowing one truth with terrifying clarity… I would burn every realm to keep this.
To keep her—keep us. Forever.