Chapter 33 Theo
THIRTY-THREE
THEO
He hadn’t slept.
Thinking. Avine had walked into his life—guarded, wounded, fierce—and he’d recognized himself in her. Two people who’d learned to be small to survive. Two people who’d forgotten they could be anything else.
She made him want to be big again. To take up space. To need.
He should probably be terrified. Instead, he felt the stirrings of hope—dangerous and unfamiliar and impossible to ignore.
His phone buzzed. Beck.
So. Good date?
Theo typed back: It wasn’t a date.
Another message: For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you. You deserve this. Even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.
Something in Theo’s chest unclenched. Beck had been his best friend for thirty years. Had watched him leave Haven Shores and come back broken in ways neither of them discussed. Had never once judged him for it.
He pocketed his phone without answering and grabbed his keys. It was time.
Avine was waiting on her porch when he pulled up.
She wore his jacket. Still. The sight hit him like a fist.
Morning light outlined her against the inn’s doorframe, her dark hair wound up in that practical twist he was learning to love. She looked rested. Alert. Ready for whatever came next. And when she saw him, her whole face changed—softening into an expression that was private and only for him.
His wolf pressed forward hard. Ours.
For once, Theo didn’t argue.
He got out of the truck. Told himself to keep his distance. Failed immediately.
Two steps and he was in her space, one hand at her hip, the other tilting her chin up. “Morning.”
“Morning yourself.” Her voice was husky from sleep. Or maybe from the way he was looking at her. “You’re early.”
“Couldn’t wait.”
He kissed her before either of them could think better of it. A brief press of lips—a greeting, a promise, a reminder of everything they’d started last night. She melted into him, her fingers curling into the front of his shirt, and it took every ounce of control he had to pull back.
“Piprick first.” The words were a groan.
“Right.” She didn’t let go of his shirt. “The crisis. Very important.”
“Extremely.”
Neither of them moved.
“Theo.” Her eyes were bright with amusement. “We should probably go.”
“Probably.” He stole one more kiss—a quick one, at the corner of her mouth—before stepping back. “Get in the truck. Before I forget why we’re leaving.”
Her laugh followed him all the way to the driver’s side.
The Old Wards District was quiet this early in the morning.
Cobblestone streets wound between buildings that predated the town’s official founding. The whole district was slightly larger on the inside than the outside.
Piprick’s Peculiar Provisions occupied a corner shop that defied architectural logic.
The building leaned at an angle that should have been structurally impossible, its windows glowing with the soft pulse of contained magical energy.
Smoke curled from three separate chimneys, each a different color.
“Charming,” Avine murmured.
“Chaotic.” Theo parked the truck. “Piprick’s inventions have a sixty percent success rate on a good day. The smoke is usually fine. Usually.”
“And on a bad day?”
“The purple chimney exploded in 2019. Took out three wardstones and turned the baker’s cat invisible for a month.”
“The cat recovered?”
“Eventually. It still flickers sometimes.” He reached over and took her hand, lacing their fingers. The simple contact steadied him. “We go in careful. Piprick’s not dangerous on purpose, but his magic is unpredictable. If things escalate—”
“We handle it.” Avine squeezed his hand. “I’ve got power I didn’t know I had. You’ve got—” She gestured vaguely at all of him. “—everything else. We’ll be fine.”
His wolf eased at the certainty in her voice. At the we.
“Stay close to me.”
“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere else.”
The inside of Piprick’s workshop was exactly as chaotic as Theo remembered.
Shelves lined every available wall, crammed with half-finished inventions, glowing vials, clockwork contraptions that ticked and whirred, and a small mechanical bird that kept trying to escape its cage.
Tables overflowed with blueprints, tools, and components that defied identification.
The air smelled of copper and ozone and burnt sugar—or maybe crystallized enchantment.
A self-sorting filing cabinet shuffled papers in the corner. A brass contraption with too many tentacles waved from a high shelf. The ceiling was covered in charts and diagrams pinned at odd angles, connected by strings of different colors that formed a web only Piprick could possibly understand.
Avine’s hand squeezed his. “This is… a lot.”
“Welcome to gnome engineering.”
And in the center of it all, surrounded by a massive construct of interlocking metal rings and pulsing sigils, stood Elder Piprick Geare.
The gnome barely came up to Theo’s waist, with wild white hair that stuck out in every direction and spectacles so thick they magnified his pale blue eyes to unsettling proportions. He was muttering to himself as he adjusted a dial on the construct, completely oblivious to their entrance.
“—should stabilize the resonance frequency, and if I adjust—oh!” He looked up, his face breaking into a delighted smile. “Alpha! Innkeeper! Perfect timing! I was about to send for you!”
Theo’s instincts prickled. The construct behind Piprick was humming with energy—more energy than should be contained in a workshop this size. The metal rings were rotating slowly, and the sigils carved into them were glowing brighter with each passing second.
“Piprick.” He kept his voice calm. “What is that?”
“This?” The gnome beamed, gesturing proudly at the device.
“This is the Protection Matrix! I’ve been working on it for weeks!
It’s designed to stabilize the inn’s wards and protect our lovely innkeeper from the surge instability.
” He turned to Avine, practically bouncing with excitement.
“I know you’ve been having trouble, dear.
The sea magic is old and finicky, and the surge has been making everything unstable. But this—this will fix everything!”
Theo felt Avine stiffen beside him. He reached for her hand again, and she gripped it tight.
“Piprick.” Her voice was careful. “Have you been adding your magic to my inn’s wards?”
“Of course! Someone had to help! You’re new here, dear, and the wards needed reinforcement after that big flare when you arrived. I’ve been layering in protective enchantments ever since.” His smile faltered. “I… I was trying to help.”
“Your enchantments.” Theo’s jaw worked. “They’re not compatible with sea magic, Piprick. Gnome engineering uses a completely different magical signature. You’ve been destabilizing her wards. Causing the failures.”
Avine’s grip on his hand tightened. “The constructs,” she said carefully. “The salt army. The attack at the harbor.”
“No.” Piprick’s horror was immediate and absolute. “No, no, no. My enchantments were passive. Protective. I would never—” He pressed both hands to his cheeks, spectacles magnifying his stricken eyes. “Perhaps I created an instability.”
The silence that followed sat differently from the one before it. Theo looked at Avine. She looked back. Piprick’s interference had cracked the foundations. Someone else had walked through the gap.
The color drained from Piprick’s face. “No. No, that can’t—I calculated everything! I ran the numbers! The interference patterns should have—”
Behind him, the Protection Matrix let out a sound. A low, resonant hum that vibrated in Theo’s bones.
Not good.
“Piprick.” He stepped forward, pulling Avine behind him. “What exactly is the Matrix connected to?”
“The town’s ley lines, of course! To properly protect the inn, I needed to draw on the broader magical infrastructure. A small tap. Perfectly safe. I’ve done it dozens of—”
The hum became a whine. The rings spun faster. Sparks erupted from the sigils, and the air pressure in the workshop dropped sharply, making Theo’s ears pop.
“That’s not supposed to happen.” Piprick’s voice had gone high and thin. “That’s—it’s feeding on the ley lines. Too much. It won’t stop. I can’t—I don’t know how to—”
“How big is the blast radius if it overloads?” Theo’s mind was already calculating escape routes, trying to figure out how fast he could get Avine to safety.
“Half the Old Wards District.” Piprick was backing away from his creation, terror in his magnified eyes. “Maybe more. It’s pulling on everything. The Heartstone, the ward anchors, every magical structure in a quarter-mile radius. If it blows—”
“Can you shut it down?”
“No. No, it’s beyond my control. It’s not listening to me anymore.” The gnome’s hands were shaking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant—I was trying to help—”
Avine’s hand gripped Theo’s. “I can feel it. The Matrix. It’s pulling on the same lines my inn’s wards use.” Her voice was calm, almost analytical. “If someone could unweave the sigils, disrupt the magical signature—”
“Can you?”
She met his gaze. Her eyes were steady, but he could see the fear beneath the determination. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this.”
“You pulled sea magic out of thin air to save Dahlia. You’ve got more power than anyone in this town except maybe Cordelia Marsh.” He turned to face her fully, his hands framing her face. “You can do this. I know you can.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Then I’ll shield you while you try. As long as you need.” His wolf was howling in agreement, ready to throw everything he had into protecting her. “I’ve got you, Avine. Whatever happens.”
Vulnerability flickered in her expression—and gratitude, and a deeper emotion that made his ribs ache. And in that moment, looking at her, Theo realized a truth that should have terrified him but didn’t.
He would die for her. Not because he was the alpha, or because protecting was what he did, but because a world without her in it wasn’t one he wanted to survive.
When had that happened? When had she become more essential than breathing?
“Then let’s do this.”