Chapter 35 Avine
THIRTY-FIVE
AVINE
Three weeks. That’s how long it had taken to finish the Siren’s Rest.
Avine stood on the wraparound porch, watching the sun sink toward the harbor and paint the weathered shingles in shades of gold.
She’d been so afraid of the decision she made when she first got to Haven Shores.
Not of the inn’s deep magic or the meddling Elders or the gossip network that knew her business before she did. She’d been afraid of herself.
The woman who’d signed that deed months ago would never have believed she’d end up here. Claimed. Mated. Happy.
Inside, chaos reigned. The grand reopening party had officially started an hour ago, and already Gilly’s signature cocktails were flowing, Dahlia’s spelled pastries were disappearing, and someone—probably Cassia—had enchanted the chandelier to cast tiny dancing lights across the restored lobby ceiling.
Haven Shores had shown up in force. Every witch, wolf, and miscellaneous paranormal in a twenty-mile radius seemed to have crammed themselves into her inn, and the noise level was approaching small hurricane.
Avine touched the mark on her neck—hidden tonight by a carefully draped silk scarf, though she suspected everyone in attendance already knew exactly what was beneath it.
Three weeks of seagull gossip had seen to that.
The mark pulsed gently under her fingertips, alive with residual magic, a constant reminder that she wasn’t alone anymore.
That had been the hardest part to accept.
Not the claiming itself—that had felt inevitable by the time it happened, as natural as breathing.
But the vulnerability that came with it.
The knowledge that someone could find her anywhere, anytime.
That she’d given another person that kind of access to her life.
This Avine—the one who’d faced exploding magical constructs and meddling Elders and her own buried power—understood the difference.
Theo didn’t want to track her to control her.
He wanted to find her because he couldn’t stand not knowing she was safe.
Because she mattered to him in a way she’d never mattered to anyone.
She felt him before she heard him. The mark pulsed with awareness, a compass needle pointing toward home, and she turned as Theo stepped onto the porch.
He wore a dark gray Henley that stretched across his shoulders and jeans that fit in ways she shouldn’t be noticing at a public event. His gaze found hers immediately, and a tension she’d been carrying eased.
Hers.
“Hiding?” He moved to stand beside her, close enough that his arm brushed hers.
“Thinking.” She leaned into his heat. “Remembering what I was like when I got here. How scared I was.”
His hand found the small of her back. “And now?”
“Now I’m terrified in completely different ways.” She smiled at his immediate frown. “Good ways. The kind of scared that means you have things worth losing.”
His expression softened. “You’re not going to lose anything.”
“I know.” And she did. That was the miracle of it—she actually believed him.
“Your power is the first thing I noticed about you. Standing on that porch like you were ready to fight whatever came through those wards. I’d never seen anyone so fierce and so wounded at the same time.”
She laughed—a real laugh, full and free. “We were both such disasters.”
“We were.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Now we’re disasters in tandem. It’s more efficient.”
“Romantic.”
“I try.” His arm tightened around her. “We should go back in. Before Junie sends a search party.”
“One more minute.” She turned in his arms, her hands finding his chest. “I need you to know something first.”
“Okay.”
His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones.
“As long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here. Longer, probably. I’m stubborn like that.”
“Good.” She kissed him—soft, deliberate, a seal on everything she’d said. “Because I’m keeping you.”
The lobby of the Siren’s Rest had never looked better.
Crystal chandeliers cast light across the restored hardwood floors.
The sweeping staircase gleamed with fresh polish, its banister wrapped in strings of tiny, spelled lights that shifted colors with the music.
Clusters of comfortable seating invited conversation, and the original fireplace—unlit in the summer night—had been filled with arrangements of sea glass and driftwood.
Avine had poured her heart into every detail. And now her heart was overflowing at the sight of it filled with people.
Near the fireplace, a cold spot lingered with quiet satisfaction—Eleanor, present as always, apparently approving of what her inn had become.
Witches and wolves mingled openly, the old divisions softening in ways that would have seemed impossible a month ago.
Clover Weaver was deep in conversation with a tiger shifter from Bartek’s construction crew.
Malcolm Vance, Theo’s quiet lighthouse-keeper uncle, was showing watercolors to Fallyn Green, the fae-touched librarian, while she offered dry commentary that made him smile.
Near the bar, Vito and Bella Marini held court with a crowd of mixed species, their laughter carrying across the room.
“This is your fault, you know.”
Avine turned to find Great-Aunt Sue Tidewell at her elbow, a glass of champagne in one wizened hand and a satisfied smile on her face. The Witch Elder looked particularly smug tonight, her silver hair piled high and her dark eyes gleaming with ancient mischief.
“My fault?”
“All of this.” Sue gestured with her champagne, encompassing the room, the guests, the unprecedented mingling. “A witch mated to the wolf Alpha. Pack and coven sharing space like it’s nothing. The town hasn’t been this united since—” She paused, a flicker of memory crossing her expression.
“In 1890.” Sue’s voice dropped, the brightness softening into something older. “A witch elder and a wolf elder made a bond—not unlike yours. For a generation, the pack and coven moved as one. The inn was full. The wards sang. Haven Shores was something extraordinary.”
She sipped her champagne. “Then the wolf elder’s family decided the alliance gave the witches too much influence.
There were accusations. A broken promise.
The witch was asked to leave the inn she’d helped build.
” Her eyes settled on Avine with quiet gravity.
“The Marsh-Vance falling-out, Beck’s generation calls it.
A polite name for a very old cruelty. Haven Shores spent the next hundred years pretending the divide was natural.
It wasn’t.” She lifted her glass. “Until now.”
“I seem to recall someone selling me an inn sight-unseen with two weeks’ notice.”
Sue’s smile widened. “Did I do that? How convenient.”
“You knew.” Avine studied her great-aunt’s face. “You knew about the surge. About the wards. About—”
“I knew the inn needed someone with sea magic strong enough to wake the old wards. I knew the surge was coming and that bonds would form faster than usual.” Sue sipped her champagne, perfectly serene.
“I may have suspected that the Alpha had been alone too long and might recognize a kindred spirit in you. But I certainly couldn’t have predicted the rest.”
“Liar.”
“Strategist.” Sue’s expression softened into rare tenderness. “I watched you disappear into that marriage, Avine. It broke my heart.” Her voice dropped. “I knew Haven Shores would either save you or destroy you. I gambled that you were strong enough to let it save you.”
Avine’s throat constricted. “And if I hadn’t been?”
“Then I would have been here to catch you.” Sue patted her arm. “But I knew you would be. You’ve got your grandmother’s spine, dear niece. You’d forgotten how to use it.”
Before Avine could respond, Sue drifted away, already targeting her next victim—Eamon Amell, Theo’s great-uncle, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.