11. Leire
ELEVEN
LEIRE
Iwake to the smell of bacon and spend approximately three seconds being confused before I remember that a tiger shifter has colonized my kitchen.
By the time I get downstairs, he’s already reading Network updates on his phone. I steal a piece of his bacon and put it on my plate. He doesn’t comment.
We don’t talk about what happened yesterday. The attack. The power surge.
I know where he is. That he’s close. That he’s alive.
“I need to see my friends tonight.” I push eggs around my plate. “If that’s—”
“Fine.” The word is clipped, but not angry. Just... Aslan. “Where?”
“Anouk’s apothecary. After hours.”
“I’ll walk you there.”
“Aslan—”
“I’ll walk you there.” Firm. Final. “And I’ll pick you up when you’re done. Text me.”
Part of me wants to bristle at the overprotection. Part of me remembers three masked attackers trying to drag me into an alley. Part of me—a small, traitorous part—likes that he cares enough to insist.
“Fine. But for the record, I don’t need a babysitter.”
His jaw loosens. Something curls in my chest at the sight—which is alarming, because I’m not supposed to feel warm about anything related to Aslan Nexis.
I finish my breakfast and try very hard not to think about how good his pancakes are.
(They’re really good. Damn him.)
That evening, the walk to Thornveil Apothecary takes us through the heart of Mistvale as the light fades. Past the familiar storefronts, the closing-up routines, the warm glow of shops I’m starting to know by heart.
Normal. Safe. Home.
The word catches me off guard. When did Mistvale become home?
Aslan walks beside me, silent and watchful. His shoulder brushes mine when someone passes too close. He doesn’t pull away.
Neither do I.
At the apothecary door, he stops. “Text me when you want to leave.”
“I will.”
He nods. Hesitates. Opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else—
“Go.” I push at his shoulder. “Before you give yourself an aneurysm trying to articulate feelings.”
Something genuine moves across his face—brief, unguarded, gone before he can think to stop it.
Then he’s gone, disappearing into the mist like he was never there at all.
Thornveil Apothecary looks different after dark. Inside, Anouk has cleared a space in the back room—a circle of mismatched chairs, a low table covered in wine bottles and snack bowls, candles floating at head height. It should probably violate some kind of fire code. It looks as magical as hell.
Sakura is already there when I arrive, curled into an armchair with her legs tucked underneath her. She jumps up the moment she sees me.
“Leire!” She crosses the room to pull me into a hug. “I heard about the attack. Are you okay? What happened? Torin wouldn’t tell me anything, just that there was ‘an incident’ and I should stay inside, which—”
“Breathe, Sakura.” I hug her back, harder than I mean to. “I’m fine. Mostly. I’ll explain when everyone’s here.”
The door bangs open. Zeph storms in carrying two bottles of wine and a paper bag that smells like fried food.
“Emergency girls’ night. I brought reinforcements.” She dumps everything on the table and turns to face me, hands on hips. “You don’t look dead.”
“High praise.”
“A knot tightened in my chest.” Her voice drops, serious for once. The chaos agent goes quiet. “When I heard there was a fight near the market... I know we haven’t known each other long, but you’re one of us now. That means something.”
“I know.” I squeeze her arm. “Thank you.”
Anouk emerges from the front of the shop, locking the door behind her. “We’re closed. No interruptions.” She surveys our little group with those dark, assessing eyes. “Wine first. Then we talk.”
Wine is poured. Snacks are distributed—fried mushrooms from The Den, cheese from somewhere fancy, bread that’s still warm. We settle into our chairs—Anouk elegant and composed, Sakura still vibrating with nervous energy, Zeph sprawled like she owns every piece of furniture she touches.
Three pairs of eyes fix on me.
“So.” I take a long drink of wine. I’m going to need it. “Where do I even start?”
“The beginning.” Anouk’s voice is calm. “Or the middle. Whichever makes more sense.”
So I tell them. All of it—the threats, the Preservers, the attack outside Thornveil.
And then the part I’ve been avoiding.
“During the fight. When one of them grabbed me, when I thought—” I pause. Swallow. “Something came out of me. Out of both of us. One second he had my arm, the next he was airborne, and I didn’t do that. Not alone.”
Sakura’s eyes are huge. “Like... combined magic?”
“Like a bond.” Anouk’s voice drops. “A familiar bond.”
The silence is deafening.
Zeph breaks it first. “Wait.” She sits up straight, wine forgotten. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re bonding with Aslan Nexis?” Her voice goes up an octave.
“I didn’t ask for this!” The words come out sharper than I intend. “I don’t want a familiar. Especially not a person. Especially not—”
“The most intense shifter in Mistvale?” Zeph finishes. “Yeah, I can see how that might be... a lot.”
“It’s sooo romantic, though.” Sakura’s voice goes soft, dreamy. “In a terrifying way. Fated mates saving each other in battle—”
“It’s not romantic.” I drain my wine and reach for the bottle. “It’s a disaster. He doesn’t want this either. We’ve agreed it’s a fluke.”
“A fluke.” Anouk repeats the word. She doesn’t sound convinced.
“Yes. A fluke. That’s definitely what it is.”
Zeph snorts. “Honey, I’ve seen how he looks at you. That’s not a fluke. That’s a man who’s about three seconds from losing his shit every time you’re in danger.”
“He kind of does, though.” Sakura murmurs into her wine glass.
“What?”
“Nothing!”
Anouk clears her throat. The sound cuts through the chatter like a knife. “There’s something you should know. About Aslan.”
I set down my wine. Something in her tone makes my stomach clench.
“He was bonded once. But not a true mate.” Anouk’s voice is quiet. “To a witch named Dorothea.”
“He mentioned her.”
“Did he tell you the records are sealed? That no one knows exactly what went wrong?” Anouk’s dark eyes hold mine.
“He nearly died going after her once the working started failing—burned through reserves no shifter should survive burning through, trying to reverse something that was already finished. That’s part of why none of it reads like a simple accident.
When he finally came back to his duties, he was different.
Closed off. Distant. Like he’d locked everything that made him himself behind walls too thick to breach. ”
The room is silent. Even Zeph has gone quiet, her usual chaos stilled.
“None of us expect him to bond again.” Anouk continues. “And now...”
“Now, there’s me.” The words come out thicker than I expected.
“Now, there’s you.”
I think about the way he watches me. The careful distance he maintains even when I feel him wanting to close it. The pain that flickers behind his eyes when he thinks I’m not looking.
His intensity isn’t coldness. It’s armor. The kind you build when you’ve lost everything once and can’t bear the thought of losing again.
Just like mine.
“Well, fuck.” Zeph’s eloquence is unmatched. “That explains a lot.”
“He’s scared.” Sakura’s voice is soft. “He’s been scared this whole time. And so have you.”
“I’m not—” I start, but Zeph cuts me off with a look.
“Please. You’re both terrified. The only question is whether you’re more scared of being hurt again or missing out on something real.”
I stare at her. When did Zeph get insightful?
“I’m deep.” She waves a hand. “Also, I’ve had a lot of wine. Want some more?”
The conversation shifts after that. Lighter. Easier. Sakura talks about Torin—how he brought her a potted plant when she mentioned missing her garden, how he sits outside her studio during storms like he’s guarding against the weather itself.
“He’s... confusing.” She twists a strand of hair around her finger. “He’s so gentle. But then I remember he’s a bear and could probably knock down a building with one paw, and I don’t know what to do with that.”
“The gentle ones are the worst.” Zeph waves her wine glass. “At least when they’re assholes you know where you stand. The sweet ones sneak up on you.”
“Speaking of which—” I grab the opportunity. “What about Rhodes?”
Zeph rolls her eyes so hard, I’m worried they’ll get stuck. “Rhodes Blackthorn has been inspecting my brewery three times this week. Three times! Apparently there have been ‘complaints’ about ‘magical incidents.’”
“Haven’t there been magical incidents?” Sakura’s innocence is almost convincing.
“That’s beside the point!” Zeph throws her hands up. “He’s insufferable. All ‘proper protocols’ and ‘documentation’ and ‘Miss Grimwood, are you aware that your latest batch caused three customers to speak in rhyme for four hours?’”
“Did it?” I can’t help but grin.
“They thought it was hilarious! They ordered another round!” Zeph grabs her wine. “But does Mr. I-Have-A-Stick-Up-My-Ass care? No. He just writes things in his little notebook and looks at me like I’m a problem to be solved.”
We dissolve into laughter. The sound fills the apothecary, bright and warm against the dark windows.
Anouk returns from the front with a dusty bottle and four small glasses of something clear and faintly glowing.
Sakura teaches us a drinking game involving guessing magical ingredients by smell.
Zeph wins every round. Anouk identifies seventeen herbs in a row without missing once, then denies being competitive.
“What about you, Anouk?” I don’t entirely mean to ask it. “Any shifter drama in your life?”
The silence that follows is different. Loaded. Anouk’s face goes very still.
“No.” Her voice is quiet. “Nothing to report.”
Zeph catches my eye. Her expression says Caius as clearly as if she’d spoken it aloud. The wolf alpha. The one who leads the Protection Network. The one who, according to brewery gossip, has been quietly watching Anouk for years.
I let it go. Some secrets aren’t mine to push.
Late—very late—Sakura asks the question I’ve been avoiding.
“Are you scared?”
I stare into my glass. The answer rises up, unstoppable.
“Terrified. What if I trust him and he betrays me too? What if I let myself—” I can’t say love. The word sticks in my throat. “What if I let myself care about him and lose him anyway?”
No one has a good answer. I didn’t expect them to.
But Zeph leans over and squeezes my hand. Sakura shifts her chair closer until her shoulder touches mine. Anouk refills my glass with quiet understanding.
They hold space for the fear. For now, that’s enough.
The walk home is cold, the mist thick around my ankles. I’m not drunk—the glowing stuff wore off faster than wine—but I’m loose-limbed, pleasantly fuzzy. Happy, maybe. Or something close to it.
I didn’t text Aslan. Somewhere between the third glass and Sakura’s story about accidentally flooding the brewery bathroom, I forgot.
The shape materializes from the mist before I reach my door.
Aslan. Of course, it’s Aslan.
He’s leaning against the wall next to Whisperwind Charms, arms crossed. The mist curls around his feet like a living thing. He looks like he’s been there for hours. He looks like he hasn’t slept.
Something in my chest turns over at the sight. This man—this intense, guarded, impossibly stubborn man—spent his night standing in the cold waiting for me. Not because I asked. Not because he had to. But because he couldn’t stand not knowing I was safe.
“You didn’t bring a guard.” His voice is worn thin. Not angry—just tired.
“I had three witches and a lot of wine.” I stop a few feet away. “Sorry. I forgot to text.”
“I know.” Something eases in his expression—a loosening around his eyes, a fraction of held tension gone. “I could tell you were... somewhere safe. That was enough to keep me from breaking down Anouk’s door.”
I blink. “You could tell?”
“Not thoughts. Not specifics. Just... awareness. That you were okay.”
I should be unsettled. Someone knowing where I am without my permission.
Instead, I feel... safe. Which is terrifying in its own way.
“Anouk told me about Dorothea.”
He goes very still. The amber of his eyes catches the streetlight, reflecting it back like a cat’s.
“What did she tell you?”
“That you loved her. That you lost her. That you nearly died trying to save her.” I take a breath. “That you’ve been wearing armor ever since.”
He doesn’t confirm or deny. Just watches me, waiting.
“I’m sorry.” The words feel inadequate. “For your loss. And for—” I gesture vaguely at the space between us, at whatever this is. “For being another complication you didn’t ask for.”
Something shifts in his expression. The armor cracks, just a little.
“You’re not a complication.” His voice is low. “You’re...”
He doesn’t finish. Maybe he doesn’t have the words. Maybe he doesn’t trust them yet.
“Come inside.” I move toward my door. “It’s cold. And there might be leftover pancakes.”
He follows me in. The shop is dark, quiet, crystals humming their greeting as we pass.
Nosy rocks.
At the foot of the stairs, I turn back. He’s standing in the middle of my shop, looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Thank you.” I mean it. “For waiting. For worrying. For being here even though I forgot to text.”
“Where else would I be?”
The question is simple. The answer isn’t.
I climb the stairs without another word. At the landing I pause, listening to him settle on the couch below. The familiar shift of weight, the small sounds of a person making themselves at home in a space that was never meant for them.
It occurs to me that I’ve stopped wishing he wasn’t there.
I fall asleep to the sound of him breathing. Twelve feet below me. Close enough to hear. Close enough to feel.
For the first time in years, I sleep without nightmares.