Lunaria
FORTY-ONE
One week after the Convergence, the gardens were blooming again.
No longer a weapon. Just a garden feature now. Beautiful and mysterious and utterly hers to tend.
The restoration work had gone faster than expected.
The battle damage had been surprisingly minimal—or maybe not surprisingly, given how fiercely the community had defended their home.
A few trampled beds, some scorched earth where void creatures had been destroyed, the section of fence Cal had accidentally demolished when he’d gotten too enthusiastic with a roar.
Cal had offered to rebuild the fence himself. Dahlia had pointed out that bears weren’t known for their carpentry skills. The argument had lasted three hours and ended with the bears doing construction anyway, just to prove a point.
The void roses had turned crimson again, deep red petals unfurling in the morning sun. The warning bells hung silent, their work done. The fate lilies glowed soft gold whenever anyone passed, as if approving of the futures they now saw stretching out before them.
Lunaria touched the orrery’s central mechanism, feeling the thrum of celestial energy beneath her fingertips. Deia’s ring still circled her finger—she’d tried to return it to Georgia, but the panther elder had shaken her head.
“She wanted the next celestial witch to have it. That’s you now.”
The next. As if there would be more. As if Lunaria would be here long enough to see them come.
She would. That was still a strange thought, after so many years of leaving.
Footsteps on the pavilion stone. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was—the chaos magic signature was unmistakable, all swirling energy and barely contained mayhem.
“Found you.” Junie dropped onto the bench beside the orrery. “I’ve been looking everywhere. Hux said you’d be here, but I checked the cottage first anyway because I thought maybe you two would still be—”
“We’re not always—” Lunaria felt heat climb her cheeks. “He had paperwork. A week’s worth of mayoral duties that got neglected during the whole void-entity-invasion thing.”
“Uh-huh.” Junie’s grin was insufferable. “That’s why he’s been smiling like an idiot every time anyone mentions your name. Because of paperwork.”
Lunaria couldn’t help her own smile. “Maybe a little because of me.”
“A little. Right.” Junie leaned back, studying her. “So. You’re staying.”
Not a question. But Lunaria answered anyway.
“I’m staying.”
“Like, actually staying? Not ‘staying until next season’ or ‘staying until the next crisis’ but genuinely, permanently, putting-down-roots staying?”
“I signed a lease on the cottage.” The words still felt strange in her mouth, heavy with permanence she’d avoided her entire adult life. “Five years. With an option to buy.”
Junie’s eyes went wide. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m also expanding the flower shop space in the gardens.
There’s a greenhouse that’s been abandoned since Deia died—I’m restoring it.
Going to sell star-blooming flowers to the public.
Maybe teach classes on celestial gardening.
” She took a breath. “And I’m planting wisteria along the cottage fence. Takes seven years to bloom properly.”
“Seven years.”
“That’s how you know it’s real.” She met her cousin’s gaze. “When you start planting things you won’t be around to see bloom. That means you’re planning to stick around.”
Junie tackled her in a hug so fierce, it nearly knocked them both off the bench. Chaos magic crackled where they touched, making Lunaria’s celestial energy spark in response.
“A decade,” Junie said into her shoulder. “A whole decade of you running, and it took a bureaucratic lion to make you stop.”
“He’s not that bureaucratic.”
“Luna.” Junie pulled back, her expression incredulous. “He made you fill out forms to access the garden shed.”
“That was—” She laughed, the sound surprising her with its ease. “Okay, he’s a little bureaucratic. He reorganizes his closet when he’s stressed. He has color-coded filing systems.”
“And you love him anyway.”
“Because of it, actually.” She touched the place on her chest where the bond hummed, warm and steady. “All that control, all that order—it’s how he copes. How he held himself steady when everything else was chaos. And he chose to let me disrupt all of it. Chose to want me anyway.”
She could feel him, across town. In his office, probably buried in the paperwork that had accumulated during the crisis. His presence in her awareness was constant—not intrusive, just there. Like a heartbeat she’d never noticed before but couldn’t imagine living without.
Right now, he was... content. A little tired. Focused on whatever document was in front of him. And beneath it all, a steady current of warmth that pulsed whenever he thought about her.
Which, based on the frequency, was approximately every few minutes.
“The others are waiting at the brewery,” Junie said. “Victory celebration. You’re required to attend.”
“Required?”
“Non-negotiable. Sue Tideswell’s orders. She said, and I quote, ‘The celestial witch who defeated the void entity will attend the celebration, or I will personally drag her there by her curls.’”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“From Sue? It’s definitely a threat. She’s been intolerable since the battle.
Something about having ‘positioned the pieces correctly’ and ‘six successful matches.’” Junie stood, offering her hand.
“Come on. Free drinks, good food, and you get to watch Delos panic every time someone mentions the word date.”
“What happened to Delos?”
“Sue has another date lined up for him. He’s been hiding behind Aero all week.”
Lunaria took her cousin’s hand, letting herself be pulled to her feet. “I’ll be there. Just... give me a minute.”
Junie’s expression softened. She squeezed Lunaria’s fingers once, then headed down the pavilion steps.
Alone, Lunaria looked up at the sky.
The stars were invisible in daylight, hidden behind the blue, but she could feel them. She always could. Her magic reached for them instinctively, tracing their positions, reading their movements.
She read her own chart. Not her fate—her present. Her position among the constellations.
The blank space was gone.
Her future stretched out in front of her, visible again, full of possibility.
She saw the gardens thriving under her care.
Saw the cottage becoming a home—pictures on walls, plants on sills, the accumulated mess of a life lived in one place.
Saw herself teaching, nurturing, building something that would outlast her.
Saw Hux beside her in all of it. Constant. Chosen. Hers.
The stars had stopped showing her death. Maybe that meant she’d be here for a while. Maybe it meant something different entirely.
She found she didn’t need to know.
She touched Deia’s ring one last time, feeling the celestial energy thrum beneath her fingertips.
“I’ll take care of them,” she promised the ghost who might or might not be listening. “The gardens. The people. All of it. I’ll stay.”
The fate lilies pulsed bright gold.
Lunaria smiled and went to join her family.
Hux
The celebration at Wolf Moon Brewery was the biggest Haven Shores had ever seen.
Every table was occupied. Every booth was packed. People spilled onto the patio and down the sidewalk, clustering in groups with drinks in hand, the buzz of conversation drowning out the music Beck had put on hours ago.
Wolves and lions and bears mingled with witches and elders and ordinary humans.
The supernatural and mundane residents of Haven Shores had never been entirely separate, but tonight the lines blurred completely.
Everyone had seen the strange lights in the sky.
Everyone had felt the ground shake when the dragons descended.
Everyone knew, on some level, that their town had just survived a catastrophe.
They celebrated anyway. Perhaps because of it.
Hux moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations he didn’t quite feel he deserved.
He’d done what any mayor would do—coordinated resources, organized defenses, stood with his community against an existential threat.
The fact that the threat had been a primordial void entity targeting his family specifically was just... details.
“Mr. Mayor!” Old Mrs. Hartley caught his arm, her grip surprisingly strong for an octogenarian. “My grandson told me you killed a monster. Is that true?”
“My mate killed it. I just provided moral support.”
“Moral support?” She patted his cheek. “Young man, I’ve lived in Haven Shores for sixty years. I know what ‘moral support’ means when a Holt says it. You fought. Don’t be modest.”
He couldn’t help his smile. “Maybe a little fighting.”
“That’s better.” She winked and disappeared into the crowd, moving with surprising speed for someone with a cane.
The back booth was calling to him—the alpha table, permanently reserved, where Theo and Leo and the others were already gathered. But before he could reach it, a familiar figure stepped into his path.
His father looked... different.
Younger, somehow. The lines around his eyes seemed less deep, the burden on his shoulders less crushing. The curse’s breaking had affected Isandro most of all—decades of knowing the truth and being unable to speak it, decades of watching his son suffer in ignorance.
“Dad.”
“Son.” Isandro’s voice was rough. He’d been crying earlier—Hux had seen the evidence before his father wiped his face—and his eyes were still reddened. “Can we talk?”
“Here?”
“Unless you’d prefer—”
“No. Here is fine.” Hux gestured to a relatively quiet corner near the bar. “What is it?”
They found space against the wall, partially shielded from the crowd by a pillar. Isandro stood rigid, military-straight, his hands clasped in front of him. The posture of a man preparing to deliver bad news.
“I’m proud of you,” Isandro said.
Hux blinked. Of all the things he’d expected—
“I should have found a way.” His father’s composure cracked. “Should have done something, anything, instead of watching you carry it alone.”
“Dad—”
“I’m sorry, son.” Tears spilled down Isandro’s weathered cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
Hux didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his father in a hug—the first real one in years, maybe decades. The Holt men didn’t embrace. They shook hands, clapped shoulders, maintained distance even in moments of affection.
That ended now.
“We survived,” Hux said, his voice rough. “Both of us. That’s what matters.”
“I love you.” The words sounded strange in Isandro’s voice—unfamiliar, unpracticed.
“We have time now.” Hux stepped back, meeting his father’s gaze. “All the time we need.”
Isandro laughed—a wet, broken sound. “Your witch. She’s... she’s good for you.”
“She’s everything for me.”
“I know.” His father squeezed his shoulder. “I can see it. The way you look at her. The way you’ve changed.” He paused. “You look full, Hux. Like something that was barren has been filled.”
Because it did. Because she filled it.
The bond pulsed warm in his chest. She was close—closer than before, moving through town toward the brewery. He could feel her anticipation, her slightly nervous energy, her underlying contentment.
“Go,” Isandro said, following his gaze. “She’s on her way. You’ll want to be there when she arrives.”
“How do you—”
“I may not have had a fated mate, but I know what a claimed man looks like.” His father’s smile was genuinely warm. “Go greet your witch, son. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”