Lunaria
FORTY-TWO
The crowd parted for her instinctively—not out of fear but out of recognition. Word had spread about what she’d done. The celestial witch who’d weaponized love itself, who’d channeled an entire community’s bonds into a beam of pure belonging and used it to starve an ancient evil.
She’d become something like a legend in the week since the battle. People whispered her name with something close to reverence. Children pointed at her in the street.
She hated it, Hux knew. She hadn’t done it for recognition. She’d done it because Haven Shores belonged to her now, and you protected what was yours.
She ignored the attention, scanning the crowded brewery until her gaze found his. Her whole face changed—softened, brightened, became the expression she only wore for him.
He crossed the room to meet her. Caught her around the waist, drew her against him. She fit there perfectly.
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” Her grin was infectious. “Miss me?”
“You were gone two hours.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes.” He bent to brush his lips against her temple. “I missed you. I miss you every time you’re more than ten feet away. It’s becoming a problem.”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
“Definitely a me problem.” He kissed her properly then—not the desperate claiming of a week ago or the triumphant kiss in the aftermath of battle. Just... joy. Just belonging. Just two people who’d chosen each other, celebrating that choice in front of everyone they knew.
The crowd cheered. Somewhere in the back, Delos wolf-whistled. Leo shouted something crude that was quickly muffled by what sounded like Junie’s hand over his mouth.
Sue Tidewell made a note in her ever-present notebook.
“Get a room!” someone yelled.
“We have several,” Lunaria called back. “We’re just choosing not to use them right now.”
More laughter. More cheers. The music started up again—something fast and celebratory—and the energy in the room shifted from observation to participation. Couples moved toward the dance floor. Drinks were raised. The party resumed.
“Come on.” Hux took her hand. “The guys have been saving us a spot.”
The back booth was packed.
Theo and Leo claimed the inner seats, their mates nowhere in sight—probably at the witch table on the other side of the room, gathered around Avine.
Cal had squeezed his bulk into the corner.
Aero sat with the studied patience of an eight-century-old dragon enduring the nonsense of youth.
Beck leaned against the booth’s edge, Rosemary tucked under his arm.
Wyatt held Narla close, his panther stillness a counterpoint to her quiet warmth.
Hux stood, offering his hand to Lunaria. “Tonight is about us.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Dancing.”
“You can’t dance.”
“I know.” He led her toward the cleared space in the center of the brewery, where other couples were already swaying to the band’s slower song. “I’m going to do it anyway.”
He was terrible at dancing. Truly, spectacularly bad.
His feet found every wrong position. His rhythm bore no relationship to the actual music. He led when he should have followed and followed when he should have led and stepped on her toes at least twice in the first thirty seconds.
Lunaria didn’t care.
She let him pull her close, her arms around his neck, her head against his chest. Let him sway in something that approximated time with the music, his heart beating steady beneath her ear. Let herself be held by the man who’d chosen her when fate said he couldn’t choose anyone.
Around them, the fairy lights pulsed gently—her magic, responding to her mood, making the whole room glitter in time with their heartbeats. She hadn’t done it consciously. It just happened now, her celestial power reaching out to match her emotions.
“I love you,” he said. Low, private, meant just for her. “I’m going to keep saying it until you believe me. Until you get tired of hearing it. Until the words wear out from overuse.”
“Probably.” She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze. “Say it anyway.”
“I love you.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you.” Her temple. “I love you.” The corner of her mouth. “I love you.” Finally, properly, a kiss that tasted like beer and joy and forever.
“I love you too.” She rose on her toes, pressing closer.
The celebration wound down slowly, the way all good parties did—not with a sudden end but a gradual dispersal, couples drifting away to their homes, friends making plans for tomorrow, the energy shifting from celebration to contentment.
Hux walked Lunaria through the quiet streets of Haven Shores, their fingers intertwined, the bond humming steadily between them.
The town looked different in the aftermath of the crisis—not damaged but deepened.
Every building, every streetlight, every familiar corner carried the gravity of having been fought for.
“I talked to my father tonight,” he said. “Really talked. For maybe the first time ever.”
“How was it?”
“Hard.” He squeezed her hand. “Good. He apologized. I think... I think we might actually have a relationship now. The kind where we say things instead of just implying them.”
“Revolutionary.”
“For the Holts? Absolutely.” He laughed, the sound easier than it had ever been before. “Eight generations of emotional constipation, and it took a void entity to break the cycle.”
“Worth it, then.”
“Worth everything.” He stopped walking, turning to face her under a streetlight. “All of it. The curse, the battle, the centuries of my family suffering. If the alternative was never meeting you, I’d choose this path every time.”
“That’s morbid.”
“That’s honest.” He cupped her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. “You’re my mate, Luna. The place I belong. I’d fight a thousand void entities to keep you.”
“Hopefully you won’t have to.” She leaned into his touch. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.” His smile was soft, certain. “I can feel it. You’re not planning exits anymore. You’re planning... gardens. Greenhouses. Wisteria that won’t bloom for several years.”
“You can feel my gardening plans?”
“I can feel that you’re thinking about the future. Our future. The details are fuzzy, but the intent is clear.” He bent to kiss her, soft and sweet. “You’re staying. Really staying.”
“I’m really staying.”
They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, their bond carrying everything that didn’t need words. The cottage appeared around the final bend—her cottage, with its stone walls and climbing roses.
Home.
Inside, the starlight magic was gentle—constellation orchids on the windowsill, moonflowers in a vase on the table, celestial charts covering half the walls. His presence filled the spaces too—a jacket draped over a chair, his coffee mug on the counter, the subtle impression of shared living.
“Move in with me,” she said.
He stopped, turning to look at her. “What?”
“Move in. Officially. Stop pretending you’re just staying over and actually live here.” She gestured at the cottage around them—the small space that somehow felt enormous with him in it. “Half your things are already here anyway. Your coffee mug has a permanent spot. You have your own pillow.”
“I have my own pillow?”
“You brought it the third night you stayed. You didn’t think I noticed, but I noticed.”
His laugh was startled, genuine. “I thought you’d think I was presumptuous.”
“I thought you were adorable.” She crossed to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Move in, Hux. Make this our home instead of just mine.”
He kissed her. Long and deep, the kind of kiss that said yes in every way that mattered.
“I’ll call a moving company tomorrow,” he said when they came up for air.
“I already did.”
“What?”
“Called them this morning. They’re coming Friday.” She grinned at his expression. “I’m not bureaucratic, but I can be organized when motivated.”
“You assumed I’d say yes.”
“You’ve wanted to officially move in since the first night you slept here.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
Outside, the stars wheeled overhead, tracking the patterns she could read now without fear. Inside, the cottage wrapped around them, small and warm and absolutely perfect.
The woman who’d spent years reading death in the stars had stopped looking for endings.
And the man who’d convinced himself he’d never feel whole had discovered that wholeness was a choice, not a fate.