Chapter Twenty - Six
Chapter
Twenty-Six
ELIAS
Ifind her first.
Not because I'm the fastest. Not because I'm the strongest. But because Malachi and Asher—predictably—are too busy arguing to focus on anything else.
And Gideon? Gideon never leaves Malachi's side.
So while they fight over what just happened, over what she is and what they should do, I do the obvious thing.
I go after her.
I find her in one of the quieter wings of the estate, tucked away in the corner of a sitting room, her arms wrapped around her knees, her head buried between them.
The tension I didn't realize I was holding in my chest eases. She didn't run far. She's still here.
She's still with us.
I step forward slowly, making sure she hears me approaching. The last thing she needs is to be startled right now.
She doesn't look up.
She's crying.
The sight of it—the way her shoulders tremble, the way she's trying so hard to keep it in, to keep herself composed even now—it does something to me.
I sit down beside her.
I don't say anything. Not at first. She needs a moment.
Instead, I do something rare. I reach for her.
Carefully. Gently.
I rest a hand on her back, fingers barely pressing into the space between her shoulder blades.
She stiffens at first, but then—she exhales.
And when she leans into me, just slightly, just enough to let herself accept the comfort, I know she's breaking, unraveling in a way that has nothing to do with her power and everything to do with the weight of it all.
"I don't know what's happening," she murmurs finally, voice hoarse. "I don't understand any of this."
I nod slowly. "I know."
She sniffs, lifting her head just a little, her eyes red-rimmed. "It doesn't feel real." She lets out a small, broken sob. "It's like a dream. Or—" She swallows, voice cracking. "Or a nightmare."
My chest tightens.
Of course it feels that way.
A few days ago, she was just a librarian. Living a quiet life, unbothered by magic, untouched by our world.
And now?
She's sitting in a mansion filled with warlocks who all want something from her.
She's discovering powers that shouldn't exist, powers that shouldn't belong to anyone, let alone her.
She's being hunted.
I keep my voice steady, my hand still on her back. "It's okay to be scared, Sage."
She trembles slightly at that, like the admission itself is terrifying.
But I feel it—the way she holds herself, the way she tries so hard to act like she's not falling apart.
I watch her for a moment before continuing, softer this time. "I know this feels impossible. That you feel like you're drowning in something you don't understand. Like nothing makes sense anymore."
She exhales shakily, pressing her forehead against her knees again.
"But you're not alone," I add.
She looks up at me with uncertainty in her eyes. "I feel like I am."
"No," I say simply. "You're not."
She doesn't argue with me.
Not this time.
She just closes her eyes and leans into me further.
And I let her.
She's calmer now.
Not fine, not even close, but the way her breath evens out, the way her shoulders loosen slightly—it's enough.
Enough for me to know she's not about to shatter completely. It's been a long time since I've held someone like this—not for pleasure, not for power, but just to keep them grounded.
And I don't know why I want to keep her grounded.
I should be using this moment to figure her out. To press for more information. To unravel the mystery of what she is and why she's here.
Instead, I find myself saying something entirely different.
"I have an idea."
She looks up hesitantly, her blue-grey eyes puffy and red-rimmed, but more alert than before. "What kind of idea?"
"Something that might make you feel a little more at home."
She gives me a doubtful look. "I don't think that's possible."
I smirk slightly. "Trust me."
Before she can protest, I flick my fingers.
A soft, plush robe materializes around her, wrapping her in warmth.
She blinks, startled, looking down at herself, then back at me. "Oh—I..." she touches the fabric tentatively. "Thank you."
I shrug. "The dress wasn't particularly comfortable, I imagine."
She shakes her head, pulling the robe tighter around herself, visibly relieved to feel less exposed.
I watch as she wipes at her tears with the sleeve of the robe.
Then, without thinking, I reach forward and gently brush away a stray tear beneath her eye.
She freezes for a second, her breath catching slightly.
I don't pull back right away.
Her skin is warm, soft.
And when her lashes flutter slightly, when she looks down shyly instead of pulling away—I feel something dangerous stir in my chest.
I ignore it.
Instead, I lower my hand and step back, regaining my composure.
"Come on," I say, voice back to normal. "I want to show you something."
The library is one of the best parts of Malachi's estate.
It stretches across two levels, lined wall to wall with shelves that seem to rise endlessly. Dark wood, gold-accented ladders that glide effortlessly across the railings, and a massive chandelier that casts a warm glow over the entire space.
It's impossibly grand.
When I push open the heavy doors, Sage steps inside cautiously, her lips parting as she takes it all in.
I smirk slightly.
"Well?" I say, watching her expression shift from wariness to pure, unfiltered awe.
She turns in a slow circle, eyes sweeping over the towering bookshelves. "It's like... Beauty and the Beast."
I chuckle, stepping beside her. "Does that make me the Beast?"
She gives a small, tentative smile, the expression so genuine it catches me off guard.
"Well," she says softly, "you are all magical beings."
I grin. "A charming one, though."
She looks down, that shy habit of hers returning. "You've been kind to me."
I place a hand over my heart. "High praise indeed."
She gives another small smile, and for the first time since tonight's disaster, she looks... lighter.
And for some reason, that feels like a victory.
I lead her deeper into the library, letting her take it all in—the dark mahogany shelves, the endless rows of books, the soft glow of the chandelier above. The scent of old parchment and leather lingers in the air, familiar and grounding.
I watch her carefully as she walks down one of the aisles, trailing her fingers along the spines of the books. She moves slowly, reverently, like she's afraid touching them too hard will make them disappear.
"Could I... maybe come here sometimes?" she asks softly, still staring at the shelves.
I nod. "It's yours to use. Any time you wish."
She turns, eyes searching mine, and for a moment, she just looks at me.
Like she's trying to figure me out.
Finally, she exhales, and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. "Thank you," she murmurs.
I shrug, pretending like it doesn't mean anything, even though I know it does.
"Maybe it'll help," I say, "so you don't feel so... trapped."
Her lips twitch, but there's something softer in her expression now, something unguarded.
And I need to leave before I do something I can't take back.
"You must be tired," I say, clearing my throat, shifting the conversation away from whatever this is.
She nods, looking down. "Yes. Very."
I nod. "Let me walk you back."
She doesn't argue.
She lets me.
Her room is dimly lit when we arrive, the soft glow of the sconces casting warm shadows against the walls.
She steps inside, pausing near the doorway, turning back toward me.
She's too close.
Her robe is still wrapped around her, but I can still see the shape of her beneath it, the way the fabric clings to her.
And I should leave. Now.
But I don't.
Instead, I hover.
She lingers, too.
Neither of us move.
Neither of us speak.
And then, before I can stop myself, I lean in.
Her breath catches.
I don't hesitate.
I kiss her.
It's soft at first, but when she responds—tentatively, uncertainly, but with a quiet warmth that I can feel—I lose all sense of control.
I cup the back of her neck, tilting her head up to deepen it.
She tastes like something I can't have.
Something I shouldn't have.
And I don't fucking care.
Her hands rest hesitantly against my chest, not pulling me closer but not pushing me away either, and for a second—just a second—I let myself take it.
Let myself sink into her, into the warmth of her body, the way her lips part against mine, the way she responds like she's never been kissed like this before.
I don't know how long it lasts.
But when I finally force myself to pull back, my breath is ragged.
Her eyes are wide, lips parted, a look of wonder and confusion in her eyes.
I take one step back. Then another.
"Goodnight, Sage," I say quickly, voice strained, barely under control.
And then I do the only thing I can.
I turn and leave before I go any further.
Before I make a mistake neither of us can take back.