Chapter 26
ARK
Ark surfaced slowly, blinking against the soft grey light.
His body ached in ways that had nothing to do with cleansings or cursed mirrors—a deeper, sweeter exhaustion, layered from hours of Cassia.
Her warmth still clung to the bed, but she was gone.
He turned his head just as something cold and damp pressed against his wrist.
Anuck’s nose.
The cat sat on the pillow beside him, tail flicking, his yellow eyes narrowed. He sniffed again and gave another firm nudge, as though ensuring Ark didn’t die overnight—or possibly expressing mild disappointment that he hadn’t.
Ark blinked at him. “Good morning to you too.”
The cat gave a low chuff, brushed his tail across Ark’s face, and leapt down from the bed with the offended grace of a little king who’d been usurped.
Ark pushed himself upright slowly. The room was quiet, the morning cold, but the warmth in his chest hadn’t faded.
Cassia had kissed him at dawn, he remembered now.
Her soft lips had brushed his brow, fingers lingering briefly against his cheek.
Her voice, low as to not awaken him, whispered something about starting her morning routine.
He’d reached for her, but she was already gone, her warmth fading from the sheets.
Now, he reached over to the nightstand where she’d left a folded note weighted by a cinnamon bun on a small plate.
Didn’t want to wake you. There’s chamomile tea in the kettle on the stovetop. Come by the bakery if you’d like something more substantial.
He stared at her handwriting, neat and unembellished. When he looked down, Anuck was still sitting on the floor. Ark exhaled and leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees.
“I mean her no harm,” he said quietly. “You know that, don’t you?”
Anuck didn’t move, just stared at him. A beat passed. Then the cat blinked slowly, stretched with deliberate elegance, and padded over. Just once, he brushed against Ark’s shin before prancing toward the door.
Ark watched him disappear down the hall. It wasn’t approval, but it wasn’t a warning either. It felt like a truce.
Before he could get sentimental over the cat’s begrudging acceptance, Ark stripped the bed.
He worked methodically, dropping the old sheets into the laundry basket and fetching fresh linens from the closet.
He tucked the corners just the way he’d found them last night—before they’d tangled everything up.
His hand paused halfway through picking up the coverlet from the floor.
Flashes came unbidden—her back arching beneath him, her breath in his mouth, her fingers curling around the base of his horn.
He exhaled, rubbed his face. Her scent clung to his skin—warm sugar and something earthier underneath.
A sound in the hallway—probably Anuck—made him glance toward the door.
He ate the roll in the kitchen, savouring every note of cardamom and sugar, and washed it down with the chamomile tea.
He poured cream into a small dish for Anuck.
If he and Cassia were to spend more time together, a strategic alliance with the feline guardian was not just prudent; it was essential.
While the cat lapped the cream happily, he sent a magic missive to Cassia:
I’m heading home to clean up and catch up. Will send word when I’m done. Don’t burn yourself out.
The cozy silence of her cottage was a lie.
Already, his phone beeped, and the outside world crashed back in.
Oromon had a sudden opening for the Halewick renovation.
Caius and Rhodes needed the artifact reports he’d promised by six o’clock.
He hadn’t set foot in his flat in two days.
Alderrath’s plan was no longer a distant problem but a personal declaration of war.
Leaning against her kitchen counter, he sent a dozen messages to contacts at the High Registry—people who owed Aegis & Ash favours. He pressed Briony for loopholes, asked Caius and Rhodes to call anyone at the records office who could flag or delay a title change, even under false pretences.
They had no time to lose. If the High Registry’s seal was already on the parchment—and Ark had a terrible feeling it would be, soon—it would gut everything Cassia had fought for.
It wasn’t just about saving a building anymore. It was about preserving a place that had anchored dozens of lives that had quietly become part of his own. Whatever power he still had, whatever leverage he hadn’t yet spent, he’d burn through it to protect her and those she loved.
Cassia’s reply arrived in a puff of cranberry and almond scents, on a large white cattleya orchid.
Hope you got some rest. I almost opened late today because of our . . . nighttime activities.
A chuckle escaped him. He could picture her fielding questions from well-meaning customers, their faces pinched with concern as they pressed sleeping draughts into her hands. She’d smile through gritted teeth, assure them she was perfectly fine—just tired. Very tired. For no particular reason.
There was another pulse of light as her second line appeared.
Thank you . . . for last night.
Ark stood there for a moment, thumb brushing over the velvety petal.
She thanked him? As if he weren’t the one who should be on his knees, offering gratitude to whatever fates had led her to his path.
Their alliance had been a strategic gambit, and she had handed him a piece of her soul.
He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve it.
But he knew, with a bone-deep certainty, he’d spend whatever time she gave him trying to be worthy of it.
His reply felt hopelessly inadequate, but he sent it anyway.
I am the one who is thankful. Profoundly.
Quickly, he preserved the Flora Note before he put on his coat and stepped outside into the quiet morning, pulling the door shut behind him. A soft shimmer passed across the threshold—the safety ward humming gently to life.
He lingered a moment, staring at the door. Then he turned and walked down the steps, already reaching for the next task—because Starlight still needed saving.
And he was far from done fighting.