Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LIORA
How the hell was I supposed to focus on giving a proper reading when my brain was still replaying Torin’s mouth on mine like it was on a cursed loop?
I trudged up the path to the castle with my laptop bag bumping against my hip, trying very hard not to think about the fact that I now knew exactly what Torin sounded like when he lost control a little.
And it was excellent.
To say I was primed and ready to go once we got back from the forest was an understatement.
Seeing him in his element … seeing his strength in action …
I was practically frothing. Definitely drooling.
It was no surprise he could carry me around the house as if I weighed nothing. And good God, the man in bed?
But it was also the words he spoke into my insecurity that had my heart thumping madly.
“You’re not in charge of everything. Just your part. And your part, as far as I can tell, is giving people courage. They decide what to do with it.”
He was so affirming, so good with words … just like he was so good with his hands.
“Focus,” I muttered to myself as MacAlpine Castle loomed overhead, all turrets and stone and lovely in the soft afternoon light. “This is for Matthew, who seems like a perfectly lovely person. No thinking about your sex life while you’re poking around in his soul chart.”
A text pinged on my phone, and seeing it was from Zara asking when we could hang out, I put my phone on silent.
Guilt tugged low in my stomach. She’d been asking to get together for a while now, and I kept blowing her off, happy in my little cocoon of bliss and not wanting anyone to burst it for me.
Tossing my phone back in my handbag, I rang the bell at the castle doors.
The autumn air bit at my cheeks and Matthew beamed at me as he swept the doors open and laughed as I gaped up at the vaulted ceilings over my head.
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
“Mind-blowing,” I agreed, giving him a quick hug. He looked dashing today, in a tweed suitcoat, a Ramones T-shirt, and fitted dark denim jeans.
“I’ve got a fire going in the library for us. It’s just, ugh, it’s the best. One of my favorite rooms, not just in this castle, but in the world. I would live there if I could.”
“Sounds dreamy,” I said, beaming at him, and following him down a stone corridor lined with the kind of fancy portraits that implied a once noble family had lived here.
At two arched wooden doors, Matthew paused and swept the doors open.
I sighed.
The library was straight out of a fantasy film.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined in dark wood, a rolling ladder, a stone fireplace with a cheerful fire going, wingback chairs, green glass lamps casting pools of soft light.
There was an honest-to-goodness-actual mural on the ceiling.
The afternoon sky outside the tall windows was pewter-grey, but in here everything was cozy and welcoming.
Sir Buster stood in the middle of the rug, vibrating with disapproval, growling low the second he saw me.
“Good day to you too, sir,” I said.
His growl tapered off into a grumble.
Matthew turned to me and grinned and then paused, narrowing his eyes. “My God, you’re glowing.”
“I am not glowing,” I protested. “Am I?”
“You are absolutely glowing,” he insisted. “Someone’s been complicating things further with Mr. Complicated.”
I sputtered. “I … how did—”
“You have the look of someone who has been thoroughly appreciated.” Matthew arched a brow and heat flooded my face.
Sir Buster growled and then pawed at my foot.
“We are not discussing my … appreciation … in front of the dog.”
“We absolutely are,” Matthew said serenely. “Sir Buster loves romance.”
Sir Buster huffed when I bent to pick him up.
“Somehow, I highly doubt that.”
Tucking Sir Buster in the crook of my arm, I dropped my bag by the nearest armchair and blew out a breath. “Right. I am officially compartmentalizing my love life now. This is about you. And your chart. And your huge life question that you want to ask.”
“Fine. But you’ll have to give me details later. I may be doomed to live vicariously through others.”
I totally understood Sophie’s joy at seeing her best friend now. He had an easy manner about him that made him already feel like a close friend. But today was about him and his needs. Not mine. And how I was thoroughly “appreciated” last night.
“I guess we’ll see what your chart says.”
We settled into opposite chairs, a low table between us.
I’d brought my laptop, tarot deck, a couple of crystals because I liked to create an atmosphere and they helped my energy.
The fire crackled in the hearth, and Sir Buster bounded down from my lap and settled himself at a wee bed next to where Lady Lola napped peacefully.
Matthew poured us both a cup of tea, and turned to me, studying my face as I pulled my laptop out and opened it.
“You look nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” I said and then paused, lifting my eyes to the mural on the ceiling above me. “Okay, I’m a little nervous. I have been trying to read up on being a chartweaver, I don’t want to accidentally tangle your entire life.”
Matthew blinked. “Yes, that wouldn’t be ideal.”
“Sorry.” I took a breath. “I’ll explain as we go. But I want you to know, I won’t shift anything without your explicit consent, all right? You have full veto power here.”
Something in his shoulders relaxed. “I trust you,” he said simply.
My throat tightened. “Thank you.”
“We can be terrified together,” he added. “You, of your loom of destiny. Me, of the possibility of moving my entire life across the ocean.”
“Right.” I clicked open my astrology software. “Let’s start with the basics. You wrote your birth details down?”
He slid a folded paper across the table with a flourish. “Date, time, location. I even triple-checked the time with my mother. She was very excited you’re looking at my chart. She thinks I need ‘cosmic guidance’ to stop me from dating men who own more leather bracelets than books.”
I snorted. “Your mother sounds wise.”
“Oh, she is,” he said. “Terrifying, but wise.”
I typed in his details, hit enter, and the familiar wheel spun into place.
I leaned in.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Interesting.”
“Is interesting good?” Matthew asked. “Or is it astrologer code for ‘oh honey, you’re a mess’?”
“It’s good,” I assured him. “Matthew, you are a Sagittarius Sun, Libra Moon, Virgo Rising.”
He considered that. “So, I’m a cosmic mess?”
I laughed. “Not quite. Sagittarius Sun means you are a seeker. Truth, knowledge, experiences—you’re not meant to sit still and accept what you’re told.
You’re built to explore, to teach, to tell stories about what you’ve seen.
That’s the professor in you. The guy who takes off on sabbatical to dig in the dirt and call it fun. ”
“Guilty,” he said. “And the moon?”
“Libra Moon is your heart,” I said. “You crave connection. Partnership. Balance. You feel best when you’re in harmonious relationships. You’re the friend who remembers everyone’s birthday and texts people back in actual paragraphs.”
“I feel attacked.” He put a hand to his chest, faking outrage.
“Virgo Rising,” I went on, “means the way you move through the world is practical, observant, maybe just a touch perfectionistic. People see you as put-together, reliable, kind of quietly competent. You notice the little things.”
He smiled, but his fingers twitched slightly on the mug. “So far so good. And what about … now?”
I glanced at him. “Meaning, what the hell you’re meant to do with your life choices?”
“Yes, that.”
I studied the chart again, moving to his transits.
“Okay,” I murmured, watching the outer planets line up.
“We’ve got Saturn having just marched its heavy boots through your sixth and seventh houses these last couple of years—work, health, relationships.
I’d wager work has felt like a grind and your love life …
” I quirked a brow. “I mean, that doesn’t sound like it went all that well. ”
He winced. “That it did not.”
“Pluto,” I went on, “is finishing up tearing through your fifth house of joy and romance. Which would explain why what used to light you up stopped working the way it did. And why love felt … intense. Transformative. Maybe a bit obsessive at times.”
He made a face. “I hate how called out I feel.”
“That’s Pluto’s whole brand.” I glanced at the current positions.
“But here’s the big thing. See here?” I pointed to the little glyph for the lunar North Node, inching its way across his fourth house.
“This is your North Node transit through your house of home, roots, and belonging. When this happens, life tends to shove you toward a new sense of home. Often literally.”
He sucked in a breath. “As in … Scotland literally?”
I shrugged, a smile tugging at my lips. “It’s not like the chart draws a wee picture of a loch and a castle. But … aye. It suggests a shift of base. Moving closer to chosen family. Building a new foundation.”
“And here I am,” he said quietly, glancing around the library. “In a castle in the Highlands, wondering if I could live here.”
“Exactly,” I said. I watched his face carefully. “What are you feeling, underneath the jokes?”
He took a long breath, staring into the fire for a moment. Sir Buster had fallen asleep and looked the most at peace I’d ever seen him.
“Lost,” he admitted. “When I left California, I told myself it was temporary. A sabbatical from the sabbatical. I’d write and drink too much tea and try to get Sophie to buy some new clothes. But every day I wake up here and it feels … right. More ‘home’ than home has felt in a long time.”
I nodded, letting him talk.