Chapter 23 #2
“Go on then.” She shooed me with a little flap of her hand. “He’s probably pacing holes into his floor worrying about you. I’ll be fine here with Mitch and some paracetamol. If I need anything, I’ll shout.”
“You sure?” I hesitated.
“Yes. Now go break the spell and fix your love life, you numpty.”
“Bossy,” I muttered, but my heart felt lighter than it had in days.
I bent to kiss her forehead, then straightened, nerves fluttering in my chest as I padded down the hallway.
Bracken peeked his head around my bedroom door as I passed.
“You look like you’re walking to either a proposal or an execution,” he commented.
“Potentially both,” I whispered back.
“Och, grand, I love a bit of drama,” he said, scampering up to my shoulder. “Carry on.”
Torin was in the kitchen, exactly as Zara had predicted.
He stood at the counter, hands braced, head bowed. A mug of tea sat forgotten beside him, steam long gone. The muscles in his forearms flexed, the veins standing out, and guilt punched me right in the solar plexus.
“You see the world through possibility. People like you … you open doors for others without asking them to knock first. That’s a rare thing. A precious thing.”
His words came back to me, filling me with conviction that I was making the right choice in him—in choosing this life with him—and I cleared my throat as I stepped forward.
His head snapped up. Relief flooded his features so fast it made my eyes sting.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “How’s Zara?”
“She’ll live,” I said, voice soft. “Grumpy, which is how we know she’s on the mend.”
His mouth twitched. “Good.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and full.
Bracken shifted against my neck.
“I’m just going to … go … not be here,” he muttered, dropping to the floor and scampering toward the back door. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be climbing the bird feeder.”
I drew in a breath. “Torin, can we talk?”
He straightened fully, that steady, unwavering attention locking on me. Even with worry etched under his eyes and streaks of mud still on his jeans, he was … beautiful. Solid.
Home.
“Aye,” he said. “Please.”
I walked around the island so there was nothing between us. My hands shook, so I wrapped them around myself.
“I owe you an apology,” I began. “A proper one.”
His brows pulled together. “For nearly getting yourself killed?” he asked roughly. “Because I’m not sure I’m ready to be gracious about that yet.”
A choked laugh escaped me. “Add it to the list. But no. This is about the truth spell.”
He went very still.
“Torin, I’m so, so sorry,” I whispered. “I meddled with the one thing you value most—your integrity. I turned your own mouth into a weapon against your privacy. You didn’t deserve that. No one does.”
He looked at me for a long moment, eyes searching my face.
“I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” he said finally. “But aye, it’s been … a lot.” His jaw flexed. “It’s not that I mind being honest with you, Liora. I quite like it, actually. But I’d like it to be my bloody choice.”
Tears spilled over. “You’re right. And I want that for you too. That’s why I’m here.” I drew in a breath that shook. “There’s a way to undo it. Properly. If you want me to.”
He blinked, something like surprise flaring, quickly followed by guarded hope. “You can remove it?”
“Yes.” I scrubbed at my eyes with the heel of my hand. “It has to be me. The original caster. There’s a reversal spell. It’ll … unbind your tongue, so to speak.” I winced. “Poor phrasing.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “And if we do this … there’s no more magickal compulsion?”
“None,” I said. “You’ll be able to lie again.” My stomach twisted. “Or not. But it’ll be your decision.”
He studied me. “And what does it mean for you?” he asked quietly. “If the spell goes?”
I blinked. “For me?”
“Aye,” he said. “You’ve grown used to hearing exactly what I think, whether I want to say it or not. If that goes, you’ll have to trust me. Trust that if I tell you something, it’s because I chose to. Not because I had to.”
I swallowed, my stomach twisting. “I’d … like that,” I said honestly. “Terrifies me. But I’d like it.”
He nodded slowly, decision settling over his features like a cloak. “All right,” he said. “Do it.”
Relief and terror crashed together in my ribcage. “Right. Okay. Um, stand still.”
He obediently squared his shoulders, big hands resting loosely at his sides. The kitchen suddenly felt very small.
I stepped close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. My hands lifted, hovering uncertainly near his chest.
“May I?” I asked.
“Aye,” he murmured. His voice had gone rough around the edges.
I laid my palms lightly against his sternum. His heartbeat thrummed steady and strong under my fingers. Closing my eyes, I pulled in a breath, calling up the feel of the original spell—the panic, the flare of power, the way it had snapped and latched onto him like a startled cat.
“Words I wound, I now unbind,” I whispered, voice trembling but gaining strength as I went.
“By star and breath, by heart and mind.
By your consent and my regret,
I unbind this spell …”
I hesitated, throat tight, then added, “From Torin Cattanach. By my hand, Liora Webster. Our fates reset.”
Power shivered under my skin, running down my arms in a rush. For a heartbeat, everything in the room hushed as if the house itself were holding its breath.
Then the air around Torin’s throat shimmered, faint as heat off a road. Something that had been coiled there, unseen, unspooled with a soft pop, like a cork easing free. I staggered, lightheaded, and his hands closed around my elbows at once, steadying me.
“Easy,” he murmured. “You all right?”
I blinked up at him. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
He flexed his jaw experimentally, like he was testing a muscle. “Feels … lighter,” he admitted. “Not sure how else to describe it.”
Relief flooded me so hard my knees wobbled. “Try saying something you don’t mean,” I blurted.
His brows shot up. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” I flapped a hand. “Something awful. Low-stakes awful. Not, like, manifesting your worst fears or something.”
He considered, then cleared his throat, eyes never leaving mine.
“I hate trees,” he said solemnly.
For a split second, I braced for the spell to recoil, for him to choke or for the words to come out twisted.
Nothing happened.
Then he grimaced. “Ugh. That felt wrong. But not … magickally wrong. Just morally offensive.”
A watery laugh burst out of me.
“All right, my turn,” he said softly. “Test number two.”
He cupped my face in his hands, rough thumbs brushing away the dampness under my eyes. His gaze searched mine, open and unshielded.
“I don’t care about you,” he said.
Something inside me flinched, even though I knew what we were doing.
He exhaled. “That was an easy test,” he went on quietly. “Because it’s a lie.”
My heart thudded.
“Was it?” I asked, my voice thick.
“And I definitely don’t love you.”
My eyes filled as his hands slid down to my shoulders, then to my waist, pulling me in until my chest brushed his.
“Look at that,” Torin said, his voice dropped low, his lips hovering just over mine. “Another lie.”
My world narrowed.
“It is?” I gulped, my throat tightening as I pressed closer to him.
“Aye, it is. Liora.” Torin brushed his lips softly over mine. “I love you.”
No shimmer of spell light. No pressure forcing them out of him. Just a man, choosing to stand in a kitchen that smelled faintly of woodsmoke and herbal tea and saying the one thing I’d secretly, desperately wanted and had been afraid to hear.
“You—you do?” I croaked, because eloquence had left the building.
His mouth curved, tenderness flooding his eyes.
“Aye,” he said. “I do. I love your optimism and your tarot cards and the way you talk to yourself and your squirrel like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I love that you leave crystals on my windowsills and that you’re scared and you still run toward people in need instead of away.
” His voice went hoarse. “I love that you walked back into this town knowing what they used to say about you and decided to stay anyway. I love you, Liora Webster. Spell or no spell. Just as you are. That’s the truth I’m choosing. ”
My vision blurred completely.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered, forehead dropping to mine. “You’ll break my bloody heart.”
“It’s just—” My laugh came out strangled. “That’s a lot.”
“It’s honest,” he said simply.
I let out a watery breath. “Well, I suppose it’s convenient, Torin,” I said, voice shaking. “Because I happen to love you too.”
His fingers tightened at my waist. “Aye?”
“Aye.” A smile broke through my tears. “A ridiculous amount, actually. For a man who leaves muddy boot prints down the hallway and talks to trees more than people.”
“They’re better listeners,” he murmured.
“I might fight them for that title,” I said, and then I was laughing and crying and he was laughing too, relief etched into every line of him.
He dipped his head, brushing his mouth over mine in the softest kiss. Just a press of lips, a question.
I answered by sliding my hands up into his hair and pulling him closer.
The second kiss was not soft.
It seared.
His lips moved over mine with a hunger that had nothing to do with spells and everything to do with weeks of slow-building tension and fear and near misses. His hands spanned my back, splayed wide, anchoring me as my knees seemed to forget their purpose.
I melted against him, opening when he coaxed, tasting tea and something that was uniquely Torin.
Heat flared low in my belly, curling through my veins.
The kitchen, the house, the whole of bloody Scotland fell away until there was only the slide of his tongue across mine and the steady thud of his heart against my chest.
He broke away just long enough to murmur against my lips, “Tell me you’re still sure.”
“I’m sure,” I whispered. “I’m so sure.”
Something relieved and fierce flashed across his face. He kissed me again, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the shape of my mouth.
A tiny chittering sound interrupted us.
“If you two are going to start making baby humans or whatever it is you lot do,” Bracken announced, “I’m going to need danger pay and some kind of tiny squirrel blindfold.”
I rested my forehead against Torin’s chest, laughing helplessly.
“Bracken,” I said, breathless. “Boundaries.”
“Aye, well, consider them firmly established,” he muttered. “I’m happy for you and all that sentimental nonsense, but there’s only so much tongue wrestling a lad can witness before he has to chuck himself into the birdbath.”
“I’m guessing the back door wasn’t open for him to leave?” I said and Torin laughed against my ear.
“Um, nope.”
Torin’s chest shook under my cheek.
“Your familiar is a menace,” he murmured.
“He’s very emotionally invested in my happiness,” I said primly.
“As am I, darling. As am I.” Torin wrapped his arms around me and gave me one of those sweet hugs where we just rocked back and forth in each other’s arms, happy to just be.
For the first time in a very long time, even with a dragon in the loch and Kelpies at the shore and a whole village’s fate tangled in glowing threads only I could see, my heart felt … steady.
Loved.
Chosen.
Home.
Spell or no spell, disaster magnet or not, I was exactly where I was meant to be.
With my sister safe, a menace of a familiar, and a sexy tree man who loved me of his own free will.
The rest?
We’d weave it as we went.