Chapter 16
Sunlight had been working its way across the bed for an hour, and Marcus had not moved an inch.
He’d been awake long enough to count the freckles on Hazel’s shoulder, long enough to memorise the rhythm of her breathing, long enough that any other morning of his three centuries he’d already have catalogued exits, scanned the perimeter, made tea.
He did none of those things. He held her closer instead.
“Good morning,” she murmured against his skin.
“Very good,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to her hair.
They stayed in bed another twenty minutes, trading lazy kisses. Marcus traced the freckles on her shoulder. Hazel ran her fingers through his chest hair, occasionally tugging to hear him growl.
“We should get up,” she said eventually, making no move to do so.
“Should is a terrible word.” He captured her hand and brought it to his lips. “Though I need to mention that your stomach has been growling for the past five minutes.”
Her stomach rumbled loudly. Hazel laughed, burying her face in his neck. “Traitor,” she told her midsection.
They extracted themselves from bed reluctantly.
Marcus scrambled eggs without burning them. They ate breakfast standing at the counter, hips pressed together. The trial loomed six days away, but neither mentioned it.
They settled into their routine. Marcus spread case files on the table while Hazel curled up in the window chair with a grimoire.
“Listen to this,” she said, grinning. “’To banish a persistent suitor, combine rosemary with…’ Oh, that’s disgusting. Never mind.”
“Now I’m curious.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” She turned a page. “Oh, ‘For lawyers who overstay their welcome.’ Hey!”
Marcus plucked the grimoire from her hands. “Rude. I’m excellent company.”
“You’re adequate company.”
“Harsh.” He held the book higher.
“You’re the best company I’ve ever had, and I never want you to leave. Happy?”
Marcus lowered the book. “Yes,” he said.
“Good.” She took her grimoire back. “Because it’s true.”
They headed out into the afternoon sun. The forest blazed with autumn colors. Marcus linked their fingers automatically.
They walked in comfortable silence for a while before Hazel squeezed his hand. “You’re quiet.”
“Just wondering how you did it.”
“Did what?”
“Made me forget who I’m supposed to be.”
She stopped walking. “You haven’t forgotten. You just finally remembered who you actually are.”
Before he could respond, Hazel’s expression changed. Color drained from her face.
“Something’s wrong.”
Marcus caught her as she stumbled. “Hazel?”
“The ley line…” She gasped, clutching her chest. “Someone’s corrupted it. It’s draining me.”
Marcus recognized the technique: an old assassination method that turned a witch’s connection to the earth against them. The corrupted energy would drain her in minutes.
“Bastards,” he said, lowering her to the ground. “We need to ground your magic. Now.”
“How?” Her eyes were glazing.
“Through me.” He was already stripping off his jacket and shirt. “Skin to skin contact. I can filter the corruption through my demon nature.”
Hazel’s hands shook as she fumbled with her jacket. “Marcus, if this doesn’t work…”
“It will work.” He helped her with her shirt. “Trust me.”
“Always.”
He pulled her against his chest and opened his magical defenses completely. The corrupted energy hit hard, raw poison designed to burn through witch defenses. But Marcus was a demon with five centuries of control.
“Hold on,” he murmured. “This might feel strange.”
He began filtering her magic through his own. Her power flowed through him, wild and beautiful. But more than that, he felt her. Her memories, her emotions, her essence mingling with his.
A young witch rejected by the local coven for being too powerful. Standing in the rain, hearing them vote no.
Successfully brewing her first healing potion. Her grandmother’s proud smile.
Years of loneliness masked by stubborn independence.
Her grandmother’s death. Standing at the graveside alone.
Opening Wicked Brews with fierce determination.
Seeing him in her shop, wanting to mess up his perfect exterior.
And she was seeing him too.
A young demon lawyer’s first case, hands trembling at the podium.
Centuries of hollow victories, promotions that felt empty.
A farmhouse outside Boston, 1872. Eliza. Not the story he’d told Hazel by the fire — the real thing. The weight of the locket in his pocket. The smell of woodsmoke and lavender that meant home.
His exact thought in the half-second that destroyed everything: “The extraction is almost complete. Thirty more seconds.” Choosing the spell over the woman screaming his name.
The sound of the blade. Not the clean cut he’d described. Wet. Wrong. Final.
Blood on the farmhouse floor, still warm when he reached her. Her eyes already empty.
Walking into Wicked Brews and feeling his world tilt. Terror and hope warring in his chest.
Their heartbeats synced. Their magic intertwined, tangled ribbons of light—hers dark as dusk, his bright as morning—hanging in the air. The corrupted energy burned away through their connection, but the intimacy remained.
“Marcus,” Hazel breathed, tears streaming down her face.
“I’ve got you.” But his voice was raw. She’d seen everything he’d tried to hide.
Finally, the corruption cleared. The ley line settled. But neither moved.
“I saw,” Hazel whispered, cupping his face. “I saw Eliza. I saw you lose her.”
Marcus closed his eyes. “You saw me fail her.”
“I saw you make a mistake. A human mistake. Even demons make them.” Her thumbs brushed away the moisture at the corners of his eyes. “Marcus, you were following your training. You were young.”
“I hesitated.” The admission tore from him. “Half a second. That’s all it took.”
“And you’ve been carrying that guilt for a hundred and fifty years.”
“I followed the rules, and she died. I chose my briefcase over her life.” He opened his eyes, letting her see the pain there. “That’s why I’m so obsessive about your safety. Why I can’t lose you, Hazel. I can’t make the same mistake twice.”
“You won’t.” She pulled him closer. “You’re not that young demon anymore. You tore apart your career to save me, broke every rule to keep me alive. That’s not who hesitates, Marcus.”
“I swore I wouldn’t hesitate again.”
“And you haven’t. Not once.” She kissed him softly. “Eliza wouldn’t want you to spend eternity blaming yourself. She loved you—I felt that in your memories. And she’d want you to be happy.”
“How do you know?”
“Because any woman who loved you would want that. Would want you to live, not just exist.”
Marcus’s voice caught. “Hazel…”
“I’m not asking you to forget her. But you’re allowed to be happy, Marcus. You’re allowed to love again.”
“I already do,” he whispered.
“Good.” She traced the scar on his chest, the one from the assassin’s blade. It was raised and rough under her fingertip. “We’re going to make it to that trial. Both of us.”
“Both of us,” he said.
They stayed like that, foreheads touching, breathing each other in. Then Marcus kissed her forehead, her cheeks, tasting salt from her tears.
“Thank you,” she said against his skin. “For saving me. Again.”
“Always will.”
They dressed slowly, reluctant to break contact. The walk back was quiet, Marcus supporting her when she wavered.
Inside, he wrapped them both in blankets on the bed. Warm light filtered through the window.
“We need to get cleaned up,” Hazel said after a while. “I can still feel it on my skin.”
The shower in the cabin was barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but they managed. Marcus turned the water as hot as it would go, steam immediately billowing up to fog the mirror and paint the small bathroom in white condensation.
“In,” he said, helping her step over the edge of the ancient claw-foot tub.
Hazel tipped her head back, letting the hot water cascade over her face and hair, feeling the last traces of tainted energy disappear down the drain.
When she opened her eyes, Marcus was still standing outside the shower curtain, watching her through the gap with an expression that made her breath catch.
His eyes were dark and hungry, but there was something else there too, like she was something precious he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch.
“Are you coming in or just planning to stare?” she asked, her voice coming out rougher than intended.
“Can’t I do both?” But he stepped in behind her, and the space was so tight they were immediately pressed together, her back to his chest, his arms coming around her waist automatically. “I almost lost you today.”
“But you didn’t.” She covered his hands with hers, lacing their fingers together. “You saved me. Again.”
“We saved each other.” His lips found her shoulder, kissing the wet skin with aching tenderness. “I saw everything, Hazel. Everything you’ve been through. Every time someone rejected you. Every time they made you feel like you were too much or not enough or, ”
“And you saw Eliza,” she interrupted softly, turning in his arms to face him. Water streamed between them, making his dark hair plaster against his forehead. “Saw what you’ve been carrying all these years. The guilt. The nightmares.”
“Yeah.” His throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing. “And you’re still here.”
“Of course I’m still here.” She cupped his face, thumbs tracing his sharp cheekbones. “Marcus, seeing your pain doesn’t make me love you less. It makes me understand why you’re so protective. Why you panic when I do something reckless. Why you can’t lose another person you, ”
She stopped, the words catching in her throat.
“Another person I love?” Marcus finished quietly, his dark eyes searching hers. “Is that what you were going to say?”
Hazel could only nod, her heart hammering so hard she was sure he could feel it against his chest.
“Good,” Marcus said, and pulled her into a kiss that stole what little breath she had left.