Page 29 of Alpha Charmed

I should lie. Should give her the excuse about patrol routes and coincidental timing. Should maintain the careful distance that’s kept us both safe for years.

“I couldn’t sleep.” The truth comes out rough, stripped of any polish.

She stares at me. Processing. The magic around her hands flickers again—but differently now. Less unstable. More… curious.

“You’ve been running past my home.”

“Patrolling.” The word sounds thin even to my own ears. “Professionally.”

“Professionally.” Her voice carries an edge that might be disbelief or might be amusement. Hard to tell with Anouk, even after all these years.

“Caius.” She says my name like it costs her—like every syllable requires effort she’s not sure she has. “Why?”

The question hangs in the pre-dawn air. Behind us, the attackers are starting to stir—we’ll need to deal with them soon, call in the Network, figure out who sent them and why. There are practical matters requiring attention. Professional obligations demanding focus.

I don’t care about any of it.

“Because I’ve been worried about you.” The words come easier than I expected. “For years. Because losing Corwin nearly broke you and you wouldn’t let anyone help. Because you’re so determined to be strong that you’re destroying yourself, and I⁠—”

I stop. Force myself to breathe. The wolf is howling in my mind, demanding I say the rest, say everything, finally put words to the decade of longing I’ve kept locked away.

“I can’t watch it happen.” The confession emerges barely above a whisper. “I won’t.”

Silence stretches between us.

The mist brightens where we stand, silver threading into gold as the first hints of dawn touch the rooftops. Somewhere in the distance, a shop door opens—Sunny, starting the morning rush at Moonpetal Bakery.

Anouk’s magic settles. The sparks fade.

“Thank you.” Her voice is rough, cracked around the edges, nothing like the measured tones she uses in council meetings. “For the patrol. And the intervention.”

“You’re welcome.”

I extend my hand. An offer. A bridge.

She looks at it for a long moment—my palm open, my fingers steady despite the chaos of the past few minutes. Looks at me, at the bare chest I haven’t had time to be self-conscious about, at the face I know probably shows more than I want it to.

Then she takes my hand.

The touch runs through me like lightning.

Her fingers close around mine, warm and calloused from decades of potion work. Her grip is strong—stronger than I expected, as if she’s holding on to keep herself grounded. I feel the moment her magic responds to the contact: a settling, a steadying, the wild sparks finally going quiet.

The wolf goes silent too. The restless pacing that’s plagued me all night stops dead, replaced by a stillness so profound, it’s almost disorienting.

This. This is what we’ve both been missing.

“Your magic.” The observation comes out before I can stop it. “It’s stabilizing.”

“I noticed.” She’s staring at our joined hands with an expression I can’t quite read. Surprise, maybe. Wonder. The faintest edge of fear. “That shouldn’t happen. Touch doesn’t affect magical stability.”

“Maybe it does. Under certain circumstances.”

Her gaze lifts to mine. “Certain circumstances.”

“Specific ones.” I don’t let go of her hand. Can’t make myself release her, even though I know I should. “Involving specific people.”

“You’re being cryptic.”