Chapter 12

TWELVE

A rden blinked, mouth curving helplessly at the irrepressible necromancer's typically irreverent take. "Uh, yeah. I mean, yes. That would be...really helpful actually."

Daisy laughed. "Cool beans. If you need me to put in a word with my hot fiancé for some help, just say the word."

Arden laughed at her cheekiness. He glanced at Thorne and Gideon. "You guys sure, though? I know you're all busy with your own stuff..."

Thorne snorted, brawny arms crossing over his barrel chest. "Please. Like we'd be anywhere else when one of our own is in trouble." He raised a dark brow. "Mari is pack, Arden. Maybe not officially, but in every way that matters. We take care of our own."

Gideon adjusted his glasses and nodded, usually dreamy eyes sharp with intent. "Absolutely. And I daresay with my knowledge of the town's forgotten nooks and crannies, Thorne's, ah...twitchy nose for ill intent, and Daisy's affinity for the, er...dearly departed, we might just have an edge Master Sinclair isn't counting on, hmm?"

"They're right, Arden," a soft voice interjected. Ivy poked her head around Thorne's bulk and smiled, green eyes warm. "We're all in. For Mari and for you. Whatever you need."

Something eased in Arden's chest, a knot of tension he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying. His wolf rumbled contentedly at the show of solidarity, the unequivocal support of their new clan. Because that's what it was, he realized with a start. A clan. A family.

One he'd walk through fire for, bleed and break for. The family he wanted to build a forever with, at Mari's side.

"I... thank you," he managed gruffly. "All of you. I can't tell you what this means to me- to us."

"Oh, I think we have some idea," Daisy said with a sly grin. She hopped off the desk and clapped her hands briskly. "Right! I'll put out some feelers with the ghosties, see if they've noticed any new shades flitting about. Thorne, I'm thinking you and the pack do some recon around Mari's place, yeah? Sniff out any hinky magic our baddie might've left behind?"

Thorne cracked his neck and flashed a wolfish smile. "That's a big 10-4, Necro-babe. Me and mine are on it like locusts on a plague-ravaged harvest."

"Ew," Ivy muttered, wrinkling her pert nose. Thorne just shrugged.

"Biblical threat calls for a Biblical metaphor, Vines. I don't make the rules."

"Mmm, and I'll delve into the archives," Gideon interjected smoothly. "See if I can unearth any pertinent information on the Sinclair family history, their magical proclivities, and known strongholds. Know thy enemy and all that."

"Brilliant." Arden stood, overcome with gratitude and a heady sense of purpose. "Everyone keep in close contact, yeah? Anything seems off or pings that spidey-sense, you let me know immediately."

A chorus of affirmatives and the rag-tag band dispersed, moving with the surety and focus of people who knew their purpose. Arden watched them go, marveling at the power of this strange little town. The magic not of spell and potion but of connection, loyalty, and love.

And at the center of it all, a sassy witch with eyes like fallen leaves and a soul so bright, it hurt to look at head-on. A woman who'd endured untold darkness and still held fast to hope and joy.

His woman, if she'd have him. His mate, his missing piece. Worth any price, any hardship.

With a renewed sense of determination, Arden turned back to his files. He'd find something to pin on Victor, some way to stop his obsessive campaign against Mari. Between his resources and the enthusiasm of his newfound extended family, that weaselly warlock's days of terrorizing his mate were numbered.

He worked for the next few hours, making call after call, taking copious notes in his cramped scrawl. A text from Ivy had him raising a brow - her finely attuned green thumb had picked up on some unusually aggressive weed growth near the pastry shop, all tangled around some hex bags half-buried in the soil. She'd neutralized them and was sending photos for his file, bless her hippie heart.

Gideon stopped by with a few tomes of lore and an heirloom spell ledger, an unholy light of glee in his eyes at finally having an excuse to really dig into the town's secret histories. Arden made a mental note to check in on the librarian regularly - last thing they needed was the man summoning an eldritch horror in his enthusiasm.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a flurry of activity, planning, and preparation. Luna closeted herself with Mari, continuing her instruction in mental defense and magical fortification.

The others worked to weave what protections they could - charmed amulets and bracelets humming with intent, sachets of spelled herbs to carry on her person, even a rather impressive ritual to grant her the equivalent of supernatural Kevlar against any further arcane attacks.

By the time they finished, Mari was visibly fighting not to yawn. Arden made an executive decision and bundled her off home for some much-needed rest. They could reconvene tomorrow - tonight, he was getting his mate somewhere safe and quiet to decompress.

Mari was nearly asleep on her feet by the time they made it back to her house, leaning heavily into Arden's side as he helped her up the steps. He settled her on the couch and went to make a cup of chamomile tea, knowing she often found it soothing after a difficult day.

Carrying the steaming mug back into the living room, Arden paused in the doorway to look at her. Curled up under a knitted throw, her hair a dark curtain over the paleness of her face, tension bracketing her full mouth even in repose... she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And the most courageous, the most resilient. A goddess made flesh.

"You're staring," she murmured without opening her eyes. The corner of her lips twitched. "I can feel you staring."

Arden chuckled, moving to set the tea on the side table before perching on the edge of the couch by her hip. "Can't blame a man for admiring art when he sees it," he teased gently, gratified when her cheeks pinked.

"Flatterer," she grumbled, pushing herself upright to cradle the mug between her palms. She inhaled the fragrant steam with a soft sigh before taking a careful sip. "Thank you. For the tea and for... for being you. For being here."

Arden reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, fingertips lingering on the delicate skin of her temple. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be," he said honestly.