Chapter 25

Chapter 25

ALASTAIR

A lastair ducked, dropping to his knees as lightning cracked through the air. It hit the walls like a bomb, shattering bottles and exploding furniture. In its wake, it left black scars of scorched wood marring the floor and spiking up the wall.

Considering the circumstances, the blast was remarkably contained.

Somewhere in the building, something was burning. A chair, a table, hell, maybe the very foundations of his club. He could lose it all right now. Fey could burn the entire building to the ground.

The thought of losing his nightclub didn’t scare Alastair. Seeing Fey in all her dark fury, seeing the extent of her power finally revealed, didn’t scare him.

But in that moment, he knew he had gone too far. Far enough that he might lose her.

And that terrified him.

He rose to his feet and took a step toward her, ignoring the instincts that screamed at him to run.

“You’re not mine,” Alastair admitted, taking another step. That rage in her eyes was so cold. He should be terrified of her. Terrified of this dark power. But this was all just another part of her, wasn’t it? Just another facet of the Witch he loved .

Goddess help him, he loved her so much.

Swallowing hard, he took another step. “But I’m yours, Witchling. Fully, completely, yours.”

The icy rage thawed. Just a fraction.

And Alastair did the only thing he could think to do. He dropped to his knees before her.

Let her kill him, if that’s what she wanted. Let her do with him what she will.

“I’m sorry, Witchling,” he said, voice breaking as he stared up at her. That dark power around her hesitated. “I fucked up. And I’m sorry.”

“Good.” Fey’s eyes flashed with rage and power. “You should be fucking sorry.”

He reached for her hand, ignoring the power still swirling around her. She tensed like she might snatch it back, away from him. Electricity still sparked between her fingertips as he touched her, but Alastair barely noticed as he pressed her palm against his cheek.

“If you try to use me like that again,” Fey warned, that deliciously deadly power scraping against his skin, “I will burn this place to the ground, Alastair. I won’t even hesitate.”

“I believe you,” he said, turning his face to kiss her palm. Power sparked between them, but it wasn’t as strong as before, not nearly as deadly. “Never again, Witchling. I promise you. You don’t need to belong to me. But I’m yours. And I’ll never use you like that again.”

Fey exhaled, and that beautiful fury surrounding her pulled back even more. Satisfied.

“Come here,” she said, voice rough. She pulled him to his feet. “Get up. You can be so dramatic sometimes, you know that?”

It was more forgiveness than he deserved.

Wrapping his arms around her, Alastair pulled her tight against him. That energy still pulsed between them, raw and angry. But softer, now. “I’m sorry, Fey. Truly, I am.”

She smelled divine. Even with the faint hint of ozone in the air, she smelled so wonderful. He squeezed her tightly and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, the tension in his chest loosening as she relaxed in his arms .

“I thought… I thought he was going to kiss you,” Alastair murmured. “And I lost it. I thought I was losing you.”

“He was just being Jasper,” she said, sounding irritated. Good. Irritation beat homicidal rage any day. “He wasn’t going to kiss me. And if he had, I would have handled it. No one is going to take me away from you, Alastair. No one, not ever.”

He exhaled slowly, pulling her tighter against him.

“I love you,” she told him, voice muffled against his chest. “But that won't stop me from killing you, you know.”

His chest rumbled as he laughed, and the sound reverberated through the empty bar.

“I love you, too, Witchling. More than you could ever know.”

Fey snorted against his chest.

Glancing around at the damage around them, he couldn’t help but admire her restraint. Sure, he’d have to replace some of the tables and chairs, and half the bottles in the lower bar were probably a write off, but as far as foundational damage? The club would survive. He probably wouldn’t even need to put up any new walls.

They stood like that, wrapped in each other's arms for a while, Fey letting him hold her, his hands tracing idle patterns over her back and shoulders. And for those few moments, it was just the two of them, alone in the world. But the night wasn’t over, and the world was still out there, waiting.

Fey broke the spell, leaning back slightly to look him in the eyes.

“You should go let Ferus and the others know it’s safe for them to come back in. We need to get going. We’re already late.”

Alastair shook his head, furrowing his brow. “To the dinner? Witchling…we need to cancel. You really want to go see my family after that?”

“No,” Fey admitted. “But you’re just looking for an excuse not to go.”

Alastair grumbled.

“I don’t want this to define our night, Alastair.” Fey told him, almost reluctantly. “I don’t want to go home and have this be… it.”

The emotion in her voice surprised him. Fear. Seeing her lose control hadn’t scared him, no, but… it may have scared her .

Gripping her shoulders softly, he forced his smile. “Fine,” he told her. “We’ll go.”

He’d give her anything, after all.

Anything at all in the world.