One year later—under the same moon that once demanded blood and sacrifice—the Harlow mansion stood bathed in silver light, slightly changed in its infrastructure, no longer burdened by curses, but wrapped in quiet magic.

Inside the master chamber, dim lights flickered as shadows danced on the walls. Blade and Lyra lay tangled in silk sheets, limbs entwined, mouths breathless against each other.

He kissed her slow, reverent—as if worshiping her existence. His lips trailed from her jaw to ...