Page 84 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

"Hold still,” I mutter, pushing it even further till I feel it reach something deep within her.

Just then did I start moving, slow and deep, savoring every inch of her, every catch of breath, every small broken sound she makes against my ear. She meets me thrust for thrust, her hips rising in perfect rhythm with mine, both of us moving like we've spent a lifetime learning each other instead of a handful of stolen weeks. The headboard knocks soft and steady against the curved stone wall. The beacon sweeps gold light across both of us, over and over, patient and constant the way I want to be for her.

"More," she begs, heels pressing into the backs of my thighs, fingers raking down my spine. "Please — I need all of you."

I watch keenly as she unravels beneath me, her thighs running wet with liquids that give off a raw scent. I can't stop thrusting at this point, my body moves on its own, filling every inch I can.

I give her everything. I brace one forearm beside her head and drive deeper, harder, the rhythm building from devotion into something more desperate, more claiming, both of us chasing the same need to be as close as two bodies can possibly get before the world demands something of us tomorrow that neither of us can predict. I hook her knee higher against my ribs, and the new angle drags a cry out of her loud enough to echo up into the empty lamp room above us.

"Right there," she chokes, body clenching tight around me, silver-blue light flaring bright along her skin. "Goddess, Finn, right there — don't stop, don't you dare stop⁠—"

The wolf surges close beneath my skin, gold-edged, every instinct in me narrowed down to this woman — gasping my name, glowing with magic she can't contain, clutching me like she intends to anchor me here permanently. I drop my head to her throat and graze my teeth against her pulse, not quite biting, just enough pressure that her whole body bows up to meet mine.

"Reina," I growl against her skin. My tongue grazes along her skin, tasting her sweat and every emotion that comes along with it.

"Ahh…," she gasps back, no hesitation left in it at all. "Finn, I'm yours — completely, forever, I'm so close⁠—"

My lips drop to her chest and carefully grab her stiff nipples with my teeth. I slowly apply pressure and watch how her legs quake from the effect.

The lewd sounds are one of the best parts. To see such a pretty and innocent face make such noise elevates my heart rate with pure excitement. My control is depleting down to nothing, the link blazing brighter than it's ever been, demanding completion, demanding her, demanding everything neither of us held back tonight. "I've got you. I'm not letting go. Not tomorrow, not ever."

My words appear to split something within her. She shatters completely around me with a cry I swallow against her mouth, her whole body lighting up silver-blue beneath me, clenching so hard it drags me over the edge right behind her, my own release tearing through me on a groan that's half her name and half a vow neither of us needed to say out loud anymore.

We collapse together, tangled and breathless, the beacon still sweeping its endless gold arc across the ceiling above us. I don't move for a long time, I don't want to. I just hold her, feeling her heartbeat slow against my ribs, feeling the bond settle into something steadier and brighter than it's ever been.

"So," she says eventually, voice muffled against my chest, threaded through with something that sounds almost like peace. "Tomorrow we fight."

"Tomorrow we fight," I agree, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "But tonight, you're mine, and I'm yours, and nothing Aldric does can touch that."

She tightens her arms around me, and I listen to the tide moving steady against the rocks below, the same rhythm it's kept for sixty years — and think that whatever tomorrow takes from us, it can't take this. Not anymore.

31

REINA

The Moon Tide Festival has always felt like another world.

Even as a child, I used to watch the celebrations from the cliffs, captivated by the ships gliding into harbor, the music drifting upward, the banners dancing above the docks. Merchants arrive from distant islands carrying goods nobody in Moonhaven can afford, and for a few days every year, the town transforms itself into something it isn't. The harbor swells with strangers. The inns fill beyond capacity. Moonhaven pretends to be far grander than it actually is.

Standing beside the lighthouse window, I watch the latest arrivals glide into port. Massive merchant vessels dominate the harbor, flags snapping from their masts as workers haul crates from ship to shore. Buyers negotiate before they have even stepped off their vessels. Laughter drifts upward from town, music chasing close behind it. The celebration has already begun.

I should feel happy. The festival always brings life back into the harbor.

Instead, unease sits beneath my ribs, and it has followed me since sunrise.

I glance toward the sea again. Everything looks normal.

That is the problem.

I direct my focus, and the sensation sharpens instantly—a faint disturbance brushing against my awareness, like fingers trailing across still water. Subtle. Unnatural. My stomach tightens as the feeling vanishes, then returns stronger than before.

When I look forward, the harbor remains unchanged. Ships keep arriving. Merchants keep shouting over one another. Nothing looks unusual, yet the disturbance lingers, growing, the way pressure builds before a storm. Not the weather itself, but the warning that comes before it. The sea is trying to tell me something I can't understand.

I leave the window, cross the room, and climb the lighthouse stairs. The wind greets me the moment I step outside. Below, Moonhaven shines with activity—visitors filling the streets, tents lining the harbor, performers weaving through the crowds. It should feel exciting. Instead, the unease only deepens.

My gaze drifts past the harbor, toward open water, and the disturbance brushes against me again, sharper this time. I inhale slowly, trying to identify it, trying to understand it, but the sensation slips away before I can grasp it.

Something is happening. The sea knows it. I know it. The problem is that nobody else can feel it.