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"This proposal needs work."

"I'm not finished." His mouth quirks upward despite the nerves I can see in his eyes. "You also make me desire a genuine future and a stable home. I finally have a partner to fight alongside."

The magic swirls around us both now, pale threads threading between his fingers as he holds the ring. My throat feels tight, emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes." The word escapes before I can fully process the question, ensuring that fear has no opportunity to ruin this perfect moment. "Yes, but I'm keeping my name."

Darius blinks, clearly not expecting that particular condition. "What?"

"The new business plaque at the office looks too pretty to replace already." Coaxing me a little closer, he listens as I add, "Besides, Serenity Morvane sounds like a romance novel heroine. I prefer my reputation slightly more intimidating."

"And what's wrong with romance novel heroines?"

"Nothing, if you're into bodice-ripping and swooning. I'm more of a hex-first, ask-questions-later type."

Darius throws his head back and laughs, the sound rich and genuine. The tension breaks, replaced by the easy warmth that's become our normal. "Fair enough. Serenity Crowe it is."

He slides the ring onto my finger, the moonstone fitting perfectly against my skin. The moment the metal settles into place, my magic thrums with recognition—the ring contains protective charms woven so subtly I almost miss them.

"You enchanted it."

Bringing my hand to his lips, he places a soft kiss on my knuckles. "Insurance policy. Can't have my fiancée running around completely defenseless."

"I'm never defenseless."

"Humor me."

Before I can reply, Darius cups my face in his hands and kisses me. The contact sends warmth racing through my entire body, and the celestial magic responds by cascading around us. His mouth moves against mine as hunger returns, while underneath I taste the joyful relief of our promised forever.

The wine glasses tumble, forgotten, as he scoops me up and sweeps me toward the house in one supernatural motion. My arms wind around his neck, moonlight streaming through the windows to illuminate our path.

"Mrs. Morvane," he murmurs against my ear.

"Don't push it."

Darius laughs against my mouth, the sound vibrating through our joined bodies, the physical seal absolute as he navigates the back door. His arms are solid bands under my thighs, holding me effortlessly as he kicks the door shut behind us. The cool air of the house interior contrasts sharply with the heat radiating off him. He pauses just inside the kitchen, finally shifting back to observe me, his eyes molten gold in the moonlight streaming through the windows. My legs stay locked around his waist.

"Alright, Crowe," he murmurs with a low rumble that travels straight to my core. He brushes his nose along my jawline. "Pick your battlefield. Kitchen table looks sturdy. Garden tub promises interesting acoustics." His hands flex possessively on my backside. "Where do you want me to take you first? Because I plan on christening every damn surface in this house tonight."

Tracing the strong line of his jaw, I feel the slight prickle of stubble. "Oh, the table and tub are definitely on the itinerary," I agree breathlessly before nipping his lower lip. "But let's make it official and start where it truly counts by claiming the bedroom territory properly." A wicked grin spreads across my face. "Consider it a claimed territory."

"Official it is." His answering grin is pure territorial satisfaction. "Hold on."

Moving through the dim house with that unnerving shifter grace, he remains silent and sure-footed despite carrying me. Our bedroom door is already ajar. Moonlight floods the room, painting the dark wood floor and the crisp white duvet in stark steel. He crosses the threshold, moving straight to the side of the large bed. Gently, deliberately, he lowers me onto the cool expanse of the duvet. My hair fans out around me, black against white. The moonlight spills over me to highlight the slope of my hip alongside the rapid rise and fall of my chest.

Standing at the frame of the bed, he looks down, his focus unwavering. The tangible heat sweeps over my skin as he drinks me in, his face switching from possessiveness to something foundational, almost reverent. The moonlight catches the hard planes of his face, the scar across his ribs a stark, pale line against his bronzed skin. He’s a statue carved from shadow and moonlight, utterly inert except for the rapid pulse I can see beating in his throat.

"Beautiful," he breathes, the word rough, barely more than a whisper. "Like moonlight given form."

My own impatience flares, hot and urgent beneath the warmth of his admiration. "Less poetry, Morvane. More undressing." Propping myself up on my elbows, I let my eyes meet his.

A low chuckle escapes him. "Demanding witch."

Reaching for the hem of my thin t-shirt, he uses calculating, unhurried movements. His knuckles brush the bare skin of my stomach as he gathers the fabric, the touch sending sparks skittering across my nerves. He slides it up slowly, inch by tantalizing inch, revealing the smooth plane of my stomach alongside the swell of my breasts confined in black lace. The cool air hits newly exposed skin, making me shiver—or maybe it’s the look in his eyes. He pauses again once the shirt is pooled around my neck, his gaze tracing the lines of my collarbone before dipping between my breasts. His fingers hover near the clasp of my bra.

Arching a brow, I try for nonchalance, but a sharp inhale escapes me as his thumb strokes the sensitive skin right below my ribs. "Enjoying the view?"