Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 33333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Everything inside me goes silent.
Then loud.
I stare down at him. This brutal, infuriating man who guarded his heart behind stone and iron. This man who made me feel seen. Wanted. Matched.
“Thorne…”
“Say it,” he rasps. “Say you feel it too.”
My mouth trembles. “I do.”
He nods once, jaw tense. “Then stop fighting it.”
My lips part. “I’m not good with—”
“Trust?” he finishes for me. “Neither am I.”
“I always ruin things.”
“Then ruin me,” he says darkly. “If that’s what it takes to keep you here—do it.”
Shock flashes through me, followed by a wild, helpless rush of emotion. He isn’t asking. He’s choosing. Choosing me. Choosing this, messy and complicated and terrifying.
My fingers tremble on his chest. I lower myself slowly, heart in my throat. “What are we doing?”
A slow, dangerous smile curls his lips. “Living.”
I kiss him.
God, I kiss him like he might vanish. Like last night wasn’t enough. Like we might never stop. His mouth opens under mine and I taste him—coffee and candy corn and dark things I’m not afraid of anymore.
And it hits me.
I’m already his.
Completely. Stupidly. Undeniably.
“So now what?” I murmur against his lips.
He exhales like he’s been waiting for that question. “Now I give you something.”
I blink. “What?”
He shifts, reaching for something behind him near the stone hearth. When he sits back up, his hand is closed into a fist.
“What is that?”
He doesn’t answer.
My heart starts sprinting.
“Thorne—”
He takes my hand—my left hand—and places something in my palm.
It’s small. Round. Softly wrapped in purple foil.
I blink.
It’s a Halloween candy ring. A cheap plastic witch’s ring with a crooked hat, straight out of a trick-or-treat bag.
I stare at it, silent.
He holds my gaze, unflinching. “I don’t have diamonds but I’ll get one. I don’t do grand gestures. But I do real. And this? This is real.”
My throat tightens painfully.
“This ring,” he says, voice raw, “is a promise. I’m not running. I’m not letting go. I’m yours, Aspen Taylor—and you’re mine.”
Air leaves me.
He keeps going.
“If you want to leave here when the storm clears, I’ll let you. If you want your own space, I’ll build you a damn cottage.” His eyes burn into mine. “But whatever happens—I choose you. Today. Tomorrow. After. Always.”
My hand flies to my mouth.
He squeezes the ring between our fingers. “Marry me, witch. Make my life as insane as yours. Laugh at me every morning, curse at me every night. Stay. Be my chaos.”
Tears flood my eyes. Hot. Immediate. Unstoppable.
I look at him—this brutal man who howls instead of prays, who doesn’t know gentle but knows loyal so ferociously it hurts.
This is the moment. My moment. Ours.
“Yes,” I whisper, voice cracked open completely. “Yes, Thorne. I’ll marry you.”
He exhales like I just cut chains from his lungs—and then his mouth is on mine again, fierce, grateful, relieved.
He slides the stupid little plastic ring onto my finger, and it fits horribly. But somehow—it fits perfectly.
I laugh through tears, clutching his face. “You realize this means I’m staying, right?”
He grins—wolfish, wicked, mine. “Good.”
“And I’m redecorating everything.”
“Over my dead body.”
“And I’m painting your nails black when you sleep.”
“You try, I’ll tie you to the bed.”
Heat curls through me. “Promises.”
He growls.
We don’t stop kissing. Not for a long time. The storm howls outside, and his arms hold me like he never intends to let go. I don’t want him to.
Eventually, he pulls back just enough to look at me again.
“You’re not running anymore,” he says.
“No,” I whisper. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
He presses his forehead to mine. “Good. Because I already warned the mountain—you’re mine now.”
I laugh into his mouth.
“I was always yours,” I whisper.
And he kisses me—slow and reverent and full of quiet, devastating truth.
The kind of kiss that feels like a promise.
The kind that lasts forever.
Epilogue
Aspen
One Year Later
If you had told me a year ago I’d be getting married on a mountain in a haunted Halloween wedding, wearing combat boots under my black velvet gown, holding a bouquet of blood-red roses and raven feathers, I would’ve assumed I had finally snapped and entered my villain era.
Yet here I am—wrapped in onyx lace and fall sunlight, surrounded by pumpkins, flickering lanterns, and the faint sound of polka music because apparently that’s what happens when you let Zane Warner control anything.
Devil’s Peak Lodge looks like a gothic fairytale exploded across the clearing. Twinkle lights hang from the trees. Floating candles—my idea—drift on invisible fishing lines thanks to Fox and Cal. Grady built the giant arch we’re about to get married under. Hunter brewed a potion cocktail that is almost definitely illegal. And Thorne?
Thorne just turned around at the end of the aisle and looked at me like I’m the only thing worth believing in.
My wild, impossible, grumpy mountain man waits there, big and dangerous and heartbreakingly handsome in a black suit with an undone tie and a fresh haircut that makes him look like my personal ruin in human form.