Nova’s POV
If you’d told six months ago that I’d be curled up in the arms of a silver-eyed, portal-conjuring, werewolf-wizard hybrid—who, by the way, stord into my apartnt like so mythological avenger to save from my deranged ex—I would’ve laughed until my ribs ached and then probably cried in the shower afterward because, let’s be honest, existential breakdowns are my love language. And yet here I am, wrapped in warmth that slls faintly of cedar and storm clouds, in an impossibly gorgeous apartnt I got teleported to, being told that everything I grew up thinking was make-believe—magic, wolves, vampires, moon goddesses—wasn’t just real, it was him. And the way he looked at , like I’d personally handcrafted the stars just for him... yeah. No one tells you how terrifying it is to feel seen like that. Not just looked at—but known.
Here I was.
Still in his arms. Still breathing the sa air as him. Still completely, irreversibly unprepared for any of this.
It started with the flowers.
I don’t know why that was the thing that broke . After everything—wolves, magic, sparkly portals, his silver eyes and ancient soul and mate talk—it was the flowers that made my throat tighten and my eyes sting.
One second I was curled into Eldur’s chest, head tucked beneath his chin like he was the only solid thing in a world that had lost its shape, and the next... I was staring at a blooming crown of violets and soft blue roses swirling above our heads, drifting down like they were floating on an invisible breeze.
"What..." I breathed, watching the petals twirl.
He chuckled softly against my hair. "Magic. I figured you could use sothing pretty. Real flowers this ti. Not summoned from a garden. I made them."
I blinked up at him, lips parted, heart doing that thing it did when he looked at like I mattered. "You made them?"
He nodded, looking a little too proud of himself for soone who could conjure portals and wolves and actual chefs—
Which is exactly what happened next.
I swear, I blinked, and suddenly a man in a full white chef uniform popped into the living room with a cutting board and a frown.
"Sir," the man said, with a French accent so thick I was convinced Eldur had pulled him straight from Paris. "Please, next ti, at least give a warning. I was mid-olet."
Eldur gave a smirk like a teenage boy who’d just pulled a prank. "Nova, et Louis. Best magical chef in this realm. Louis, et Nova. She’s important. Be nice."
I was gaping. Actually gaping.
Louis gave a quick nod, then stomped off muttering sothing in French as a fully equipped kitchen appeared from thin air right there in the corner of Eldur’s massive apartnt. I turned to Eldur slowly.
"What the hell is happening?"
He shrugged, all casual like he hadn’t just hijacked a stranger’s breakfast shift. "You said you were hungry."
"And your solution was to summon an entire man?"
"To be fair," he said, looking smug, "he’s not just any man. He makes the best garlic shrimp risotto this side of the veil."
"I don’t even know what veil you’re talking about!"
"You’ll learn," he said with a grin, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Eventually."
The grin was infectious. And kind of illegal. I was definitely not prepared for the emotional whiplash of supernatural nonsense one second and cheesy romantic gestures the next. I folded my arms, trying to act unaffected.
"...You really don’t do normal, do you?"
He laughed—deep and real and loud. "Nope."
Dinner was incredible, by the way. Like, I-wanted-to-lick-the-plate good. I didn’t. But the urge was there.
Louis eventually left with a dramatic bow and a "Call when you want sothing real" before vanishing with a flicker of light. I didn’t even question it. I was way past logic.
The lights in the room dimd a little after that, the fire crackled softer, and music started playing from nowhere—slow, haunting, beautiful.
And then I said the dumbest thing I’ve ever said in my life.
"Dance with ."
Eldur froze.
He actually looked around like I was talking to soone else.
"...?"
"Yes, you," I said, standing up and holding out my hand. "Co on, wizard wolf boy. Let’s see what those pointy boots can do."
"I do not have pointy boots," he muttered, but he took my hand anyway, and I watched with sothing like joy and secondhand embarrassnt as the most powerful being I’d ever t tried—tried—to slow dance.
It was... tragic.
We stepped on each other. A lot. I think I accidentally elbowed his stomach at one point and he twirled too hard, sending spinning into the couch.
But we laughed. Loudly. Like idiots. Like two people who had no idea how to hold each other without breaking and still wanted to try anyway.
At one point, he tripped over the rug and caught himself with one hand on my waist and the other gripping my arm like I was the last thing keeping him from faceplanting.
I snorted. "Graceful."
He narrowed his eyes at . "I just caught a falling chandelier two nights ago with my teeth."
"You what?"
"Long story," he said, pulling close again. "No more dancing."
"Agreed," I breathed, heart racing for a completely different reason now.
We stayed like that, swaying with no rhythm at all, forehead to forehead, while the music wrapped around us like sothing sacred.
Eventually, we made our way back to the couch. He pulled a massive blanket out of nowhere—seriously, his whole life is like a magician’s hat—and draped it around us both.
I curled into his side again, this ti willingly, eagerly, like sothing in knew this was ho. He slled like winter and magic and sothing warm I couldn’t na. His arm wrapped around my shoulder, his fingers playing lazily with my hair.
"Nova," he said after a long while, voice low and full of sothing I couldn’t quite place.
"Mhm?"
"There’s sothing I need to tell you."
I stiffened a little. "Okay?"
He was quiet for a mont, like he was weighing each word.
"You’re my mate."
I sat up slightly. "You said that before. But I still don’t know what that ans. Like... we’re dating now? Magical dating? Cosmic dating?"
He gave a soft smile, the kind that made my ribs feel too tight. "No. Not exactly. A mate is... more. It’s a bond the Moon Goddess creates between two souls. It’s rare. Sacred. Powerful."
"Okay," I said slowly. "Still sounds like a really confusing magical relationship."
He chuckled. "I guess it kind of is. Except it’s more like... my soul recognized yours. Even before I knew I wanted you, the wolf in already did. It’s not just about love. It’s about... ho. Purpose. Peace."
I stared at him, trying to process that. "So I’m... your forever person? Whether I want to be or not? I don’t get it. I’m sorry, it’s really confusing."
His expression turned serious. "You always get a choice. The bond can exist, but it only grows if you let it. I would never force anything on you. Not ever."
God. My heart. My stupid traitorous heart.
"...You’re really bad at being terrifying when you talk like that," I muttered, pressing my forehead to his chest. "You’re making it really hard to rember why I ever ran from you in the first place."
"Because I was reckless," he admitted. "And I didn’t know how to love you without scaring you."
I looked up at him again. "You still don’t. You’re a ss."
He grinned. "But I’m your ss. Right?"
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.
Instead, I reached up and kissed him.
It wasn’t so fireworks, movie-ending kind of kiss. It was soft. Real. Gentle. Like maybe we were finally trying to understand each other instead of fight whatever it was that kept pulling us together.
His fingers tightened around . My heart fluttered like it was trying to rember how to fly.
When we pulled apart, breathless, he smiled against my forehead.
"I’m showing you sothing tomorrow," he whispered. "Sothing very cool."
"Cool like ’magic’ or cool like ’you’re about to ruin my concept of reality again’?"
"Both," he said, unapologetic.
I groaned dramatically, flopping against him. "You’re exhausting."
"I’m adorable."
"You’re delusional."
He laughed, his body shaking softly against mine.
We didn’t do anything else that night. No drama. No declarations. Just arms and warmth and comfort.
Tucked beneath the blanket, my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart like it was my favorite song—I felt sothing I hadn’t felt in weeks.
Safe.
Loved.
Ho.
As I drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the arms of a terrifyingly powerful boy who summoned chefs and wolves and made flowers bloom from his hands, I smiled.
Because maybe I didn’t understand the supernatural world.
Maybe I didn’t get what "mate" ant or why he looked at like I held the universe.
But I did know this.
I was happy.
And I felt stupid for ever letting soone like Eldur Daegon slip through my fingers in the first place.
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