Henry got to his feet as soon as they stepped through the door. He stood next to Deirdre’s silent, complacent figure as she sat in a comfortable chair near the window, watching the garden and the side yard as birds and butterflies floated through the warm afternoon air. 

Iskander looked around at everything but her, his mouth slightly ajar as he studied the walls and furniture and hardwood floors. The djinn wandered into the room, not touching anything, as he took in every detail. Evershaw hung back, wondering what the guy saw. He hadn’t realized that the djinn had spent his entire life basically enslaved by various people, being forced to grant wishes and serve the whims of whoever managed to trap him. What a fucked-up way to live. Not even to live— to survive. How could someone live like that? 

The djinn finally collected himself and turned his attention to Deirdre. Henry tensed, like he would spring at the djinn if Iskander did anything, but the guy just studied her. He eased to sit on his heels in front of Deirdre, peering at her face as she looked blankly out the window. Then Iskander glanced back at Evershaw, a frown drawn between his eyebrows, before studying the empty section of floor that connected them. 

Then he did the same with Smith. Iskander straightened and went on wandering around, following a trail, before ending up in front of Evershaw once more. “She was connected to you strongly, and to you,” nodding at Smith, “less so. It is both bonds that should be resurrected?” 

“No,” Evershaw said. “Just me.” 

Iskander waited for Smith’s agreement before his attention drifted back to Deirdre. “And—you are certain she also wants this connection? This is something she would ask for, if she were able?” 

Evershaw wanted to answer immediately, to shout that of course Deirdre wanted to be his mate and connected to him forever. Obviously she’d want to be with him. 

But in the back of his head was the remaining hint of doubt, the wiggle of uncertainty. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she wouldn’t have chosen to be his mate, but had been going along with it because there weren’t any other options. Without the mate bond in place, there wasn’t much to keep them together—except for his undying, unwavering certainty that his universe wasn’t complete without her. Could she feel the same for him? Did she? 

His throat tied itself into a knot and he couldn’t breathe. “I don’t…don’t know. I believe so, but I cannot say with total certainty.”

“No,” Mercy whispered. She jumped forward and grabbed his wrist, wrenching on his arm to try and turn him back toward Deirdre. “Of course she loves you and wants to be with you. She did! She did, damn it. Don’t be stubborn and stupid and awful. She’s your mate. That’s it. She’s your mate.” 

Henry tugged her away and hugged her, keeping Mercy restrained within the circle of his arms, and the younger wolf had a mournful look on his face. He knew the doubts that Evershaw wrestled. 

Smith folded his arms over his chest. “It would be best if we could ask Deirdre, of course. But since we cannot... We thought the bond would be a way to bring her soul back to her.” 

Iskander made a thoughtful noise, studying Deirdre, and didn’t look down as Cricket wound his way through the furniture and their legs to bump his head against the djinn’s ankle. Evershaw gritted his teeth against irritation that the fucking cat would suddenly make friends with a goddamn stranger the first day the guy showed up and still hissed at Evershaw whenever the fuck he wanted. Typical. 

Although Deirdre would point out that Evershaw still pushed Cricket off the bed when he didn’t want to share the fluffy pillows. Or her. 

The djinn squinted at her once more. “Perhaps there is a way to show her back that does not require the bond. Then you can ask, and if she is amenable, then we can rebuild it. Perhaps. I cannot make a guarantee. Inshallah, as we say.” 

“Right. Inshlah.” Evershaw would have said anything if it meant the chance to see her again. He crossed his fingers and toes, wanting to bounce and squirm like a restless little kid, and held his breath too. 

Henry moved uneasily, his wolf wary of the stranger and his unfamiliar magic, but Mercy drew him back. Smith waited calmly, unmoving and ancient, at the edge of the living room. Evershaw focused everything he had on Deirdre. He didn’t give a shit what Iskander did. If the djinn pulled some fast moves or meant to cause her harm, Henry and Mercy would know. Evershaw would save his mate. She was all that mattered. 

Iskander murmured under his breath and the air grew heavy and dense around them, more like a faint blue-green mist. It didn’t feel as threatening as Smith’s magic, but it definitely felt as old. His wolf side bristled but didn’t want to attack the djinn like he had with Smith, though the back of his neck prickled in anticipation. 

But as Evershaw was starting to learn, most big magic didn’t look like much. Just like Deirdre worked her way into his home and into his heart, the blue-green djinn magic worked through the air and into her and then out again, in an intricate dance that was more beautiful than almost anything Evershaw had ever seen. Almost more beautiful than Deirdre. 

But only almost. 

The djinn exhaled and the blue magic dissipated into nothingness, though Mercy sneezed and Evershaw felt some of the dust or mist settle on his skin. It anchored him and sat around his soul in a not-unpleasant way. 

He could see how the djinn would be his own kind of calming presence. Evershaw hoped—he actually hoped—the dude decided to stay for a while. 

But he only had eyes for Deirdre. She remained passive in the chair, and though it might have been his own wishful thinking, he thought she seemed relaxed. More at ease. 

Iskander straightened and exhaled, rotating his shoulders, and went back to studying the contents of the living room. “There.” 

“There?” Mercy crept forward a few steps, eyeing Deirdre like she was a hungry Cricket and Mercy held the chicken, then glanced at the djinn. “But she’s…the same?” 

“Is she?” Iskander frowned as he studied the witch, though he wandered over to a bookshelf and studied the titles contained therein. “Are you sure?” 

“Ye—” Mercy started, though she cut off and looked at Deirdre again. Then she faced Iskander. “—es. Yes.” 

The djinn smiled faintly and seemed to settle into the bones of the house, like he’d always belonged. “Perhaps you should look deeper.” 

Everyone else faced Deirdre. Evershaw’s patience started to wear thin with the Zen master djinn. “You could be a little more specific.” 

Iskander pressed his palms together at his chest and his eyes shaded closer to green than brown. “When she is ready, she will return. But now there is a path that she can take that will lead her here, to herself and to you. If you are worthy and she is willing, she will return.” 

Evershaw stared at him. If he was worthy and she was willing. Cricket chirped and paced across the worn but expensive-looking rug to press his paws against Deirdre’s knees, then heaved himself into her lap so he could head-butt her hands and purr loud enough to rattle Evershaw’s teeth in his head. 

He wasn’t about to put up with that bullshit. He didn’t take his eyes off Deirdre. “Mercy, Henry, why don’t you go in the kitchen and see about dinner?” 

They didn’t hesitate to move Smith and Iskander from the living room into the kitchen, talking loudly about the possible dishes that could be prepared, and the djinn began to ask questions about all the modern appliances. Evershaw had a spare second to pity the man, being so out of his depth in a modern world and completely free for maybe the first time in his existence, but then all his attention went to Deirdre. 

He pushed Cricket to the floor, ignoring the cat’s disgruntled mrow-ow-RAWR, and carefully helped Deirdre stand so he could walk her to the loveseat in the front window. The late afternoon sun slanted through the glass and highlighted a few motes of dust, or maybe they were whatever sprinkles lingered from Iskander’s magic. He made sure she looked comfortable against the cushions before he sat next to her. Evershaw brushed her hair back over her shoulder, studying the curve of her jaw and the delicate structures of her ear. She was more beautiful than he’d ever imagined. In all of his days, he couldn’t have imagined a better match for him. 

He took a shaky breath and bent his head to rest his forehead against hers. “Deirdre. You are…the heart of my heart. I don’t have words for how much joy you bring to my life, even with your terrible attitude and unwillingness to just let people help you. I love you. I love you more than I thought I could love anything—other than myself.” 

He wrapped his fingers through hers and lifted her hand to kiss, inhaling from her skin. “And you don’t seem to mind my jokes. Or telling me when I’m being stupid. I need you, Deirdre. I don’t know where you’ve been or what kept you there or how hard it is for you to come back, but please. Please. I need you to come back.” 

Evershaw held her tight to his side and closed his eyes. He didn’t think his crossed fingers had worked. He didn’t think the djinn’s magic, whatever it was, had worked. He exhaled and felt the burn of grief in his sinuses once more. His lips barely disturbed her hair as he murmured, “I need you, Deirdre. I need you so much I can’t breathe without you. You are the heart of my heart. My everything.” 

He focused on breathing; even the raspy motor of Cricket’s purr didn’t bother him as the cat settled on their shared laps and made himself comfortable. 

“Well,” a rusty voice said, and Evershaw froze. He didn’t dare move or blink or think. Deirdre’s head rested slowly on his shoulder, and she exhaled a breath that sounded like she’d been holding for weeks. “Isn’t that a lot of mooshy-gooshy love bullshit for Mr. big alpha bossypants.” 

Evershaw squeezed his eyes shut and squeezed her so tight she squeaked, and only barely eased his grip. “You are in so much trouble for making me suffer like this.” 

“It hasn’t exactly been a picnic for me,” she muttered. But where her cheek rested against his skin, warm moisture from her tears revealed she felt more than she revealed. 

Evershaw turned his head enough to kiss her forehead and her cheek, sliding his fingers into her hair to hold her closer. “I will spend every day of my life making it up to you, witch. With everything I have and everything I am.” 

She sighed and nuzzled closer to him, her arm linking slowly around his neck, and Evershaw’s throat burned. “I love you, witch.” 

Deirdre exhaled a shaky breath, pressing her face against his throat, and held so tightly to him he didn’t think they’d ever be pulled apart—which was fine by him. Her voice came out small but still strong, even though it cracked and pitched high with emotion. “I love you, too, even though you’re too bossy.” 

“I’ll work on that.” 

“And even though you don’t do any chores yourself.” 

“I’ll work on that, too.” He started to smile; he couldn’t help it. 

“And you should be nicer to my cat.” 

Evershaw shoved Cricket off his lap as he started laughing, wrapping both arms around her as Deirdre protested, and rolled them both to the floor so he could actually feel all of her pressed against all of him. The cat hissed and swatted his head, but Evershaw didn’t give a damn. Deirdre was back.