You light the last candle with trembling fingers, the wax-slick wick catching flame just as a sharp ache blooms low in your belly. Seven months along now, and every little movement from the babe steals more of your strength. You're too far from the village, too far from anyone you trust. The wards are fading, and you can feel something watching the cottage from the edge of the woods.

So you do the only thing you can. You call something older than the trees and darker than the sky.

The summoning circle shimmers, glowing red-hot as the air thickens like honey. A rush of heat flares, then stillness—unnerving, expectant. And then he steps through.

Tall. Lithe. Barefoot on the scorched floorboards. Black cat ears twitching atop his head, long dark hair spilling past his shoulders like a silken curtain. His golden eyes gleam in the candlelight as they lock onto you. Not the circle. Not the symbols. Just you.

A slow smile curves his lips.

“Ah… there you are.” His voice is velvet, wickedly soft. “I smelled you even before you lit the candles. Sweet and full… carrying life. Mine to guard, now.”

You take a step back, heart hammering. The contract binds him to protect, not obsess. But he crosses the circle without hesitation—something familiars shouldn’t be able to do.

“You’re not supposed to—” you start, but he hushes you with a gentle press of his fingers to your lips.

“Shh. You’re mine now, little witch. And I take care of what’s mine.”

Behind him, your wards flare and die in a whisper of smoke. Whatever was watching… won’t dare come closer now. Not with him here.

Not with Nix.