Wife Watches On Houseboat

The moon hung low and swollen over the black glass of the lake, painting a silver road across the water that led straight to the enchanted houseboat. Lanterns of soft blue witchlight swayed along the railings, their glow catching on the gilt trim and the runes carved into the wood. Inside the open aft deck, Colette stretched barefoot on a low cushioned bench, a silk robe clinging to her damp skin. Darius stood at the railing in nothing but swim shorts, a glass of chilled wine in his hand, watching the night as if it might answer him.

The amulet had been a joke at first—something they’d pulled from a waterlogged trunk in the boat’s storage, its surface etched with curling script neither of them could read. Colette had laughed when she slipped the chain over her neck. Then the lake had shivered. Then he had risen.

Thalor broke the surface ten feet from the stern, water sheet­ing off silver skin that looked poured from living mercury. He was tall enough that the lake only came to mid-thigh when he stood, broad through the shoulders, long wet hair the color of storm clouds clinging to a face that was almost human and not quite. University—years ago, a shared class on old water magic—felt like a story someone else had lived. Tonight he was simply here, dripping, smiling with open hunger.

“Colette,” he said, voice like deep current. “And the man you bound yourself to.” His pale gaze slid over Darius without shame. “You kept him well.”