The endearment slipped out naturally, effortlessly, as if it had always been there, waiting for its moment.
Nia stared at him for half a second, panic flickering over her face, before she nodded and pressed her hands into the spilled salt, whispering the words of a spell. A translucent dome formed around them, vibrating faintly, the salt glowing softly as her magic went to work.
Vines and pollen struck their wards, but they held. The once-chaotic ballroom was eerily empty now—no longer did the Lunaflor have supernaturals to toy with. They had all fled, leaving Lochlan and Nia alone amid the creeping vines and shimmering flowers.
Lochlan grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around his face to protect himself from what the moss would become. He lifted the withered clump into the moonlight, his lips moving in steady, whispered repetition:
“Mother, bless this moss with your light,
Let it guide those needing restful sleep at night.”
He said it three more times, pouring his magic into the spell, grounding himself in the words. Slowly, the moss began to change. Its veiny green leaves brightened, their color bleeding away as they turned a spectacular silver, shimmering like the moon itself.
“Cover me,” Lochlan said, eyeing the Lunaflor.
“What?!” Nia whipped her head toward him.
But he didn’t have time to explain. Lochlan stepped out of the protective circle and sprinted toward the massive bloom at the heart of the chaos.
“Lochlan!” Nia shouted, panicked. But he didn’t look back.
The vines reacted instantly. They lashed out, snapping toward him like living whips. He ducked the first, vaulted over another, and barely managed to twist out of the way as a third coil slammed into the stage where he’d just been. Pollen exploded around him in a glittering burst, coating his skin, making his eyes water. His vision blurred as vines closed in. One caught his ankle and yanked. Lochlan hit the ground hard, slamming the breath from his chest. Before the others could take advantage of his stumble, shadows lashed through the air. Nia’s power surged, wild and unrelenting as she carved through the attacking vines, clearing his path.
Still, more vines kept coming.
Nia’s voice rang out over the chaos. “Move, Loch!”
Pushing himself up, he staggered forward, forcing his burning lungs to keep pace. The stage was a battlefield of twisting greenery and ruptured wood, forcing him to weave around broken beams and thick, grasping vines. It wasn’t far, but the Lunaflor had claimed the stage entirely, its roots anchoring deep, its enormous petals shifting like the flower was breathing.
At last, he reached the base of the monstrous bloom, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat and pollen. He shoved a hand into his pocket, fingers closing around the moon moss. It was warm now, pulsing with energy. He rubbed it between his palms, grinding it into a fine dust. He tossed it upward, letting the powder scatter across the Lunaflor. The moss shimmered faintly as it fell, settling into the vines and blooms.
The air shifted.
The plant seemed to hesitate, its movements slowing, its energy dimming. The vines ceased their writhing, and the pollen’s shimmer faded to dull specks. A peaceful stillness crept over the ballroom and stage, blanketing the room as the Lunaflor calmed, then slumbered.
Lochlan stood there for a moment, removing the cloth from his face and catching his breath. He turned slowly, taking in the transformed space. Vines still clung to the walls and ceiling, draped over tables and chairs, but their movements were gentle and almost imperceptible now. The flowers blooming among them were breathtaking—silver and pink, their petals glowing softly in the moonlight.
Lochlan looked back, searching for Nia. Her expression was grim as she took in the vines draped across the room and the pollen still lingering in the air. She turned and her gaze met his. A flicker of anger crossed her face.
“Nia?”
The ballroom doors slammed open and Wulfric strode in, his guards trailing behind him, struggling to keep pace. His steps were hurried, almost frantic, as his eyes scanned the room before locking on Nia.
Lochlan recognized the tightness in Wulfric’s jaw, the fear in his gaze as it darted over the remains of the chaos. Concern etched faint lines into his otherwise polished expression.
But Nia didn’t seem to see these same things.
Before Wulfric could even utter a word, she stepped forward. “Next time, you will ask my permission.” Her tone was cold and furious. “Don’t ever again try to force me to perform magic.”
Her words echoed through the empty space as she stormed out of the ballroom.
Lochlan hesitated only a moment before following her, his boots crunching softly over fallen petals and debris. He didn’t speak as he trailed her through the corridors, past fleeing guests, and all the way to his truck waiting outside.
“Nia, wait,” Lochlan called as he hurried to catch up.
She stopped abruptly by the driver’s side door, spinning to face him. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair wild, and her eyes roved over him, scanning him from head to toe.
“Don’t scare me like that,” she snapped.
