Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~9 min read
The Moonridge Harvest Festival was Hazel’s favorite town event.
She’d been coming since she was a kid—back when her adoptive parents were alive, when she thought she was normal, when the biggest magic she believed in was the way caramel apples tasted like happiness.
This year felt different.
“You don’t have to come,” Hazel said for the third time as they walked down Main Street. “I’ll be surrounded by people the whole time. It’s completely safe.”
“Mara is still out there,” Orion replied, scanning the crowd with predatory awareness. “And now that you’ve defeated her creatures, she’ll be angry. Desperate. That makes her more dangerous, not less.”
“So you’re going to shadow me through the entire festival?”
“Yes.”
“Orion—”
“Non-negotiable.” He glanced down at her. “Besides, I’ve never been to a harvest festival. In three hundred years, I’ve somehow missed this particular human tradition.”
Hazel blinked. “Seriously?”
“I’m usually protecting witches in crisis. Not exactly festival circumstances.”
“Then you’re in for a treat.” She linked her arm through his before she could think better of it. “Come on. I’ll show you everything.”
The town square had been transformed. Booths selling pumpkins and handmade crafts lined the streets. The smell of kettle corn and cider hung in the air. Children ran past with faces painted like cats and witches—the irony wasn’t lost on Hazel—while a live band played folk music on the gazebo stage.
It felt like home. Like safety.
Except for the very large, very tense familiar scanning for threats every three seconds.
“Can you relax?” Hazel asked. “Just for an hour? Enjoy the festival?”
“I am relaxed.”
“Your jaw is clenched so hard I’m worried about your teeth.”
He made a visible effort to soften his expression. “Better?”
“Marginally.” She tugged him toward the first booth. “Here. Mrs. Harrison’s caramel apples. Best in three counties. You have to try one.”
Mrs. Harrison lit up when she saw them. “Hazel! And Orion! I was hoping you’d both come.” She winked. “After the other day, you two have become quite the local celebrities.”
“We’re really not—” Hazel started.
“Nonsense. You saved the town from dark magic. That deserves free caramel apples.” Mrs. Harrison handed them each one. “On the house.”
“That’s not necessary,” Orion said.
“Consider it a thank-you for keeping my shop from getting destroyed by evil witches.” Mrs. Harrison smiled. “Though I have to say, Orion, you clean up nice when you’re not fighting monsters.”
He did clean up nice. Hazel had noticed. He’d traded his usual tactical black clothing for jeans and a dark grey henley that matched his eyes. He looked almost normal. Almost human.
Except for the way he moved. The constant awareness. The leashed danger in every gesture.
“Thank you,” Orion said politely, accepting the apple.
They moved through the festival together, Hazel pointing out her favorite booths and traditions. Orion tried kettle corn and declared it “unnecessarily sweet.” Tried cider and admitted it was “acceptable.” Watched children bob for apples with the confused expression of someone witnessing an alien ritual.
“Why would you put your face in water to catch fruit?” he asked. “That seems inefficient.”
“Because it’s fun.”
“I don’t understand modern humans.”
“You weren’t human three hundred years ago?”
“Yes, but we had dignity.”
Hazel laughed, pulling him toward the pumpkin carving contest. This was nice. Almost like a normal date. Almost like they were just two people enjoying a festival together, not a witch and her immortal protector navigating forbidden attraction.
“Hazel!” A familiar voice called. She turned to see Jake Morrison approaching—a local contractor she’d known since high school. Tall, blond, easy smile. He’d asked her out a few times over the years. She’d always said no.
“Jake, hi.” She accepted his friendly hug. “How are you?”
“Great. Better now that I’ve found you.” His smile widened. “I was hoping you’d be here. Want to check out the hayride later? They’ve turned it into a haunted trail this year.”
Beside her, Orion went very still.
“Oh, um—” Hazel started.
“She’s busy,” Orion said. His voice was pleasant. Perfectly polite. But Hazel could feel the sudden spike of tension through the bond.
Jake looked at Orion with interest. “You must be the new security consultant everyone’s talking about. Orion, right?”
“Correct.”
“Jake Morrison. I do most of the construction around town.” Jake extended his hand.
Orion shook it. Hazel watched his eyes narrow slightly. Was he—was he squeezing too hard?
Jake winced and pulled back. “Strong grip.”
“Occupational habit.”
“So, Hazel,” Jake tried again, undeterred. “The hayride? It’s supposed to be really scary this year. I thought you might want company—”
“She has company,” Orion interrupted smoothly. “I’m escorting her today.”
“Escorting her? Like, professionally?” Jake laughed. “Come on, man. Even bodyguards get breaks, right? I’m sure Hazel’s safe at her own town’s festival.”
The bond flared hot. Orion’s jealousy hit Hazel like a wave—territorial, possessive, barely controlled.
“Actually,” Hazel said quickly, before Orion could respond, “I’m not really interested in the hayride this year. But thanks for asking, Jake.”
Jake’s smile faltered. “Oh. Okay. Maybe another time?”
“Maybe.”
He left looking disappointed. The moment he was gone, Hazel rounded on Orion.
“What was that?”
“What was what?” He’d gone back to scanning the crowd, but his jaw was tight again.
“You were rude to him.”
“I was perfectly polite.”
“You nearly broke his hand!”
“I shook his hand with normal pressure.”
“Orion.” She stepped in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “What’s wrong?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then: “He was flirting with you.”
“So?”
“So you’re under my protection. I’m responsible for your safety. I can’t assess his threat level if he’s distracting you.”
“Jake Morrison isn’t a threat. He’s a contractor who’s had a crush on me since eleventh grade.”
“He wants to take you on a dark hayride trail where you’d be isolated and vulnerable.”
“It’s a Halloween attraction!”
“It’s a tactical nightmare.”
Hazel stared at him. Then understanding clicked. “Oh my god. You’re jealous.”
“I’m cautious.”
“You’re jealous,” she repeated, something warm and dangerous blooming in her chest. “You got territorial because another man asked me out.”
“That’s not—” He stopped. Looked away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Orion—”
“You should go on the hayride,” he said abruptly. “If you want to. If Jake makes you happy. I’ll shadow you from a distance for safety, but you should—you should live your life.”
The words sounded like they were tearing out of him.
Hazel felt her heart crack. Because she could feel the truth through the bond: he thought he had no right to be jealous. Thought he was just her protector. Thought she’d choose someone like Jake—normal, available, human—over him.
“I don’t want to go on the hayride with Jake,” she said quietly.
“You should—”
“I don’t want Jake.” She stepped closer, looking up into his stormy grey eyes. “I haven’t wanted Jake since eleventh grade, and I definitely don’t want him now.”
Orion’s hands clenched at his sides. “Hazel, don’t—”
“Don’t what? Don’t tell you the truth? Don’t say that the only person I want to go anywhere with is you?”
“You can’t say things like that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Because it’s—” He looked around at the crowded festival, then caught her hand. “Come with me.”
He pulled her away from the booths, away from the crowd, down a side street to the small park behind the library. Private. Quiet. Just them and the autumn leaves and the fading daylight.
“This can’t happen,” Orion said, turning to face her. “Whatever you think you feel—”
“I know exactly what I feel.”
“You’re confused. The bond makes emotions intense. Once the danger passes, once Mara is defeated and you’re safe, these feelings will fade—”
“Will yours?” she challenged.
He froze.
“Will your feelings fade when the danger passes?” she pressed. “Will you stop looking at me like—like I’m something precious? Stop getting jealous when other men talk to me? Stop wanting to touch me every time we’re alone?”
“Hazel—”
“Answer me.”
“No,” he said hoarsely. “No, they won’t fade. That’s the problem.”
Her breath caught. “What?”
“I’ve been a familiar for three hundred years. Protected twelve witches. Never once got attached. Never once felt anything beyond professional duty.” His eyes burned into hers. “Then you happened. And every rule I’ve followed, every wall I’ve built—you shattered it just by being you.”
“Then why—”
“Because I’m your protector!” The words burst out of him. “My job is to keep you safe. To train you. To make sure you survive what’s coming. And I can’t do that if I’m compromised. If I’m thinking about how your hair smells like lavender or how your laugh sounds like music or how much I want to—” He stopped himself. “This is exactly why familiars have rules.”
“What rules?” Hazel asked, her heart pounding.
Orion went very still.
“What rules, Orion?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It clearly does.” She moved closer. “Tell me. What are the rules about familiars and their witches?”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then, quietly: “We should get back to the festival.”
“Orion—”
“Please, Hazel. Don’t push this.”
The vulnerability in his voice stopped her. She wanted to push. Wanted to demand answers. But the pain in his eyes, the fear—she couldn’t.
“Okay,” she whispered. “We’ll go back.”
They walked back to the festival in silence. But Hazel couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said.
*That’s the problem.*
*I can’t do that if I’m compromised.*
*This is exactly why familiars have rules.*
What rules?
And why did she have the horrible feeling that whatever they were, they were the real reason Orion kept pushing her away?
Reader Reactions