Page 35 of Bullied Wolf Mate

He made a face. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m thrilled about it,” he admitted. “But I get the feeling the only way I’m going to get you to stop is if I lock you up again.” He gave a half-smirk. “And we both know how well that worked last time.”

I tried to keep my expression neutral, but I knew I wasn’t doing the best job. Affection and surprise bubbled up inside me. For the first time since he’d come back into my life, I actually believed there was a chance Mark had changed from the kid I’d known growing up.

I leaned forward, letting my lips brush against his. “Thank you,” I said.

***

I bent over the spell book, running my fingers along the page, mouthing the words and trying to quell the budding frustration. I’d never had the temperament for studying spells and reading magic books, and this one was particularly dense. It took me hours to try teaching myself the spells in books at mycottage, and I could barely get anything out of them. It was like trying to learn to read as an adult.

A dull throbbing started at my temple as I forced myself to slog through the text until I realized I hadn’t retained any of it. I groaned, my eyes beginning to ache from strain.

It didn’t help that Declan continued watching me, arms folded as he leaned against the wall. He’d been nice enough not to push me, but I couldn’t help but feel him staring at me, expecting a breakthrough at any minute.

Yet again, I felt that frustration at never getting the proper training. Since I had started working with Declan, I’d gotten into the habit of practicing spells, both for my own education and because I figured it would help once we figured out how to open The Trove. But it had been slow-going so far.

“This is pointless,” I muttered, taking a step back and rubbing my eyes.

“Keep trying,” Declan urged. I knew he was trying to be encouraging, but something about the statement rubbed me the wrong way.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” I grumbled, running my fingers through my hair. “But I’m not good, and I’m even worse without a wand.”

“You’ve gotten better,” Declan said.

I snorted, shaking my head. “You wouldn’t say that if you had a real witch.”

“You are a real witch,” he insisted.

I made a dismissive motion with my hand. “Agree to disagree, but there’s something that’s been bothering me. What is it about whatever spell is on The Trove that makes it so my family—my bloodline—is the only one who can open it? Itdoesn’t make sense.” My brow furrowed as I bent back over the book, flipping the page. “You would think that by now, some other witch would have found and opened The Trove, regardless of how much of a family secret it is. Which makes me wonder if looking through these books is useless. Maybe it’s something only my family…”

I froze, trailing off mid-sentence as a symbol in the book caught my eye. Something about it screamed familiarity. It was a circle with several interlocking triangles in the middle and inscriptions around the edge.

“I’ve seen this before,” I murmured.

Declan straightened, noting something in my voice that caused him to perk up. “What? Where?”

“I don’t…” My mouth fell open in surprise. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to call up an old memory of a family hike through the woods. I remembered coming to an old clearing with a large rock situated perfectly in the middle of it. My parents had slowed, checking something as they chatted to themselves. Bored, I had gone over to the rock and started clambering up. I remembered tracing the intricate grooves I had noticed with my fingers, humming to myself.

A minute later, my father called me over to him. I scrambled off the rock and hurried over.

“You need to be careful around that rock,” my father told me.

“It’s just a rock,” I argued.

He shook his head. “It’s a very important rock,” he said. “I’ll explain when you’re older. But for now, best to leave it alone until you fully understand it. Come on. I’ll show you where you can find some blood root.”

Then he had taken me by the hand and led me away from the clearing.

The memory faded, returning me back to the house and the problem at hand. I could feel Declan staring intently at me, waiting for me to say something.

“That’s where it is,” I said, my breath catching in my throat. I could have kicked myself. How many times had I hiked by that stone over the years? After that conversation with my father, I had gotten into the habit of steering clear of the rock, eventually letting the memory fade entirely.

Well, almost entirely.

“You remember where it is?” Declan asked, every inch of him now alert.

I didn’t answer him immediately. Instead, I studied the symbol, making sure it was the one I remembered on the stone. It was, right down to the positioning of the engravings around the border.

My eyes sped across the page as I read the notations beneath it. The more I read, the more everything made sense.

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