Page 29 of Unbearable Attraction
By the time Luka reached Leenah's cottage that evening, his bear was practically clawing at his ribs with agitation. Three days of careful avoidance, of missed coffee dates and conversations that ended the moment he entered a room, had finally pushed his protective instincts past the breaking point.
But it wasn't just her withdrawal that had him prowling her garden path like a territorial predator. It was the scent.
Magic hung thick around her cottage, but not the gentle residual energy that usually followed her necromantic work. This was sharper, more volatile, carrying undertones that made his shifter senses recoil with instinctive warnings. Whatever she was planning required components that had no business being anywhere near someone with her limited experience in advanced magical workings.
He knocked on her front door with more force than strictly necessary, his patience finally exhausted.
"Leenah," he called when no immediate answer came. "We need to talk."
The door opened after a long moment, revealing her in an oversized sweater and jeans, her dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked tired, stressed, and distinctly guilty about something.
"Now's not a good time," she said, stepping into the doorway to block his view of the interior. "I'm in the middle of research."
"What kind of research requires blessed salt and silver dust?" he asked bluntly, watching her expression shift from defensive to alarmed. "Because that's what I'm smelling, along with about six other magical components that could level half the town if they're not handled properly."
Her jaw tightened with stubborn determination. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie to me." The words came out gruff, his bear's agitation bleeding through his human composure. "I may not be a practitioner myself, but I've lived around magic long enough to recognize the scent of a dangerous working."
"It's not dangerous if you know what you're doing."
"And do you? Know what you're doing?" He stepped closer, close enough to see the faint shadows under her eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and obsessive research. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're planning something reckless and stupid without bothering to ask for help."
"I don't need help," she snapped, her blue eyes flashing with defensive anger. "I've been handling supernatural complications alone for years. I don't need you or anyone else telling me how to do my job."
"This isn't your job, it's your life." The distinction felt crucial, though he could see from her expression that she didn't appreciate the difference. "And if you're planning what I think you're planning, you're about to risk it for answers you might be able to get another way."
"There is no other way." Her tone held exhausted certainty that suggested she'd already explored every alternative. "The Council gave us one week, remember? I don't have time to waste on safer options."
"So you're just going to throw yourself into some experimental ritual without even telling me what you're attempting?" The accusation came out loaded with hurt he hadn't meant to reveal. "After everything we've been through together, you still don't trust me enough to share your plans?"
Something flickered in her expression, vulnerable and quickly hidden. "This isn't about trust."
"Then what is it about?"
"It's about not wanting to argue with someone who thinks he gets a vote in my decisions." Her chin lifted with defiant pride. "I've had enough people in my life try to control my choices, Luka. I won't accept it from you too."
The comparison to whatever family members had hurt her in the past hit him like a slap. "I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to keep you safe."
"Same thing, different packaging." Her laugh held no humor. "At least you're honest about the motivation."
"How is caring about your wellbeing the same as trying to control you?"
"Because caring gives you the excuse to override my judgment whenever you decide I'm making the wrong choice." She stepped back into her cottage, but left the door open in clear invitation to continue the argument inside. "Because it means my autonomy only matters when I'm doing things you approve of."
Luka followed her into the living room, his temper fraying as her accusations struck closer to uncomfortable truths than he wanted to admit. "I've never tried to override your judgment."
"Haven't you?" She turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest in a defensive posture. "What do you call showing up here to confront me about my research? What do you call demanding to know my plans when I've made it clear I want to handle this alone?"
"I call it giving a damn about what happens to you,” he said loudly, frustration finally overwhelming his usual restraint. "I call it not wanting to watch the woman I care about destroy herself because she's too proud to accept help."
"The woman you care about?" Her voice dropped to dangerous quiet. "Is that what this is? You've decided you care about me, so now you get to have opinions about my life?"
The dismissive tone, the way she made his feelings sound like an inconvenience rather than something precious, finally snapped the last of his control. "Yeah, I care about you. More than I should, probably more than you want me to. But that doesn't give you the right to shut me out when you're planning something that could get you killed."
"And it doesn't give you the right to demand I change my plans to make you feel better." She moved closer, anger radiating from her small frame like heat from a forge. "I didn't ask you to care about me, Luka. I didn't ask you to appoint yourself my protector."
"Maybe not, but here we are." He stepped closer too, close enough to see the pulse beating rapidly at the base of her throat. "You can push me away all you want, but it won't change the fact that what happens to you matters to me."
