Page 51 of Unbearable Attraction
"And if I refuse?"
"Then we file formal charges with the Council of Mages alleging that you've engaged in dangerous magical practices without proper oversight or safeguards." His voice remained perfectly calm, as if he was discussing the weather. "The investigation alone would be enough to damage your reputation and limit your future opportunities in supernatural communities."
"You'd destroy my career to protect your social standing?"
"We'd prevent you from destroying yourself before the magical community loses another promising necromancer to the kind of reckless experimentation that killed your grandmother."
"Grandmother didn't die from reckless experimentation. She died from a heart attack."
"She died from the cumulative effects of decades spent pushing her necromantic abilities beyond safe limits," Aunt Margaret corrected coldly. "Just like you're doing now with these dangerous binding rituals and supernatural partnerships."
"My partnership with Luka has nothing to do with what happened to Grandmother."
"Doesn't it? Magical bonds create dependencies, Leenah. They make practitioners willing to take risks they would never consider alone." Her father leaned forward, his expressionholding what might have been genuine concern. "We're trying to save you from repeating her mistakes."
"By isolating me from the first person who's ever understood my abilities? By forcing me to choose between my magical heritage and my personal happiness?"
"By helping you recognize that some choices aren't worth the cost they exact on everyone around you."
The room fell silent except for the ticking of the antique clock on the mantelpiece. Four pairs of eyes watched her with expressions ranging from disapproval to pity, waiting for her to capitulate to their demands or give them justification for filing their threatened charges.
The fading connection to Luka whispered his love and confidence across the miles, a reminder that she had value beyond what these people were willing to acknowledge. The realization that her family saw her gifts as burdens rather than blessings, her bond as weakness rather than strength, finally crystallized into clarity.
"I need time to think about this," she said quietly.
"Excuse me?" Her father's eyebrows rose in obvious surprise.
"You're asking me to make a decision that could affect the rest of my life. I won't be pressured into agreeing to something this significant without proper consideration." She straightened her shoulders, drawing on reserves of strength she'd forgotten she possessed. "I'll give you my answer tomorrow."
"Leenah, this isn't a negotiation—" Aunt Margaret began.
"Yes, it is," she interrupted firmly. "You want me to submit to evaluation and abandon my relationship. I want time to consider the full implications of both options. That seems reasonable."
Her father exchanged glances with Aunt Margaret, clearly thrown by her refusal to be immediately cowed by their threats. "Very well. You can stay in your old room tonight. But we expect a decision by morning."
"You'll have one."
As she climbed the stairs to the bedroom that had never felt like home, Leenah felt the weight of old expectations pressing down on her like a physical force. But underneath the familiar suffocation was something new—the growing certainty that whatever decision she made tomorrow, it would be hers to make.
33
LEENAH
Leenah's childhood bedroom felt like a museum exhibit dedicated to a person she no longer recognized. The pale pink walls, delicate lace curtains, and collection of porcelain dolls belonged to a girl who'd learned to make herself small and quiet to avoid her family's disapproval. Now, sitting on the narrow bed where she'd once cried herself to sleep after being scolded for talking to spirits, she felt the weight of old expectations.
A soft knock interrupted her brooding. Aunt Margaret entered without waiting for permission, carrying a tea tray and wearing the kind of false maternal expression that had never fooled Leenah even as a child.
"I thought you might need some chamomile to help you sleep," she said, setting the tray on the antique writing desk. "We have a great deal to discuss tomorrow."
"Do we? I thought you'd made your position quite clear."
"Our position is that we want what's best for you, dear. What's best for the family." Margaret settled into the delicate chair beside the desk, her posture radiating the kind of controlled patience that preceded unpleasant revelations."There are aspects of this situation we haven't yet shared with you."
Leenah's stomach clenched with dread. "What aspects?"
"Your recent activities have attracted attention from more than just local supernatural communities. The Blackthorne family has expressed significant interest in your abilities and your... availability."
"My availability?"
