Page 52 of Unbearable Attraction
"Edmund Blackthorne is considered one of the most eligible necromancers of his generation. Powerful, well-connected, from a family with considerable influence in supernatural political circles." Margaret's smile held no warmth. "He's specifically requested an introduction."
"And you told him I wasn't interested."
"Actually, we told him we'd be delighted to arrange a meeting." The false sweetness in her aunt's voice made Leenah's skin crawl. "The Blackthorne family controls significant supernatural territory throughout New England. An alliance with them would benefit everyone involved."
"An alliance." The word tasted bitter. "You mean a marriage contract."
"I mean a partnership that could provide you with the kind of protection and resources your current... choices... cannot offer." Margaret leaned forward, her expression growing serious. "The supernatural world is more dangerous than you realize, Leenah. Your recent successes have made you visible to people who view powerful necromancers as either assets to be acquired or threats to be eliminated."
"Are you threatening me?"
"I'm explaining reality. Edmund Blackthorne's interest offers you protection from families who might see your abilities as competition. Refusing such an advantageous offer couldbe interpreted as hostility toward established supernatural hierarchies."
The implied threat was clear enough to make Leenah's pulse quicken with anger. "So now my necromantic abilities are valuable enough to arrange marriages around? Interesting how your perspective on my gifts has changed now that they might benefit the family."
"Your abilities were always valuable. We simply wanted to ensure you were mature enough to use them responsibly before exposing you to the kind of attention they inevitably attract."
"You wanted to hide me until you could figure out how to profit from me."
Margaret's mask of maternal concern slipped slightly. "We wanted to protect you from making the kinds of mistakes that destroyed your grandmother's reputation and ultimately killed her."
"Grandmother died of a heart attack,” she repeated.
"Your grandmother died because she overextended herself trying to prove that necromancers could work independently without family support or political backing. She chose pride over pragmatism and paid the ultimate price."
The name Blackthorne nagged at Leenah's memory, familiar in a way that made her uncomfortable. Where had she heard it before?
"Tell me about Edmund," she said, stalling for time while her mind worked through the connection.
"Brilliant, accomplished, comes from one of the oldest necromantic bloodlines in America. His family has maintained their position through careful political alliances and strategic partnerships." Margaret's enthusiasm was palpable. "He's exactly the kind of match that could elevate your status from interesting novelty to respected power."
"And what does he want in return for this elevation?"
"Access to your abilities, of course. And the legitimacy that comes from bonding with someone whose recent successes have attracted so much attention in supernatural circles."
Suddenly, the memory hit her upside the head. Jeremiah Blackwood—no, Blackthorne. The warlock from her prophetic vision who'd led the supernatural families in breaking their pact with the indigenous spirits. Edmund was a descendant of the man whose greed had created the crisis she'd risked her life to resolve.
"You want me to ally myself with the Blackthorne family?" Her voice came out sharper than she'd intended.
"I want you to consider the benefits of aligning yourself with established power rather than chasing romantic fantasies with inappropriate partners." Margaret's patience was clearly wearing thin. "Edmund understands the responsibilities that come with significant necromantic abilities. He won't encourage you to take dangerous risks or compromise your judgment with emotional entanglements."
"Unlike Luka, you mean."
"Unlike anyone who lacks the background to understand the political implications of your choices." Margaret stood, her false maternal demeanor replaced by cold calculation. "The Blackthorne family has resources you can't imagine—protection, influence, access to magical knowledge that could enhance your abilities beyond anything you've achieved alone."
"And all it would cost me is my autonomy and my relationship with the man I love."
"It would cost you the illusion that love is more important than survival in the supernatural world." Margaret moved toward the door, her message delivered. "Think carefully, Leenah. Your decision doesn't just affect you—it affects everyone who depends on your continued ability to practice necromancy without interference from hostile political factions."
After her aunt left, Leenah sat in the suffocating quiet of her childhood room, her mind racing through the implications of what she'd learned. The Blackthorne family's interest wasn't romantic, it was acquisitive. They wanted to add her abilities to their collection of supernatural assets, to use her growing reputation to enhance their own political standing.
But the threat underlying their offer was real. Refusing could indeed put her at risk from families who saw powerful independent necromancers as threats to established hierarchies. And if those families decided to retaliate, they wouldn't just target her, they'd go after everyone she cared about. Luka, Hollow Oak, the communities who'd requested her help.
The irony was devastating. Her family, who'd spent years making her feel like her abilities were shameful secrets, now wanted to use those same gifts to buy their way into supernatural high society. They'd hidden her away when her necromancy was inconvenient, but now that it could benefit them, suddenly she was valuable enough to arrange political marriages around.
She pulled out her phone, desperate to hear Luka's voice, to feel some connection to the life she'd built in Hollow Oak. But the call went straight to voicemail, the distance between Salem and the mountains apparently affecting more than just their spiritual bond.
"I miss you," she whispered to the empty room, her voice barely audible over the antique clock's relentless ticking. "I miss feeling like my choices mattered, like my happiness was worth protecting."
