Page 36 of Love the Way You Lion
He’s beside me again, his big, calloused hand closing over mine. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.” I lie with a smile that I hope sells it.
His eyes search mine. He doesn’t believe me. Of course he doesn’t. But he lets it slide for now. We both know the dance.
“I’ve got you,” he says, and it’s a promise. “No matter what we’re walking into.”
I nod, swallowing hard. I don’t know what we’re walking into. I don’t even realize I’m this tense until my chest starts to burn. It’s Rafe. The psychic echo settling behind my eyes is unmistakable.
His mind doesn’t touch mine gently. It barrels in—wild, raw, splintered at the edges. Not like him at all. Rafe is meticulous with his magic, usually reserved to the point of annoyance. He doesn’t call unless it’s urgent.
And this? This isn’t just urgent. It’s desperate.
“It’s Rafe,” I whisper. “He’s in trouble.”
My husband freezes mid-motion, his hand still hovering near the bottle of scotch. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I say, grabbing the charm-laced ring from my bedside and twisting it onto my finger. The metal warms immediately against my skin, responding to the rising tide of my magic. “He’s calling me—psychically. Not subtle. He’s practically screaming inside my skull.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But he’s not shielding, and he’s not alone. It’s... scattered. Something’s wrong.”
His lips flatten into a grim line. He’s already crossing the room, heading for the wardrobe where we keep our gear. Not because we expect a fight—but because when Rafe’s voice is ragged in my head like this, something usually follows.
I close my eyes and focus. Try to push past the static and agony to get a clearer lock on him. My fingers twitch against the familiar coolness of the ring, trying to ground myself in the present as I listen to the pull in my bones.
“Sunlight,” I murmur. “Glass. Paint. He’s at my house. In the sunroom. Rafe’s studio.”
“Why would he be at your place and not his?” my husband asks, already tugging on his jacket.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I just know we need to be therenow.”
He doesn’t question it again. Just moves to me, one arm sliding firmly around my waist, the other hand closing around mine.
I take a breath and reach for the tether between worlds. It’s second nature now—like slipping your fingers into a familiar glove. The sensation rises in my gut first, a crackling tug of static and magic, then lifts behind my sternum like wind catching a sail.
And then, with a whoosh of displaced air and a shimmer that bends the edges of reality, we disappear.
The Artist Uses The Cat-Signal
RAFE
Holy hell in a handbasket, she’s sodding out.
Her body is limp in my arms like a marionette whose strings have been sharply clipped. The room is deathly silent, every shadow inching closer as if waiting to swallow us both. I can feel the slick of sweat and congealed blood on her uniform sleeve, warm and sticky against my skin. My heartbeat slams against my ribs like a war drum; my lungs scream for air while I carry her across the creaking floorboards. Every step echoes, a reminder that time is slipping away.
Thank Christ I hauled that bed inside yesterday—otherwise I’d be on my knees on this scratched hardwood, praying she doesn’t slip through my fingers. I clear a path through the clutter of suitcases, discarded magazines, and half-empty takeout boxes. My eyes flick to the window where moonlight struggles through dusty glass, streaking the room with pale blue beams that land on her flushed cheek. Just another reminder of how quickly things can turn icy-cold when the blood stops moving.
I lower her gently onto the rumpled sheets, gingerly tucking a stray lock of her blond curls away from her face. The mattress dips beneath her weight, springs groaning in protest. Bile rises in my throat—memories of past failures and empty promises crash in—but I clamp my jaw shut and swallow it down.
I need to focus.
Leaning back, I gather my strength and close my eyes. In the hush of my mind I murmur,~Night Bloom… I’m sorry to bother you, but the bird will riot if his mate dies. You understand, yes? ~
My heart hammers as I wait, listening for that familiar pull at the edges of my consciousness, a flicker of emerald light brushing across my thoughts. The reply snaps into my skull like static, urgent and clipped.
~Don’t faff about, woman. She’s critical. ~
