Page 19 of Whisker me Away
Freya's hands tightened around her coffee mug. "Rowan is a good man. He'd make a good partner for someone in my position."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know what you asked." Her voice went soft. "I also know I don't have the luxury of making decisions based purely on what I want anymore. Too many people are depending on me."
Kieran wanted to argue, to tell her that she deserved better than settling for good enough, but the words died in his throat when he caught sight of movement outside the window. Someone was walking up the path to Freya's cottage, carrying what looked like a bouquet of flowers despite the early hour.
"You've got company," he said.
Freya turned to look, and Kieran watched her face cycle through confusion, guilt, and something that might have been panic when she saw who it was.
"It's Rowan," she said unnecessarily.
"Yeah." Kieran stood, setting his empty mug on the counter. "I should go."
"Kieran, wait." Freya caught his arm as he headed for the back door. "This isn't what it looks like."
"What does it look like?" He turned to face her, noting the way her cheeks flushed pink. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like a woman who's got two men interested in her and can't decide which one she wants."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" Kieran's voice was gentler than his words. "You asked Rowan for time to think about his proposal, then spent the night talking to me. What am I supposed to think about that?"
A knock suddenly echoed through the cottage. She looked torn between the front door and the man standing in her kitchen, and Kieran realized with sudden clarity that he wasn't the only one fighting feelings he didn't want to have.
"Go answer your door," he said quietly. "Rowan's a good guy. He doesn't deserve to be kept waiting."
Kieran slipped out the back door as the knocking came again, leaving Freya to face whatever conversation awaited her. Butas he walked home through the lightening streets, he couldn't shake the image of the guilt and confusion on her face when she'd seen Rowan approaching.
He wasn't the only one discovering that the heart wanted what it wanted, regardless of what made sense.
11
FREYA
The Hollow Oak Book Nook felt different in the late afternoon light, shadows stretching between the towering shelves like fingers reaching for secrets. Freya ran her hand along the spine of another ancient text, frustration building as each book yielded fragments of information but never the complete picture she desperately needed.
"Find anything useful?" Lucien Vale asked from behind the counter, his voice holding that liquid grace that reminded everyone he was more predator than bookkeeper. His angular features were sharp enough to cut glass in the lamplight, and his forest-green eyes missed nothing as they tracked her movements through his domain.
"Pieces," Freya said, setting down a leather-bound volume that had crumbled to dust at her touch. "References to guardian bloodlines, mentions of binding spells, but nothing about how to actually renew them."
"Perhaps that's intentional." Lucien moved with the silent step of his panther nature, appearing beside her without sound. "Some knowledge is hidden for good reason."
"Not helpful right now." Freya pulled another book from the shelf, this one bound in what looked suspiciously like scales. "People are getting hurt because I don't know what my great-great-grandmother actually did to bind the Thornweaver."
"The Thornweaver." Lucien's voice went carefully neutral. "Interesting choice of research topic."
Freya looked up sharply. "You know about it?"
"I know many things. The question is whether you're prepared to hear them." Lucien's green eyes held the kind of ancient knowledge that came from being older than he looked. "Some truths carry a blood price, Miss Bloom."
The phrase made her skin crawl with foreboding. "What kind of blood price?"
"The kind your ancestor paid when she bound the creature beneath Hollow Oak's soil." Lucien pulled a slim volume from a locked case behind the counter, its cover unmarked but radiating power. "The original binding required more than just magical strength. It required willing sacrifice."
"Sacrifice of what?"
"Life. Years of existence freely given to power the spell." Lucien opened the book carefully, revealing pages written in the old tongue. "But also something more personal. Something that tied the bloodline to the binding permanently."
