Page 43 of Whisker me Away
"I don't understand," Freya said.
"Hollow Oak's magical ecosystem depends on the bonds between residents and the natural world. The deeper those connections, the stronger our collective magic becomes. But the Thornweaver has been severing those bonds systematically, cutting people off from the land's power and feeding on the resulting magical chaos."
Kieran felt pieces clicking into place with horrible clarity. "That's why traditional defenses haven't worked. The thing we're fighting knows how to turn our greatest strength against us."
"Precisely. Which means the binding spell will require more than just your individual power. It will need to reconnect the entire community to the land through your mate bond." Elder Varric's expression grew grave. "The magical foundation you provide, Mr. Holt, must be strong enough to anchor not just Miss Bloom's power, but the collective will of everyone in Hollow Oak."
"No pressure," Kieran muttered, but he felt oddly calm despite the enormous responsibility settling on his shoulders.
Elder Bram looked between them with grudging respect. "Perhaps rootless tigers have their own kind of strength after all."
"Perhaps they do," Elder Varric agreed. "The ritual will take place tomorrow night at the site of the original binding. We'll provide what support we can, but ultimately, this comes down to the bond between you two."
As they leftthe Council Glade hand in hand, Kieran felt his tiger settling. Tomorrow night would bring the greatest challenge of his life, but he'd face it with his mate at his side. The walk back to the cottage should have been peaceful, but something in Freya's magical signature felt off. Her power hummed with an undercurrent of anxiety that went beyond nerves about the upcoming ritual.
"What's troubling you?" he asked as they reached her front door. "And don't say it's just about tomorrow night. I can feel there's something else."
"It's the waiting," she admitted, her voice tight with strain. "Every hour we delay, more people are in danger. What if the corruption reaches another water source? What if someone else falls into a coma like Mrs. Patte? What if..."
"Hey." He turned her to face him, noting the wild edge to her magic that made his protective instincts flare. "We'll be ready tomorrow. We have a plan."
"But what if we're not strong enough?" The question burst out of her like a dam breaking. "What if I fail again, like I failed with the preliminary binding? What if I'm not worthy of the guardian bloodline?"
"Freya, you are more than worthy?—"
"Am I?" Her magic spiked erratically, making the air around them shimmer with unstable energy. "Because right now, I feellike I'm drowning in doubt and everyone's depending on me to save them. Maybe... maybe I should try to establish a connection to the original binding tonight. Just to see if it's possible. Just to prove I can?—"
"No." Kieran's voice carried absolute authority. "Whatever you're thinking, the answer is no. We do this together, as planned, or not at all." But even as he spoke, he could see the desperate determination building in her eyes. The same look she'd worn when deciding to face the corn maze corruption alone, the same stubborn certainty that she could handle more than was safe.
"Promise me," he said urgently, taking her hands. "Promise me you won't try anything alone tonight."
"I promise," she said, but something in her tone made his tiger pace with unease.
They went to bed early, both exhausted from the day's crisis management. But Kieran lay awake listening to Freya's breathing, his enhanced senses picking up the subtle signs of someone pretending to sleep. Her heartbeat was too fast, her magical signature too active, her scent carrying the sharp edge of adrenaline and resolve.
When she slipped from bed at two in the morning, moving with the careful silence of someone trying not to wake their partner, Kieran's worst fears were confirmed. He followed at a distance, his tiger's stealth keeping him hidden as Freya gathered her grandmother's ritual supplies and headed toward the corrupted grove. Every instinct screamed at him to stop her, to drag her back to safety before she could attempt whatever foolish plan she'd concocted. But something deeper held him back. The knowledge that Freya needed to face her fears on her own terms, that stopping her now might break something essential in her spirit. All he could do was watch and be ready to intervene if things went wrong. They went catastrophicallywrong within minutes. The moment Freya began the preliminary binding incantation, the Thornweaver's attention focused on her like a predator sensing wounded prey. Her magic, stressed by weeks of crisis and pushed beyond safe limits by desperation, couldn't handle the ancient evil's immediate retaliation. Kieran watched in horror as corruption exploded outward from the grove, his mate's scream of agony cutting through the night like a knife. By the time he reached her, she was unconscious, her magical core burning itself out in a futile attempt to contain forces beyond her individual strength. The backlash devastated everything in a six-block radius, turning Hollow Oak's thriving center into a wasteland of twisted trees and poisoned earth. But worse than the physical destruction was the sight of Freya lying motionless in his arms, her magic so depleted he could barely sense it flickering. For three days, she didn't wake up. For three days, Kieran maintained vigil beside her bed while their community evacuated around them and the corruption spread like a cancer through everything they'd fought to protect.
23
FREYA
Consciousness returned slowly, like swimming up from the bottom of a dark lake. Freya's first sensation was pain—a deep, aching wrongness that seemed to radiate from her very bones. Her second was the scent of pine and warm spice, familiar and comforting despite the agony coursing through her system.
"Freya?" Kieran's voice sounded rough, like he'd been shouting or hadn't spoken in days. "Can you hear me?"
She tried to open her eyes, but even that simple action sent spikes of pain through her skull. Everything felt distant, muffled, as if she were experiencing the world through thick glass.
"What..." Her voice came out as barely a whisper. "What happened?"
"You've been unconscious for three days." Kieran's hand found hers, his touch gentle but desperate. "Three days, Freya. I couldn't wake you up no matter what I tried."
Three days. The words didn't make sense at first, floating in her mind without context. Then memory crashed back like a tidal wave, and she understood exactly why Kieran sounded like he'd been through hell.
She'd attempted the binding ritual… alone.
"The preliminary spell," she whispered, forcing her eyes open despite the pain. "I thought if I could just establish a connection to the original binding..."
"You nearly got yourself killed." Kieran's face came into focus above her, and Freya's heart clenched at what she saw there. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his jaw stubbled with days of growth, his hair disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it constantly. "The Thornweaver's power overwhelmed you completely. Your magic just... stopped. For three days, I thought I'd lost you."
