Page 58 of Whisker me Away
"Not gone," Kieran corrected, his tiger senses apparently picking up something she couldn't detect. "Changed. Perverted into something else, but the core power is still there."
"How can you tell?"
"Because my tiger recognizes strength, even when it's been twisted." His eyes flashed with golden light as his beast stirred. "Whatever the Thornweaver did to this tree, it couldn't destroy the fundamental magic. Only corrupt it."
Freya knelt at the oak's base, using her grandmother's silver trowel to carefully gather soil from between the massive roots. The earth felt wrong against her skin, cold and oily instead of warm and fertile, but she could sense Kieran was right. The power was still there, waiting to be reclaimed.
"Second component," she said, sealing the corrupted soil in a leather pouch. "Last stop."
The walk to her cottage felt like a pilgrimage through a graveyard. Every street they passed showed signs of the Thornweaver's influence spreading beyond the initial blast zone. Gardens withered despite their distance from the corruption's epicenter, paint peeled from houses in strange patterns, even the air felt heavier than it should.
But the worst part was the silence. Half the town's population had evacuated, leaving empty houses and shuttered businesses that made Hollow Oak feel like a ghost town rather than the vibrant community she'd grown up loving.
"People will come back," Kieran said, reading her thoughts with the accuracy their completed bond allowed. "Once this is over, once they know it's safe, they'll rebuild."
"If we succeed."
"When we succeed." His voice carried absolute conviction. "Failure isn't an option, Freya. Too many people are counting on us."
Inside her cottage, Freya retrieved her grandmother's silver athame from its place of honor above the fireplace. The ceremonial knife was a work of art, its blade inscribed with protective runes and its handle wrapped in leather that had been touched by seven generations of Bloom women. Holding it made her feel connected to her ancestors in ways that transcended mere inheritance.
"Tell me about it," Kieran said, watching her examine the blade with reverent care.
"It was forged for my great-great-great-grandmother by the same metalsmith who made weapons for the original supernatural council." Freya traced the intricate runes with her fingertip. "Each woman in our line has added her own protective charm to the metal, layering spells until it became more magical focus than simple tool."
"And now you'll add yours."
She revealed her fears she'd been trying to suppress all day. "If I survive long enough.”
"Hey." Kieran moved closer, his presence immediately calming her spiraling anxiety. "We're going to survive this. Both of us. And you're going to have decades to add your magic to that blade."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because giving up isn't in your nature. And because I'll be there to catch you if you fall. We're partners now, Freya. True mates. That means sharing the load instead of carrying it alone."
The reminder of their completed bond sent warmth flooding through her chest. She wasn't facing this alone anymore. Whatever happened at the ritual site, she'd have Kieran's strength supporting her, his power complementing hers, his absolute faith anchoring her when doubt threatened to overwhelm her resolve.
"Ready to scout the location?" she asked, tucking the athame into her bag beside the other components.
"As ready as anyone can be to visit a supernatural nightmare."
The corrupted grove that had once been the site of Celeste's original binding lay deep in the woods surrounding Hollow Oak, hidden from casual discovery by layers of protective spells that had kept it secret for over a century. But as they approached the ancient site, it became clear that secrecy was no longer an issue.
The Thornweaver had transformed the grove into something from a horror story.
Twisted trees moved with malevolent intelligence, their branches reaching toward them like grasping fingers while their roots writhed beneath the surface like massive serpents. The ground itself seemed alive, shifting and changing with each step as if the earth was trying to swallow them whole. And over everything hung an oppressive atmosphere so thick with malevolent energy that breathing felt like drowning in liquid hatred.
"Christ," Kieran breathed, his tiger retreating deeper beneath his human facade. "No wonder Elder Varric looked like he'd seen a ghost."
"It knows we're here," Freya whispered, her magic recoiling from the waves of malice washing over them. "I can feel it watching us, cataloging our strengths and weaknesses."
"Good." Kieran's voice carried grim satisfaction. "Let it watch. Let it see exactly what it's up against when true mates decide to fight."
They circled the grove's perimeter, noting how the corruption had spread outward in perfect concentric circles from the central ritual site. Ancient stones that had once marked sacred space now glowed with sickly phosphorescence, and the air itself shimmered with wrongness that made Freya's eyes water.
"The binding circle is still intact," she observed, pointing to the ring of standing stones at the grove's heart. "Damaged, but not destroyed."
"Think that matters?"
