Page 9 of Whisker me Away
And she'd been right.
"Oh, Grandmother," Freya whispered, pressing her hands to her face as tears started to fall. "Why didn't you trust me? Why didn't you tell me?"
Three years. Three years she'd been failing at a job she didn't even know she had. Three years of thinking she was honoring her family's legacy by mixing healing potions and tending a pretty garden, while all along she was supposed to be maintaining a magical prison that kept an ancient horror locked away.
How many people would die when the Thornweaver broke free? How many of her friends and neighbors would pay the price for her ignorance?
The sound of boots on the garden path made her look up through tear-blurred vision. Kieran approached with his usual confident stride, early for their planned investigation. He was dressed for outdoor work in jeans and a flannel shirt that brought out the gold flecks in his amber eyes, but his expression shifted the moment he saw her face.
"Freya?" He was up the steps in two bounds, crouching beside her on the narrow stone landing. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
The genuine concern in his voice, the way he immediately positioned himself as if ready to fight off whatever had upset her, only made the tears fall harder. When had anyone besides Maizy cared enough to ask what was wrong? When had anyone looked at her like her pain actually mattered?
"I found something," she managed, gesturing weakly toward the journal. "My grandmother's real records. About our family. About what we're supposed to be."
Kieran glanced at the leather-bound book, then back at her face with the kind of focused attention that made her feel like the most important thing in his world. "Tell me."
6
KIERAN
The scent of Freya's tears hit Kieran hard, salt and lilacs and something deeper that made his tiger roar to life beneath his skin. Every protective instinct he possessed surged forward with a force that left him reeling. This wasn't just sympathy for someone in pain. This was something more intense, more primal than anything he'd felt before.
Mine,his tiger insisted, pacing restlessly beneath his skin.Protect. Claim.
She's not mine,Kieran shot back.She's a job. Nothing more.
But even as he tried to convince himself, he couldn't deny the way his entire body had gone on high alert the moment he'd scented her distress.
"Tell me," he said again, gentler this time, crouching beside her on the stone steps. His tiger demanded he touch her, comfort her, but he kept his hands carefully to himself.
She took a shaky breath and began translating passages from the journal, her voice breaking as she revealed her family's true legacy. Guardian bloodline. Ancient plant spirit. Binding spells powered by sacrifice. Each word made Kieran's tiger pace withincreasing agitation, not at the supernatural threat, but at the pain radiating from the woman beside him.
"She never trained me because she thought I couldn't handle it," Freya whispered, tears tracking down her cheeks. "She died thinking I was too weak, too selfish, too immature to carry our family's real responsibility."
The hell she was weak. Kieran had seen her magic respond to her emotions, watched her wrestle it back under control when she was angry or scared. He'd witnessed her dedication to her craft, the way she approached every problem with fierce intelligence and stubborn determination. If her grandmother couldn't see that strength, then the older woman had been blind.
"That's not what I see when I look at you," he said, rougher than intended. The urge to reach out and brush away her tears was almost overwhelming, but something held him back. Some instinct that told him touching her right now would change everything.
Her green-gold eyes met his, and Kieran felt something shift in his chest.
"You don't understand," she said, but her voice was exasperated rather than firm. "If I can't figure out how to renew the binding, that thing is going to break free. It feeds on botanical life, Kieran. It could destroy everything."
"Then we'll figure it out." The words came from somewhere deeper than conscious thought, and the certainty in his voice surprised even him. "Together."
Something flickered across Freya's expression. Recognition, maybe. Or hope. For a moment, he thought she might lean into him, might let him shoulder some of the impossible burden she carried. Then she pulled back, wrapping her arms around herself.
"This isn't your responsibility," she said, but there was less conviction in her voice than before. "You're only here becausethe council assigned you. And everyone in town knows your reputation, Kieran. You don't do complicated."
The words hit like a slap, mostly because they were dead accurate. He'd built his entire adult life around avoiding exactly this kind of mess. Keep things light, keep them simple, move on before anyone started talking about feelings or forever.
But looking at Freya now, seeing the vulnerability she was trying so hard to hide, made him question everything he thought he knew about what he wanted.
"Maybe I'm tired of my reputation," he said quietly.
Freya's eyes searched his face like she was looking for signs of deception. "You can't just decide to be someone different overnight."
"Can't I?" He stood slowly, extending his hand to help her up. "People change, Freya. Sometimes they have to."
