Page 31 of Whisker me Away
Maybe it was time to stop fighting fate and start embracing it.
"You're right," he said, draining his bourbon in one swallow. "I've been an idiot."
"First step is admitting it." Maeve's grin was sharp with approval. "Now go claim your woman before something else tries to kill her."
Kieran was already moving toward the door, his tiger surging with purpose. Time for subtlety was over. Time for games and politeness and careful consideration of other people's feelings was done.
Freya was his mate, and it was past time he started acting like it.
17
FREYA
Freya stood in the middle of her destroyed apothecary, glass vials and dried herbs scattered across the floor like the remnants of a battlefield. Half her inventory lay in blackened ruins, contaminated by the same corruption that had twisted Twyla's tea blends into something poisonous. The other half she was systematically destroying herself, unable to trust anything her magic had touched.
Walking plague. That's what she'd become.
"This batch too," she said to herself, dumping another jar of carefully prepared tinctures into the disposal bucket. Six months of work, reduced to toxic waste because her magic had become a liability instead of a gift.
The shop door chimed, and she looked up to see Kieran entering with that predatory grace that always made her pulse stutter. He took in the destruction with sharp intelligence before focusing on her in a way that made her skin hum with awareness.
"How bad is it?" he asked, moving through the wreckage with careful steps.
"Bad." Freya gestured to the growing pile of contaminated materials. "Anything I've enhanced or touched with my magic in the last two weeks is compromised. The corruption seems to follow my magical signature like a bloodhound."
"That's not your fault."
"Isn't it?" She picked up another jar, this one filled with healing salve she'd made for Mrs. Patterson's arthritis. The elderly woman had been using it for months with great success, but now black veins crawled through the cream like poisonous spiderwebs. "If my magic is the problem..."
"Your magic isn't the problem." Kieran's voice carried absolute certainty. "The Thornweaver is. And we're going to stop it."
The calm competence in his tone cut through her spiraling despair like sunlight through storm clouds. Where others offered empty platitudes or well-meaning advice, Kieran simply stated facts with the kind of confidence that made her believe solutions were possible.
"The council wants a full report," he continued, moving closer until she could smell pine and warm spice. "About last night's attack, about the pattern of corruption. We both need to go."
Freya nodded, not trusting her voice. The idea of facing the council while her world fell apart around her felt overwhelming, but she knew it was necessary. They needed to understand what they were dealing with before the Thornweaver escalated beyond targeting her possessions.
"I'll be ready in a few minutes," she said, reaching for another contaminated jar. "Just let me finish..."
Her hand shook as she lifted the glass vial, exhaustion and stress finally catching up with her. The jar slipped from her fingers, falling toward the floor where it would shatter and spread corruption throughout her remaining clean space.
Kieran caught it effortlessly, his reflexes faster than humanly possible. But when his hand closed over hers around the glass, something extraordinary happened. The black veins crawling through the tincture suddenly stopped their advance, then began retreating as if repelled by some invisible force.
"What the hell?" Freya stared at the jar in amazement. The corruption was actually reversing itself, her contaminated healing salve clearing until it looked normal again.
"Your magic," Kieran said quietly. "It's responding to mine."
Freya felt the truth of it singing through her bones. Where their skin touched, her magic flared with recognition and something deeper. Not just attraction or compatibility, but true partnership. The kind of connection her grandmother's journals had hinted at but never fully explained.
"How is that possible?" she whispered.
"I think you know. Same way you knew I was coming to your rescue last night. Same way I could feel your fear from across town."
The recognition that had flared between them during their kiss, the awareness that made her skin burn whenever he was near. It wasn't just attraction or supernatural coincidence. It was compatibility on a level that went deeper than logic or choice.
"We should go," she said, pulling her hand away. "The council's waiting."
The Council Glade felt even more imposing than usual, shadows stretching between the ancient oaks like fingers reaching for secrets. Elder Varric sat at the center of the stone circle as he reviewed the reports they'd submitted.
