Page 57 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
Lochlan’s grip tightened on the cup. “And you didn’t want to tell me?”
“I was going to handle it. I am handling it.”
He stepped closer, his arm brushing hers as he carefully put back the candle with Lochlan on it. Instead of pulling away, he lingered, letting her scent wrap around him, dark and intoxicating.
“And what does handling it look like?”
Nia didn’t move, and the way her fingers curled slightly, the way her magic rippled—just the tiniest bit—told Lochlan he had the same effect on Nia that she did on him.
A flush crept over Nia’s cheeks as she nodded across the room, to where her shadows glided over the space. Lochlan watched them for a moment, mesmerized by their eerie grace, before Nia’s voice pulled him back.
“There’s a spell in my mom’s journal.” Her shadows stilled as she turned back to the island and opened the diary she’d left there. Lochlan stepped in beside her, close enough to read over her shoulder. Nia flipped the pages with careful fingers. “She created it to protect herself from my father’s dark magic.”
Lochlan glanced down at the intricate spell beside her, below which was a footnote.
Dream walkers. Known for their ability to crawl into minds across any distance. A talent rooted in the Cabot line. Foul witches with one purpose: control. I may not be able to stop this marriage, but I can protect my mind from my betrothed.
A chill raced down his spine as recognition struck.
The handwriting was unmistakably familiar: he’d been staring at it all morning. The last part of his conversation with Wulfric echoed, harsh and haunting.
What do you really want from this?
Finish the diaries. You’ll find out.
The diaries he was working on were hers—Nia’s mother. The ones in his office had been ruined, painstakingly pieced back together with magic. But this one was untouched. Pristine. An earlier diary, maybe, one that had somehow survived while the rest had been destroyed.
His stomach twisted.
Shit.
Lochlan swallowed hard, pulse hammering in his ears. Wulfric had made it clear Nia couldn’t know about Lochlan’s work with The Sword. Which meant he couldn’t tell her what he was restoring without risking everything. His job. His life. His chance with her.
Lochlan hated it.
He would never choose to keep any of this from Nia, but he didn’t feel like he had a choice. Wulfric had handed him the last words of her mother. Somehow, buried in those pages, was the answer to why he’d forced this marriage on both of them.
And Lochlan couldn’t tell her.
Heart still thrumming, he forced his expression to remain neutral. Maybe if he finished the journals and learned what Wulfric wanted, then he could give them to her; maybe it wouldn’t matter that he’d kept them a secret. Either way, this wasn’t a problem he could solve now.
Lochlan willed his pulse to steady as Nia turned, curious.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” he said, a little too quickly.
Nothing but a secret that could ruin everything.
Nia arched a brow, unconvinced. “You can help if you want.”
Lochlan stepped closer, drawn to her warmth despite the tension coiling in his gut.
“I’d like that.”
He needed the distraction, the closeness—needed to keep himself from spiraling. Lochlan moved past her, focusing on the diary.
With the labeled herbs beside him, he began laying out the spell: sprinkling dried lavender and bay leaves across the counter they usually used for meals, then crushing juniper berries between his fingers and shaping the rune from the diary with the berry’s dust.
