Page 125 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
This—sex with her—was as easy as breathing. They moved together effortlessly, like they were made for it, no thoughts, no worries. Except?—
A voice in the back of his head: a quiet alarm bell, ringing faintly under the heat of their bodies. He shoved it down, tried to ignore it, to ignore everything else as she took him deeper, her hands braced on his chest.
Nia rode him like she couldn’t get enough, her head tilting back as she cried out, her release shattering through her. The sight of her undid him and a heartbeat later he followed, his hands gripping her thighs as he came hard.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing, the warmth of her body still pressed against his.
Lochlan reached for the towel she’d discarded, cleaning her up with gentle care before slipping off the bed and heading to the bathroom. When he returned, she was already drifting off, eyes heavy. She dragged herself from where she’d been curled in the blankets, and padded to the bathroom half asleep. When she came back and crawled onto the wrong side of the bed, Lochlan slid in beside her. He carefully gathered her into his arms, shifting until she fit snugly against his chest.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
Within seconds, her breathing fell into a soft, steady rhythm.
Lochlan didn’t sleep.
His mind refused to quiet, every secret he’d kept from her swirling in his head like a storm he couldn’t outrun.
Lochlan sat at his desk, holding a piece of paper that had slipped from the last diary. The restoration of the volume itself was nearly complete—pages soothed of their burns, ink coaxed back from the brink of oblivion. But the letter he held had been hidden deep within its spine, fragile and forgotten.
He had just finished repairing it.
The ink had darkened as his magic settled over it, the words growing crisp and whole once more. He hadn’t meant to read them. But the moment they surfaced, he hadn’t been able to stop himself. The letter was addressed to Nia.
From her mother.
Lochlan’s chest tightened, the weight of his discovery crushing. He’d known the diaries contained pieces of Nia’s past—known they might hurt her as much as they helped her—but this was different. This wasn’t history he was restoring. It was her history he was holding.
And he’d kept it from her.
The quiet of the house felt suddenly suffocating. Nia had been off lately, her energy guarded, her distance unspoken but unmistakable. She could feel his secrecy, even if she didn’t know its object or shape.
Whatever Wulfric had promised or threatened or wanted, he couldn’t do this anymore.
Lochlan scrubbed a hand over his face. The diary sat open before him, the letter resting atop its pages like a confession. Nia didn’t deserve this.
He was going to fix it.
Before he could second-guess himself, Lochlan was out of the office and then the house, his feet automatically steering him through the tunnels to the Videt, his resolve solidifying with each step. He stormed past Francine without a word, ignoring her startled greeting. His focus was singular, his frustration fueling every step as he pushed open the heavy doors to Wulfric’s office.
A blustering elder stood in the middle of Wulfric’s office, his face red with indignation and his hands gesturing wildly as if he and The Sword were mid-argument. The sudden intrusion left him flustered, his eyes narrowing at Lochlan, who’d entered without so much as a knock.
“I need to speak with you.”
Lochlan fixed his gaze on Wulfric, ignoring the elder, who straightened, puffing up with self-importance.
“Have some decency,” he barked, his tone dripping with disdain.
Lochlan didn’t flinch, and instead of retreating stepped deeper into the room.
“Leave us,” Wulfric said, low but commanding.
The elder’s smugness lingered for a heartbeat too long before he realized The Sword wasn’t speaking to Lochlan—he was glaring at the elder. The older witch’s self-satisfaction evaporated as he stammered, bowing before hastily exiting the room.
The doors slammed shut behind him, leaving Lochlan and Wulfric alone in the charged silence that followed. Wulfric leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable as he regarded Lochlan with a quiet, expectant air.
“I’m done,” Lochlan said, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment.
Wulfric arched a brow. “With what, exactly?”
