Page 39 of Discovered Magic
“She’s tryin’ to teleport!”
Wilder dropped beside Abigail and wrapped his arms around her.
“Abbie,” he whispered, his throat thick with emotion. “Abbie, you’re safe, sweetheart. I promise, you’re safe now.”
Seeing her curled in the corner of this godforsaken saloon had been a fucking head punch. But he’d used the few precious seconds before she looked up to school his expression. He hoped like hell she hadn’t seen his horror at finding her so broken.
The scars didn’t bother him other than to remind him of the pain she’d suffered. Though why a Guardian and warlock with powers such as theirs hadn’t already found a way to restore her to full health was in question. When Wilder got Abbie home, he intended to bring her to the Aether and bargain for his help.
But if those angry, disfiguring marks were now part of her, so be it. He’d love them, too. Abbie’s true beauty had always resided in her soul, anyway. Outside trappings didn’t matter in the entire scheme of things.
What absolutely shredded Wilder’s heart was her nonexistent memory and fragile mental state.
But he had hope.
She hadn’t shied away from him as Shadow mentioned she had with others. Hell, she’d touched him and searched his face, as if seeking the familiar. Her confusion wrecked him, bringing to light the terror she must’ve felt when she first landed in this time.
“I’m here, sweetheart. It’s me. Your Wild Man,” he crooned, using the name she’d always called him when he came back from a climb, scruffy, dirty, and in dire need of a shower. She’d never minded. Her smile, when she saw him, was always enough to melt stone.
“I’m sorry I took so long to find you,” he said achingly, rocking her gently, uncaring how long the Guardian could freeze the world. In the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware Draven had to be nearly as powerful as Castor to manage it.
Lifting his gaze, he met Jonas’s eyes. Wilder was counting on their familial relationship. If his Thorne code of “family first” was as strong here as in the present day, he might be able to aid in their return to the future. Without magical abilities, they were dead in the water.
Resting his cheek on her tangled mess of hair, he said, “Thank you for looking after her, Mr. Masters, but I’m taking her with me.”
“Non. Not gonna happen,” the gambler said, stepping forward. “La dame est mine.”
“She’s not chattel,” Wilder snapped, feeling feral and protective of his mate. “She doesn’t even know who she is, and she’s certainly not staying where she’s banished to a corner like a mongrel.”
A calculating light entered Master’s whiskey-colored eyes as he studied them.
“I swear to the Goddess, if you’ve taken advantage of her, you’re a fucking dead man,” Wilder promised him.
“Stand up,” Draven ordered.
“Go to hell.”
“Time’s about to reset,” Jonas warned, scanning the room. “If you’re not back where you were, there’ll be questions. Do it now, friend.”
Reluctantly, Wilder eased his arms from around Abbie, hesitating when she clutched at his sleeve. “I’m not leaving without you, sweetheart. I promise.”
She let go, still rocking and never once looking at him.
“Christ.”
“Yeah,” Jonas said grimly. “She’s actually better than she was. We’ve been trying to repair her mind.”
“You’ve done a piss-poor job of it,” Wilder muttered, resuming his original kneeling position in front of her. “Castor, you may want to step outside. You walked in after.”
“Right.”
As soon as he’d cleared the swinging doors, the world snapped back to rights with a crackling pop and a fizz. Not dissimilar to a firecracker. Abbie flinched, and Wilder rushed to comfort her.
“She’s beyond your help, Thorne,” Draven said, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.
Wilder shrugged him off and reached for her anyway. Scooping her up, he met with no resistance. “Point me to a private room.”
“I’ll show you,” a sultry voice offered.
