Page 41 of Discovered Magic
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Wilder really didn’t like the Guardian, the arrogant fucker.
“Illegitimate daughter,” he bit out. “One only needs to look at them to see the truth.”
Draven’s lips twitched as if fighting a smile, giving the impression he was a master of the nettling game in addition to poker. He drew the coverlet back to assist Wilder.
After he laid Abbie down and attempted to stand, he halted as she refused to release his neck. Suspended in a bent position, he struggled to remove his boot, and then gasped when they disappeared altogether. Had he been expecting the magical help, he wouldn’t have been surprised.
“She wasn’t releasin’ you any time soon, mon ami,” Draven said dryly.
“Yeah. Thanks,” he replied grudgingly. To Abbie, he said, “If you scoot to your right a little, I’ll lie beside you, sweetheart.”
Her hesitation spoke of her battle between trusting a complete stranger and self-preservation. Thankfully, her instincts were good, and trust won out. She shifted, making space with a tentative smile. He beamed his approval, understanding exactly how difficult her fragile faith was.
The second he was settled with his back against the bed frame, she rolled into him and wrapped an arm around his waist. Within seconds, she was asleep, and the strain of her meltdown vanished from her face.
“She knows you,” Roxanne remarked upon returning.
“Oui,” Draven agreed. “Otherwise, she’d have seared the flesh from your bones.”
“I’d like to think so.” Wilder stroked her hair, his heart bleeding for her suffering. “I wish I’d have known she was alive. It kills me to see her this way.”
Castor paused in the entryway.
“I’m always late for the party,” he quipped. His gaze locked on Abbie’s damaged visage. “Someone care to explain what the hell happened to my daughter?”
“Several things,” Jonas answered grimly. He crossed to the bed and stared down at her, and the fondness he displayed wasn’t that of a man in love. It hinted at brotherly affection. “We ran across her two years ago. A Diné Guide had found her and tried to save her from a small band of outlaws.”
“But la dame fell from the cliff they were climbin’ to escape,” Draven added. A muscle ticked in his jaw, proving the memory continued to rattle him.
Jonas nodded. “We arrived in time to prevent further harm, but the damage to her memory had already been done. My Uncle Nate and Aunt Evie helped?—”
“Nate?” Castor asked sharply. “Nathanial and Evie Thorne are close by?”
Suspicion replaced the sheriff’s mild-mannered expression. “I’ll be asking why you want to know.”
“Asking or demanding?” Wilder snorted softly. Tensions were lingering at the upper end of the scale—his among them—and needed to be defused. When the group shifted its attention to him, he shrugged. “I didn’t hear a question, and based on your scowl, Jonas, it felt like more of a demand. But if I’m wrong, I apologize.”
“I actually know Nate.” Castor crossed to the dresser, poured water into the basin, and scrubbed his hands. “He fostered my best friend.”
Snagging a small towel from the rack, Jonas crossed to him. “And that friend would be?”
They locked gazes, probably suspicious of deeper motives.
Castor broke first. “Damian Dethridge.”
Other than a twitch of his brow, Jonas didn’t reveal his thoughts.
“I’m assuming you know the Aether if your uncle is Nate,” Castor added, accepting the towel to dry his freshly washed hands. “And if you do, why hasn’t he helped Abbie?”
“What time did you say you’re from, Traveler?”
With a sudden flash of white teeth, he slapped the sheriff on the back. “I didn’t.”
“In our time, we follow rules: the Authority, the Witches’ Council. We may disagree with them, but if the magical community did whatever they wanted, chaos would reign.”
“The Authority.” Castor’s reply was grim AF, and his grimace hinted at a bad taste in his mouth. His gaze flicked to Draven, and his expression tightened further. “They aren’t known for their fair dealings in my century.”
