Page 45 of Discovered Magic
“Oui. It always does.” His lips twisted, and the image he presented was bittersweet. “Why did he go?”
“Paper… pen.”
“But of course!” He tapped the heel of his palm to his forehead. “We never asked you if you could read or write. Fools.”
“Safe,” she whispered.
“I believe you are, ma chère, but I will hang around until you are home where you belong, oui?”
Mary cupped his jaw, letting her gratitude and affection flow through to him. He would understand her action far better than her stilted words, anyway.
Turning his head, he kissed her palm. His voice held an aching quality when he said, “If I could remove your pain, I would.”
They both knew if it came down to it, he would sacrifice his life for hers. She didn’t want him to. Yet, when it boiled down to removing her scars and healing her mind completely, Draven wouldn’t. Couldn’t. If he were to, he must accept full Guardian status, and that he flatly refused to do.
When she was in stasis, she’d heard him apologize to her, saying he wasn’t willing to cave to the Authority and the Fates’ demands.
And she didn’t blame him.
No one should be forced to be a slave to the whims of gods or enslaved to an organization for their skills.
“It’s ok,” she assured him.
The knock separated them, and he pressed a finger to his lips before voicing the spell to cloak himself.
Would she ever grow used to the effortless magic he commanded?
Climbing to her feet, she touched the key, then paused. How was she to know who was on the other side without asking?
“Abbie, it’s Wilder.”
His confident voice filled her with hope and warmth.
She unlocked the door and swung it wide, halting mid-smile when the gesture stretched her scarred skin.
He held up the paper in triumph. “Communication is ours!”
His happy energy was contagious, and she giggled.
“We’ll start with the basics in case you for—” His gaze sharpened, and he slowly scanned the room. “Abbie, get behind me,” he said in a low voice. “I feel a magical presence.”
“Draven,” she said.
“What?”
Her Guardian’s invisibility shield fell away, and he shot her a sardonic glance. “You are terrible at keepin’ a secret, ma chère.”
“You’re gonna want to stop calling her yours, Masters,” Wilder replied in a steely tone.
“Because she est yours?” Draven taunted.
“She’s no man’s. Never was. Never will be. Abbie is her own person.” He met her curious gaze. “But she gave her heart to me years ago, and I’m keeping it.”
And hers melted.
Mary may not remember him, nor did she feel the name matched her, but she loved him for his sentiment alone.
Although her protectors had always treated her with respect—and here she was as lucky as could be—they hadn’t understood her need to make her own decisions, however screwed up those might be.
