Page 48 of Discovered Magic
His throat tightened, and a sob lodged in his chest, feeling like a fucking heart attack as the pressure built. But he wouldn’t cry in front of her. Wouldn’t add to her trauma or risk sending her into another panic attack, not if he could help it.
“The Traveler, he said your magie is gone.” Draven moved to the window and looked out at the blackened night. Not waiting for confirmation, he said, “You are très vulnérable here, I think.”
“We have our weapons and a good idea how to use them, but yes,” Wilder replied, standing and helping Abbie to her feet. “I don’t know what Castor has in mind, but I suspect he’ll want to gather whatever family I have here to help.”
The Guardian shifted to study him, and Wilder returned his open stare. Finally, Draven nodded. “Jonas is a sincère man with a good heart. He is my dearest ami. He will help you.”
Relief eased Wilder’s tension. “It’s more than we dared hope.”
Abbie surprised him again when she interlaced her fingers with his and gave a gentle squeeze.
“But the first order of business tomorrow is to restore Abbie’s memories,” he said.
“Very well. I will see her home. Come, Mai—Abbie.”
They protested. Wilder with words, and she by clinging to his arm.
Draven chuckled. “Ah, l’amour. It is hard to separate lovers. Son cœur, it knows you.”
“Oui, nos cœurs sont deux moitiés d’un même tout,” Wilder replied as he looked down at her with all the love he felt.
“You know my native tongue. I like you more.” Crossing to Abbie, Draven sketched a half bow. “If you need me, chère, I will be there. Until then, I bid you bonne nuit.”
“Good night,” Wilder returned.
“Lock the door behind me. This town is rowdy after sundown.”
“Understood.”
* * *
After Draven left, a wave of shyness overcame Mary.
No. Abigail. Abbie, as Wilder called her.
Would the name ever feel right?
She pulled away and, turning her back to him, hugged herself.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked. His concern for her emotional state was at the forefront of every conversation, and she appreciated his consideration. But part of her wished he couldn’t see through her as easily as he did. It made her want to escape his attention.
Her bracelet warmed.
One handhold. Breathe. One foothold. Breathe again.
Oddly, those words did feel familiar.
The silver cuff cooled.
“Why don’t you remove it?”
She spun to face him and followed the direction of his gaze. Crossing to the desk, she wrote, It’s charmed. Draven must unlock its spell.
“You’re tethered to him?” Wilder asked with a dark scowl.
Only to protect me, he said. My panic attacks would take me back to the place they found me.
His expression cleared, and he shook his head with a wry smile, giving her the impression he believed his gut reaction was silly. He perched on the desk’s edge, crossed his arms, and leaned on his bent leg. The casual position wasn’t threatening, and the building trepidation she experienced at being alone with him lessened.
