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Such as the extent of Daithi’s magic. Its origins and its objective.
My right palm is poised over the inscription of the spell I need to say out loud to complete the task.
Most spells require a recitation, which is why I often pass them on to Ayla or Fallon for execution.
It won’t work with my phone device, either. If magic could be transmitted through it, then the automated voice would kill just as much as my real voice does, which entirely defeats the purpose.
“That’s an interesting book,” the male whispers in my ear, making me shiver. “Wonderful penmanship.”
It’s as if he knows I wrote this book myself as he continues to pet and praise.
His body flattens further against mine, molding himself to my curves and allowing me to feel the full length of his arousal on my spine.
Because this male is much taller than I am and he dwarfs me with his presence.
I enjoy being in his shadow, even if I should be wary of him.
But this is a fated-mate connection, a real one. I’m sure of that now.
He continues to run his fingers down my throat and over my collarbone. He seems unconcerned by the blade I’m gripping for dear life.
I can’t respond to him, not verbally, anyway, so I nod my head in agreement.
Itisan interesting text, because it’s from one of my unique adaptations. And after a lifetime of isolation with little else to do other than transcribe books into new formats and languages, I would hope I wasn’t half bad at it.
A few books in this room are from my personal collection, but this one is because of Nox, one of my sister’s mates. He actually sent me a chemistry textbook, but I adapted it into a spell book for more appropriate use—something I like to do with books of knowledge.
Everything is a little bit magical, if just given a chance.
Just like Nox. He’s a phantom specializing in poisons, but he turned out to be part of an antidote to Fallon’s misery.
I’ve been in search of an antidote to my own for as long as I can remember.
My analytical brain had time to develop during my years of isolation. Perhaps the pursuit of knowledge was an escape of sorts, but now it’s a facet of who I am.
I take one of the male’s hands and guide it down my skin. It’s an indulgence to let him brush over my breasts, but my goal is to show him the spell I’m working on.
Because he’s going to have to help me perform it.
This is your chance to prove you’re not here to hurt me,I think.
His breath is hot against my cheek as he leans into me. I leave his fingers on the spell as I withdraw my hand, allowing him to read the lines.
“I’m sorry, witchling. I can’t read this language.”
I frown, forgetting that not everyone has my vast language capacity.
No worries. That’ll just require another spell.
I go on my tiptoes to reach one of the bottles on the top shelf. It presses my ass into him, a movement that elicits an enticing growl from my potential mate.
A part of me wants to stay like this and let his hands roam until he frees me from my clothes. An urgency to complete this bond threatens to consume me, which is exactly why I need to perform this spell.
If he’s an innocent caught up in Daithi’s magic, I will protect him.
If he’s complicit…
Then he dies.
