Page 41 of A Beastly Court

Running side by side in an orchard.

Sunning ourselves on a gingham picnic blanket.

Raiding a gypsy warlock’s wagon for the toirchim glaze.

Him racing around a barn with a lure attached to his tail as an entire flock of chickens chased after him.

Fighting alongside a werewolf against blue-eyed coyotes.

Then dozens if not hundreds of memories of him rubbing his head under the chin, of me scratching his ears and scruff, of my fingers digging burs and thorns out of his fur, of his paws kneading on my lap—

It was too much. I broke away from him with a gasp, chest heaving. Then I choked out, equal parts confused and hurt, “So you’re not in league with my grandmother, but how can we share all that and you not bond to me as my familiar?”

“Probably the same reason you didn’t bond Arthur!” he fired back, tears in his amber eyes.

I shook my head in disbelief. “Who’s Arthur?”

“Who’s…” The tabby tomcat’s eyes went so wide they threatened to pop like overfilled party balloons. Then he whispered, “You don’t remember Arthur?”

“I don’t remember a bunch of things,” I shouted bitterly.

Sawyer sprang upright. “Take those ruby earrings off. Right now.”

“No!” My hands flew to the thumb-sized rubies dangling from my earlobes. They were shaped like pears. “Ossian gave these to me—”

“And I know a thing or two about crystals, remember?” he replied tartly. “Rubies, meant to enhance the feelings of love and lust. And trust me, they’re working overtime.”

My brown braid nearly lashed me across my cheeks, I shook my head that hard. Something in—no, around—my heart twisted, like a hand clenching around a weed before ripping it to its death, rebelling violently to his words. Was that my reaction, or the bond’s? Regardless, the words tumbled vehemently from me anyway: “Ossian wouldn’t do that. He’s my mate. We belong together!”

“You belong with Arthur. That fae is tricking you!”

“Shut up!” I cried, clapping my hands over my ears. Thistle thorns, my head hurt so much. “Shut. Up!”

Still blocking out his deceitful words, I ran from the bedroom. The cold dark hallway swallowed me as I fled for the foyer. For Ossian. He’d been right all along. Cats couldn’t be trusted. They said horrible, confusing things, upended your perception of reality, beguiled you with purrs and snuggles—

Wheezing, I was forced to slow at the foyer and brace myself against the stone archway to suck in a few deep breaths. My stomach growled presently, reminding me of all the energy I’d expended at the farmhouse and the mad dash back to rose courtyard. I ignored it and forged ahead at a slower but still brisk pace.

Ossian wasn’t tricking me. Though, he was holding me back. Not intentionally, but if I didn’t have access to a true source of magic or life essence to help me lift the rest of the curse from my core, I’d never summon and anchor the portal before the deadline. The potted plants were just too slow, and how many did Flora really have left? Her greenhouse wasn’t extensive and winter was right around the corner. I’d have to take from the land, cull entire forests, if I was brave enough to sneak out beyond the castle again. It was risky. Though no more risky than sneaking into the one place I knew there was stored magic to be had.

Ossian’s silversmithy, where he kept all the crystals I had charged.

I could always recharge them. He’d never have to know. And like Flora had said, it was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.

CHAPTER TWENTY

In the slanted rays of the setting sun, the black door looked like the gateway to the underworld. It didn’t help that the air lingering in this hallway was perfumed with the acrid notes of Ossian’s forge.

Not for the first time since I decided to raid the crystals did I consider casting the Scouting Spell. It would be nice to know if Ossian was down there, and I hadn’t had the forethought to cast a Tracking Spell on Ossian’s footsteps. Though, the Scouting Spell could reveal my location just as much as his, or anyone else’s position in the castle, and then I’d have to explain exactly why I was camped outside the forbidden door.

I’d just have to chance it.

He gave you two hours before dinner. You must be quick!

Pulling open my foraging bag, I rooted around until I found the box of Illuminate matches. Prying it open with my thumbnail, I carefully selected one of the few matches I had left and struck it against the striking paper. The match flared a bright yellow, and I hastily whispered, “Flash of light, reveal to my sight.”

If there were any wards present, they would illuminate like strands of spiderwebs in the light of the match. White, if they were your basic trip-wire alarm or booby trap, and yellow, if they posed a dismemberment risk and/or equally nasty outcome. The first, I could probably befuddle with Caer powder, but the second required delicate spellwork I was not prepared to perform.

The Illuminate match revealed nothing.