Page 14

SYLVIE

S ylvie's fingers sank into the tiger's thick fur, marveling at the contrast between the coarse guard hairs and the silky softness beneath.

The connection between them hummed through the violet bands on their wrists, and something inside her chest unfurled that felt warm, dangerous, and intoxicating.

A sudden tremor rippled through the massive cat's body. Nicholas's tiger form shuddered, and he backed away from her, amber eyes wide with alarm.

"Nicholas?" Sylvie reached for him as another violent tremor wracked his frame.

The shift back to human happened with none of the fluid grace she'd heard characterized shifter transformations.

This was jagged, painful, bones cracking and reforming with sounds that made her stomach clench.

Nicholas's tiger form contorted, fur receding into skin that appeared to split and heal simultaneously.

When it was over, Nicholas knelt naked on the office floor, his breath coming in ragged pants. Angry red welts crisscrossed his golden skin where the hasty transformation had torn through him.

"That's not supposed to happen like that," he managed through gritted teeth, one hand braced against the floor.

Sylvie snapped into action, shrugging off her outer cardigan and draping it around his shoulders. "Are you okay? What do you need?"

Nicholas tried for his trademark smirk, but it faltered into a grimace. "First aid kit under the sink in the bathroom through that door. And maybe some pants."

She hurried to retrieve both, finding the kit exactly where he'd said and grabbing a pair of sweatpants hung on a hook behind the door. When she returned, Nicholas had managed to sit up against his desk, her cardigan pulled around his waist for modesty.

"I've got it," he said, reaching for the first aid kit.

Sylvie held it back. "Let me. You can't see half of these." She nodded to the welts across his shoulders and back. "Why did it hurt you like that?"

Nicholas's jaw tightened. "Shifting should be smooth, controlled. That wasn't. My tiger... he took over." He wouldn't meet her eyes. "It happens when—" He cut himself off.

"When what?" She opened the kit, pulling out antiseptic wipes.

"When a shifter fights the mate bond too long," he said quietly. "It's a warning."

The admission hung between them as Sylvie gently cleaned the first welt across his shoulder. He hissed at the contact.

"Sorry," she murmured, lightening her touch.

"Not your fault."

"Isn't it?" Her fingers brushed a particularly angry mark at the base of his neck. "This all started with my spell."

Nicholas turned his head slightly, amber eyes meeting hers. "The spell only amplified what was already there."

"That's what Missy said." Sylvie applied salve to the cleaned wounds, hyper-aware of the heat radiating from his skin. "Why didn't you tell me? About... this. Us."

His laugh held no humor. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, witch who hates me, guess what? My tiger thinks we're destined mates'?"

"I don't hate you." The words slipped out before she could stop them.

"Could've fooled me." His shoulders relaxed slightly under her ministrations. "You glare daggers every time I walk into your shop."

Sylvie's hands paused on his back. "That's because you flirt with anything that breathes, then forget they exist a week later."

"Not anything," he corrected softly. "And I never forgot you."

The admission sent warmth flooding through her. Sylvie resumed treating his wounds, moving to kneel in front of him to reach the welts on his chest. Their faces were inches apart.

"You're good at this," Nicholas murmured.

"Witches know their way around healing." She worked methodically, but each touch felt increasingly intimate. "Why were you fighting it so hard? The bond, I mean."

His eyes darkened. "Because you deserve better."

"Shouldn't that be my decision?" Her fingers traced an old scar along his collarbone, one that predated today's wounds.

Nicholas caught her hand, his thumb brushing over her pulse point. "There are things you don't know about me. About my family."

"So tell me." She didn't pull her hand away.

"It's not that simple."

"It never is." Sylvie finished dressing the last of his wounds and sat back on her heels. "But keeping secrets is what got you into this painful state."

The violet bands on their wrists pulsed in unison, a reminder of what connected them. Nicholas stared at them, conflict etched on his face.

"I don't know how to do this, Sylvie." The vulnerability in his voice caught her off guard. "The real thing, without the games."

"And you think I do?" She laughed softly. "I've spent years making candles to ward off love magic. Maybe because I was afraid of what would happen if I let myself feel it."

As the words left her mouth, realization dawned. Her fear of love spells, her insistence on controlling every aspect of her magic—it had never been about the spells at all. It had been about her.

She inhaled deeply and made herself truly examine him.

"So, can we at least acknowledge that it appears less agonizing when we're around each other more?

We could use that time not just to work out how to undo the spell but to understand one another better.

.. That is, if you're interested," she hastily appended.

Asking made her feel exposed, yet she was exhausted by the spell's ache and yearning and truthfully, perhaps if she became acquainted with Nicholas, he might actually be the man her aunt described, simply concealing himself behind defenses.

Nicholas winced as she continued to clean him up but his eyes didn't leave hers. He seemed calm and almost poetic in the vulnerable light just then as he quietly nodded with a sincere smile. "Yeah, I think we could do that."