Page 14 of Unbearable Attraction (Hollow Oak Mates #4)
LUKA
L uka felt the moment Leenah steadied herself in his arms and began to pull away, though every instinct he possessed wanted to keep her close where he could shield her from whatever spiritual forces were pressing against her consciousness.
But this wasn't about his protective urges.
This was about watching her do what she did best.
"I'm okay," she said, stepping back but staying within arm's reach. "Just need to adjust to the energy levels here. It's like... imagine trying to have a conversation at a rock concert."
"How many spirits are we talking about?" he asked, scanning the stone circle that looked empty to his non-necromantic senses.
"Dozens. Maybe more." Leenah moved toward the central altar with obvious purpose, her earlier disorientation giving way to professional focus. "Generations of Cherokee shamans, the original supernatural settlers, and... others. They're all trying to communicate at once."
As if her words had been a signal, the air around the stone circle began to shimmer again.
But this time, instead of glamour magic hiding the sacred space, ethereal figures started materializing between the ancient monoliths.
Translucent at first, then growing more solid as Leenah's necromantic abilities reached out to bridge the gap between worlds.
Luka had seen plenty of supernatural manifestations during his years in Hollow Oak, but nothing like this.
Spirits from different eras flickered in and out of visibility, their clothing and appearance spanning centuries of history.
A Cherokee medicine woman in traditional dress stood beside what looked like a colonial-era witch, while the ghostly figure of a nineteenth-century gentleman in a top hat gestured urgently toward the altar.
And there stood Leenah, completely unafraid as she addressed the assembled dead with the kind of calm competence that made his bear rumble with admiration.
"I hear you," she said, her voice carrying clearly through the grove despite the supernatural chaos swirling around her. "But I need you to speak one at a time. Start with the most urgent message."
The Cherokee medicine woman stepped forward, her ancient eyes fixed on Leenah with desperate hope. When she spoke, her words carried the weight of centuries and the pain of broken trust.
"The barriers weaken with each passing season, daughter of Salem's blood. Soon, those who would destroy this sanctuary will find their way past protections that have stood for generations."
"What kind of threats?" Leenah asked, and Luka caught the slight tremor in her voice that suggested channeling this many spirits was taking its toll.
"Hunters of the supernatural. Government agencies that would study and cage our kind. Corporations that would strip-mine sacred sites for their accumulated magic." The spirit's form flickered as her urgency grew. "The pact must be renewed before the dark moon, or all will be lost."
More spirits pressed forward, each adding fragments to the growing picture of supernatural threats gathering beyond Hollow Oak's protective barriers.
A Victorian-era warlock spoke of government experiments on captured supernatural beings.
A twentieth-century witch described corporate interests mapping magical sites for exploitation.
Each testimony painted a bleaker picture of what would happen if the town's protections failed.
Through it all, Leenah stood strong, asking pointed questions and gathering information with the kind of fearless determination that made Luka's protective instincts sing with pride and terror in equal measure.
She wasn't just communicating with the dead; she was advocating for the living, demanding specifics about renewal ceremonies and the exact nature of the threats they faced.
But as the spiritual communication continued, he began to notice signs that worried him. The slight sway in her stance. The way her hands had started trembling. The pale cast to her skin that suggested she was pushing her abilities past their safe limits.
"Leenah," he said quietly, stepping closer. "You need to take a break."
"I'm fine," she replied without looking away from the spirits. "Just a few more questions."
She wasn't fine. Luka could see the exhaustion building in her posture, the way her usually sharp focus was beginning to blur around the edges. Channeling this much supernatural energy couldn't be safe, especially not for extended periods.
"The ceremony," she continued, addressing the Cherokee medicine woman. "What exactly does the renewal require?"
"A willing bridge between worlds. One who can speak for both the living and the dead. The ritual must be performed here, at the heart of sacred space, under the dark moon's shadow."
"And if something goes wrong during the ceremony?"
The spirit's expression grew grave. "The bridge risks being torn apart by the forces they seek to balance. It is... not without cost."
That was enough. Luka stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Leenah's shoulder. "We're leaving. Now."
"What?" She turned to stare at him with obvious incredulity. "Are you crazy? We're finally getting answers."
"You're exhausted," he said bluntly. "Look at your hands."
Leenah glanced down at her trembling fingers, and he saw the moment she realized how much the spiritual communication was draining her. But instead of acknowledging the problem, her jaw set with stubborn determination.
"I can handle a little fatigue. This is too important to stop now."
"This is exactly why we need to stop now." Luka's voice carried authority that made lesser shifters back down automatically. "You're no good to anyone if you collapse from magical exhaustion."
"I'm not going to collapse," she snapped, but even as she said it, another wave of tremors ran through her frame.
"Really? Because from where I'm standing, you look like you're about two questions away from hitting the ground."
The spirits around them were growing agitated as their connection to the living world began to waver, responding to Leenah's declining energy levels. Several of the manifestations flickered dangerously, their forms becoming less stable as her necromantic abilities strained past their limits.
"They need this information," Leenah insisted, gesturing toward the assembled dead. "These spirits have been waiting decades for someone who could hear them properly."
"And they'll wait a few more hours while you recover your strength," Luka replied firmly. "What good is gathering information if you're too drained to act on it?"
"You don't understand the stakes here."
"I understand that you're pushing yourself too hard and pretending it's not happening." His voice softened slightly, concern bleeding through his frustration. "I understand that you think admitting you have limits somehow makes you weak."
"This isn't about weakness," she shot back, but her defensive tone suggested he'd hit closer to the truth than she wanted to admit.
"No, it's about fear. You're afraid that if you stop, if you take time to rest and regroup, something terrible will happen while you're not working to prevent it."
The accusation hung between them in the charged air of the sacred grove, surrounded by the spirits who watched their argument with ancient, knowing eyes. Leenah's face cycled through anger, denial, and finally reluctant recognition that he might have a point.
"We're close to a breakthrough," she said quietly, but the fight had gone out of her voice.
"We'll be even closer tomorrow when you're not swaying on your feet," Luka replied gently. "The spirits waited this long. They can wait until you're strong enough to help them properly."
For a moment, he thought she might argue further. But then her shoulders sagged slightly, and she nodded toward the assembled manifestations with obvious regret.
"He's right," she told them. "I need to rest before we can continue. But I promise I'll be back."
The Cherokee medicine woman's expression held understanding and approval. "Wisdom often lies in knowing when to retreat and regroup, young necromancer. We will wait."
As the spirits began to fade back into whatever realm they inhabited, Luka moved to Leenah's side, ready to catch her if her exhaustion finally overcame her stubborn determination.
The argument had revealed more about both of them than he'd expected, layers of concern and protectiveness that went far beyond professional collaboration.
And judging by the way she'd looked at him when he'd called her out on her fears, she was beginning to realize it too.