Page 21 of Unbearable Attraction (Hollow Oak Mates #4)
LEENAH
L eenah's hands shook as she turned the pages of her grandmother's most dangerous journal, the taste of Luka's kiss still burning on her lips hours after he'd stormed out of her cottage.
She'd thrown herself into the ritual preparation with desperate focus, using the complex magical theory as a shield against the emotions threatening to overwhelm her carefully constructed defenses.
But the words on the page kept blurring as her mind replayed their argument, the way his amber eyes had darkened with hurt when she'd accused him of trying to control her, the desperate honesty in his voice when he'd confessed why she mattered to him.
“Because every time I look at you, I remember what it feels like to want something more than just surviving another day.”
"Focus," she muttered to herself, forcing her attention back to the text. "You don't have time for this."
The journal lay open to a chapter titled "Spiritual Burden Transfer: Final Resort Protocols," and the more she read, the more her stomach twisted with understanding.
The ritual she'd been planning wasn't just dangerous to her necromantic abilities.
It was designed to be a trade. Her life force for the trapped spirits' freedom, her mortality for their release from whatever curse had bound them between worlds for decades.
The necromancer serves as a willing vessel, accepting the spiritual burden that prevents the dead from finding rest. This burden may manifest as physical ailment, shortened lifespan, or gradual depletion of life force.
In exchange, the spirits are freed to continue their journey to whatever realm awaits beyond the veil.
"Essentially a death sentence with extra steps," she said aloud, her voice echoing strangely in the empty cottage.
But as she continued reading, a more complete picture emerged.
The ritual wasn't automatically fatal, just..
. costly. If she was strong enough, if she had enough life force to sustain both herself and the spiritual burden, she might survive.
Weakened, certainly. Changed, probably permanently. But alive.
The question was whether she was willing to gamble her future on "might survive."
Minerva jumped onto the table beside the open journals, her mismatched eyes reflecting the candlelight as she studied her human with obvious concern. The cat's warm weight was grounding, a reminder that some risks were worth taking for the people you cared about.
People like Luka, who'd looked at her like she was precious rather than problematic. Who'd fought with her because he cared, not because he wanted to win.
"I really screwed that up, didn't I?" she asked Minerva, who responded with the kind of pointed stare that suggested her human's romantic skills needed serious work.
The fight replayed in her memory, but this time she heard the hurt underneath his protective instincts, the way his voice had broken when he'd asked her to trust him.
She'd been so focused on defending her independence that she'd missed the real message: he wasn't trying to control her choices, he was trying to share the burden of making them.
The realization brought with it a flood of memories she'd spent years trying to bury.
Her father's voice, cold with disapproval as he explained why her necromantic abilities were an embarrassment to the family name.
"Normal people don't talk to the dead, Leenah.
Normal people don't make scenes at funerals or claim they can hear voices from empty rooms. You'll keep these.
.. episodes... to yourself if you want to continue living in this house. "
Her college boyfriend Aaron, initially fascinated by her gifts until the novelty wore off and the reality of dating someone who communed with spirits became inconvenient.
"It's weird, Lee. You're weird. I can't introduce you to my friends when you might start having conversations with their dead relatives. "
Her aunt's relieved expression when she'd announced her plans to leave and find somewhere she could practice necromancy without judgment. "Perhaps it's for the best, dear. You've always been... difficult to understand."
Each relationship had followed the same pattern. Initial acceptance, growing discomfort with her supernatural nature, and finally abandonment when the people she cared about decided that loving her wasn't worth the complications she brought into their lives.
No wonder she'd learned to keep her emotional walls intact. No wonder the idea of depending on someone else felt like setting herself up for inevitable heartbreak.
But Luka was different, wasn't he? He'd seen her at her most supernatural, had watched her communicate with ancient spirits and channel otherworldly forces, and instead of being disturbed by her abilities, he'd called her magnificent.
When she'd argued with him about the ritual, he hadn't dismissed her expertise or tried to override her judgment.
He'd asked her to trust him enough to share the burden.
"I'm an idiot," she told Minerva, who purred agreement with feline satisfaction.
The cat's response would have been amusing under different circumstances, but sitting alone in her cottage with journals full of dangerous magic and the memory of Luka's hurt expression, Leenah felt nothing but regret for her defensive reaction to his concern.
She'd spent so many years protecting herself from the pain of abandonment that she never knew what it was like to have someone fight for her instead of walking away when things got complicated.
Luka hadn't tried to change her mind about helping the spirits.
He'd tried to ensure she didn't face the dangers alone.
The distinction was crucial, and she'd been too scared to recognize it.
A soft knock at her front door interrupted her self-recrimination, followed by a familiar voice calling her name. But instead of Luka's protective rumble, she heard Twyla's musical tones carrying through the November night.
"Leenah, honey, I know you're in there. And I know you're probably drowning in magical theory and emotional confusion, so I brought reinforcements."
Leenah opened the door to the fae-blooded café owner holding a thermos that smelled like heaven and a paper bag that promised comfort food designed to solve problems through carbohydrate consumption.
"Hot chocolate with a shot of courage," Twyla announced, pushing past Leenah into the cottage without waiting for an invitation. "And enough cinnamon rolls to fuel a proper breakdown if that's what you need."
"I'm not having a breakdown," Leenah protested weakly.
"Honey, you've been avoiding the man who clearly adores you for three days, you smell like dangerous magic, and your aura looks like a thunderstorm.
" Twyla settled herself at the kitchen table with the kind of maternal authority that brooked no argument.
"If that's not breakdown territory, it's certainly in the neighborhood. "
Despite everything, Leenah felt her lips twitch upward. "My aura looks like a thunderstorm?"
"Dark, chaotic, and probably about to produce lightning." Twyla poured steaming hot chocolate into two mugs and pushed one across the table. "The question is whether you're planning to weather this storm alone or if you're going to let someone help you through it."
"It's complicated."
"The best things usually are." Twyla's expression grew serious. "But complications don't disappear just because you refuse to deal with them. They just get worse while you're pretending they don't exist."
"I don't know how to trust someone with something this important," Leenah admitted. "Every time I've cared about someone, every time I've let them matter, they've either tried to control me or they've left when my supernatural nature became inconvenient."
"And you think Luka's going to do the same?"
"I think he's going to try to protect me even if it means overriding my choices. And I think I'm going to resent him for it, and then we'll both end up hurt when everything falls apart."
Twyla was quiet for a moment, studying Leenah's face with ancient eyes that had seen too many people make the same mistakes. "You know what I think?"
"I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway."
"I think you're so afraid of being controlled that you've forgotten the difference between someone trying to cage you and someone trying to catch you when you fall.
" Twyla's voice held gentle understanding.
"I think you've confused independence with isolation, and now you don't know how to accept help without feeling like you're giving up something essential about yourself. "
"What if I'm right? What if letting him matter just sets us both up for disappointment?"
"Then you'll deal with disappointment when it comes," Twyla replied pragmatically. "But at least you'll have tried for something real instead of settling for the safety of being alone."
After Twyla left, armed with promises that Leenah would at least consider reaching out to Luka before doing anything irreversibly stupid, the cottage felt even emptier than before.
But even as she sat there trying to focus on magical theory, her mind kept circling back to the same uncomfortable truth: Luka had been right.
She was planning something dangerous and stupid, and she was doing it alone because accepting help felt too much like admitting weakness.
The problem was, recognizing the truth and being ready to act on it were two very different things.
Her pride stung from his accusations, from the way he'd pushed past her boundaries and demanded answers she wasn't ready to give.
Part of her wanted to march over to his workshop and prove that she could handle this crisis without his interference.
But a larger part, the part that had felt safer in his arms than anywhere else in years, whispered that maybe he'd earned the right to be included in decisions that could affect them both.
"Damn him for being right," she muttered, earning a sympathetic purr from Minerva.
The ritual components sat on her kitchen table, carefully arranged and ready for tomorrow’s ceremony. Everything she needed to contact the trapped spirits directly and offer herself as their willing sacrifice.
Her grandmother's journals painted a clear picture of the costs involved in serving as a spiritual bridge, but they also hinted at alternatives.
Modified rituals that distributed the magical burden across multiple participants.
Protective techniques that might shield the primary practitioner from the worst effects of channeling otherworldly forces.
Options that would require trusting someone else with her safety. Someone who cared more about her wellbeing than the success of the mission.
Someone like Luka, who'd seen through her defensive walls and called her out on behavior she'd been hiding behind for years.
The thought of facing him again, of admitting that his concerns had merit while still being angry about the way he'd confronted her, made her stomach twist with conflicting emotions.
She wanted to apologize for the harsh things she'd said, but she also wanted to make him understand why his protective instincts felt so much like the control she'd spent years escaping.
"I need to talk to him, don't I?" she asked Minerva, who was watching her with the kind of patient attention that suggested the cat was waiting for her human to make the right decision.
Minerva's answering purr suggested that conversations were definitely in order, though not necessarily the apologetic kind.
"And I need to tell him about the ritual. Even if I'm still mad about the way he handled things."
Another purr, this one carrying what sounded suspiciously like approval mixed with feline amusement at human emotional complications.
"All right," Leenah said, closing her grandmother's journal and reaching for her jacket. "Let's go find out if I'm brave enough to have this fight properly."
She was still furious with him for pushing past her boundaries, still resentful of the way he'd demanded trust she wasn't sure how to give.
But she was also tired of carrying the weight of this crisis alone, tired of pretending that her fierce independence wasn't sometimes just another word for loneliness.
As she approached the warm light spilling from his workshop windows, she realized this wasn't about apologizing or admitting defeat.
This was about proving to herself that she could be angry with someone and still care about them, that she could fight for what mattered without walking away when things got complicated.
Because some arguments were worth having, especially with people who mattered enough to fight with instead of simply dismissing.
And Luka definitely mattered, even when he was being an overbearing, protective pain in the ass.