Page 32 of Unbearable Attraction (Hollow Oak Mates #4)
LEENAH
T he decision to go to Salem alone had taken Leenah two sleepless nights to make, and explaining it to Luka had nearly broken her heart.
The hurt in his eyes when she'd told him she needed to face her family without him still echoed through their bond, even now as the train carried her further from Hollow Oak with each passing mile.
"This is the right choice," she whispered to herself, watching the North Carolina mountains give way to Virginia farmland through the window. "The only choice."
But the growing distance between her and Luka felt like losing a vital organ.
Their spiritual connection, which had become as natural as breathing over the past weeks, stretched thin and uncertain.
Every mile made it harder to feel his steady presence, his quiet strength that had become her anchor in ways she was only now beginning to understand.
By the time the train pulled into Salem's historic station, the bond felt like a fading whisper, leaving her more alone than she'd been in months.
The Carrow family compound occupied a full city block in Salem's supernatural district, its imposing Victorian architecture designed to project respectability and old money.
Leenah stood at the wrought-iron gates for several minutes, gathering courage to face people who'd made her feel unwanted for most of her life.
"Miss Leenah?" The voice belonged to Thomas, the family's ancient butler, whose disapproving expression hadn't changed since she'd last seen him. "They're waiting for you in the formal parlor."
Of course they were. The formal parlor was reserved for serious family business, uncomfortable conversations, and the kind of meetings where people got disinherited or worse.
Her father sat in the wingback chair that had belonged to his grandfather, his graying hair perfectly styled and his expensive suit conveying the kind of understated wealth that opened doors in Salem's supernatural society.
Beside him stood Aunt Margaret, her pinched face radiating the same disapproval that had colored every interaction they'd ever had.
Two cousins she barely remembered flanked the fireplace, their expressions ranging from curious to hostile.
"Leenah." Her father's voice held no warmth, no acknowledgment that she was his daughter rather than a problematic business associate. "Thank you for coming. Please, sit."
She remained standing. "I got your message. Something about reckless magical practices and formal charges?"
"Your recent activities have drawn unwanted attention to our family name," Aunt Margaret said sharply. "Stories are circulating about a Carrow involved in dangerous necromantic workings, binding rituals with shifters, and other unseemly supernatural activities."
"Unseemly supernatural activities?" Leenah kept her voice level despite the anger building in her chest. "You mean helping trapped spirits find peace? Preventing supernatural communities from losing their protective barriers?"
"We mean practicing the kind of magic that makes headlines in supernatural newspapers," one of her cousins interjected. "The kind that has other families asking uncomfortable questions about our oversight of your training."
"I wasn't aware my magical education was your responsibility, considering you shipped me off to distant relatives when my abilities became inconvenient."
Her father's expression hardened. "We provided you with the best education available for someone with your... particular gifts. That you chose to exceed the bounds of acceptable practice is not our fault."
"Acceptable to whom?" The question came out sharp. "To a family that's spent generations trying to pretend they're barely magical? To people who see necromancy as an embarrassment rather than a gift?"
"To a community that values discretion over sensationalism," Aunt Margaret snapped. "To families who understand that flaunting supernatural abilities draws the wrong kind of attention from both human and magical authorities."
"Is that what you think I've been doing? Flaunting my abilities?"
"We think you've been making choices that endanger not only your own reputation but the standing our family has spent centuries building," her father replied coldly.
"Stories about Carrow necromancers performing dangerous rituals with shifter mates are exactly the kind of gossip that destroys carefully maintained social positions. You have no idea how much we lost due to your grandmother’s infatuation with her abilities. "
The casual dismissal of her bond with Luka made her blood boil, as well as the dismissal of her grandmother. "My relationship with Luka has nothing to do with my magical work."
"Doesn't it?" Another cousin stepped forward, a sharp-faced woman whose name Leenah couldn't remember.
"Reports suggest you've bonded with a bear shifter in ways that go beyond simple magical partnership.
That you've created connections that influence your judgment and compromise your ability to practice safely. "
"Who told you that?"
"Does it matter? The supernatural community is smaller than you think, especially among families with our social standing." Aunt Margaret's smile held no warmth. "Your binding ritual with the shifter has been the subject of considerable speculation among necromantic circles."
"Speculation about what?"
"About whether you've lost the ability to make independent magical decisions," her father said bluntly. "About whether your recent successes are actually the result of uncontrolled magical bonding that could prove dangerous to yourself and others."
The accusation hit like ice water. "That's ridiculous. My bond with Luka makes my abilities stronger, more balanced. I'm better at helping spirits now, not worse."
"According to you. But magical bonds with shifters are notoriously unpredictable, especially when they involve necromancers whose abilities are already considered unstable.
" The unnamed cousin's sounded clinicaly detached that made Leenah's skin crawl.
"There are documented cases of such connections leading to magical addiction, loss of individual identity, and dangerous codependency that compromises professional judgment. "
"None of which applies to my situation."
"How would you know?" Aunt Margaret asked. "By definition, someone whose judgment has been compromised can't recognize the extent of their impairment."
The circular logic was maddening, designed to make any defense she offered sound like proof of their claims. "So what exactly do you want from me?"
"We want you to submit to evaluation by qualified magical authorities," her father replied. "Practitioners who can assess whether your recent activities represent genuine professional growth or the influence of an unhealthy supernatural bond."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then we file formal charges with the Council of Mages alleging that you've engaged in dangerous magical practices without proper oversight or safeguards.
" His voice remained perfectly calm, as if he was discussing the weather.
"The investigation alone would be enough to damage your reputation and limit your future opportunities in supernatural communities. "
"You'd destroy my career to protect your social standing?"
"We'd prevent you from destroying yourself before the magical community loses another promising necromancer to the kind of reckless experimentation that killed your grandmother."
"Grandmother didn't die from reckless experimentation. She died from a heart attack."
"She died from the cumulative effects of decades spent pushing her necromantic abilities beyond safe limits," Aunt Margaret corrected coldly. "Just like you're doing now with these dangerous binding rituals and supernatural partnerships."
"My partnership with Luka has nothing to do with what happened to Grandmother."
"Doesn't it? Magical bonds create dependencies, Leenah. They make practitioners willing to take risks they would never consider alone." Her father leaned forward, his expression holding what might have been genuine concern. "We're trying to save you from repeating her mistakes."
"By isolating me from the first person who's ever understood my abilities? By forcing me to choose between my magical heritage and my personal happiness?"
"By helping you recognize that some choices aren't worth the cost they exact on everyone around you."
The room fell silent except for the ticking of the antique clock on the mantelpiece. Four pairs of eyes watched her with expressions ranging from disapproval to pity, waiting for her to capitulate to their demands or give them justification for filing their threatened charges.
The fading connection to Luka whispered his love and confidence across the miles, a reminder that she had value beyond what these people were willing to acknowledge.
The realization that her family saw her gifts as burdens rather than blessings, her bond as weakness rather than strength, finally crystallized into clarity.
"I need time to think about this," she said quietly.
"Excuse me?" Her father's eyebrows rose in obvious surprise.
"You're asking me to make a decision that could affect the rest of my life.
I won't be pressured into agreeing to something this significant without proper consideration.
" She straightened her shoulders, drawing on reserves of strength she'd forgotten she possessed. "I'll give you my answer tomorrow."
"Leenah, this isn't a negotiation—" Aunt Margaret began.
"Yes, it is," she interrupted firmly. "You want me to submit to evaluation and abandon my relationship. I want time to consider the full implications of both options. That seems reasonable."
Her father exchanged glances with Aunt Margaret, clearly thrown by her refusal to be immediately cowed by their threats. "Very well. You can stay in your old room tonight. But we expect a decision by morning."
"You'll have one."
As she climbed the stairs to the bedroom that had never felt like home, Leenah felt the weight of old expectations pressing down on her like a physical force.
But underneath the familiar suffocation was something new—the growing certainty that whatever decision she made tomorrow, it would be hers to make.