I yawn but don’t open my eyes. “I took a potion and have a neck thingy for that.”
“Until you don’t. Potions wear off, and enchanted objects fail. In the clutch, you need to take care of yourself.”
I can’t disagree with that.
So far, the safeguards I’ve been given are working perfectly, and now there is silence where there'd been constant whispers, peace where there'd been creeping dread.
"The thing about mental magic," he whispers next to me, "is that it requires trust. You have to let me in, Poppy. You need to trust me with whatever is going on inside you so I can guide you through it.”
My stomach drops and I start to panic, but whatever seductive spell he’s got me under, my worries don’t take hold.
He places a flat hand over my heart, and a rush of healing energy settles my anxiety. “Trust me to see the flaws, the demon influence, the darkness, all of it."
I open my eyes, and it takes a moment for my vision to adjust enough to make out his features. "Wylder, I don't think?—"
He leans forward, and his hand slides up my neck to cup my cheek. “Shh, seriously, Poppy. Nothing you show me will scare me off. I’ve always been straight with you, haven’t I?”
The question sits heavily between us as I consider that.
Even through everything—the hostility in the beginning, him having to mentor me when he was angry and hurt about his mother’s death, and us slowly building a rapport—he’s never wavered.
“You have, yes.”
“Then trust me to help you.” He relaxes beside me, and when I do a gut check, there’s nothing there except warm fuzzies.
I roll onto my side to face him and clasp his hand with mine. As always, the moment our skin connects, magic sparks between us and the hair on my arms stands on end.
Wylder’s essence is filled with warmth and potential. It’s grounding.
“Okay, relax and close your eyes again.”
I do as he says.
“You’ve probably shut him out based on self-preservation and an instinct to survive. You’ve tried to keep him out of your head, but for you to let me in, you’ll have to take down those blocks. It’ll be unpleasant at first, but I’ll show you how to compartmentalize those thoughts and lock them down properly.”
He talks me through taking down the safeguards I instinctively put in place and immediately, the darkness rushes in.
Tharuzel's presence coils through my thoughts like smoke, whispering promises and threats in equal measure.
You are mine, Poppy Hallowind.
Wylder’s presence brushes my thoughts, his magical signature tingling beneath my skin. "Focus on my voice, Poppy. Feel where my magic touches yours."
His presence is like standing on a heated floor in winter and having that comfort ebb through you.
It’s gentle but unmistakable.
And with it comes awareness.
Not just of his magic, but ofhim. His unwavering commitment to what’s right. His worry for me. He’s bracing himself for what he'll find inside my head, but is determined to accept me no matter what I’ve pushed into the dark recesses of my mind.
Then he hits the corruption.
His recoil twists inside me like a physical blow. The demon's influence isn't subtle—it's a festering wound in my consciousness, pulsing with malevolent energy. Black tendrils wrap around my thoughts, my fears, my anger. They've grown since the blood contract, spreading like an infection.
Shame floods through me. "I told you?—"
"Don't." His mental voice cuts through my spiral. "Don't hide from me now."
