I hesitated, having seen some of the books Nox offered up and the gruesome spells inside. But Angel nodded and waved at me to take it. The second I touched it, energy curled around my fingers, sliding up my arm in a gentle breeze of welcome. “Holy…”
“It will teach you weaving,” Nat said. “A better fit than sigils or runes. Shaping death magic is more of an art anyway. It should always be done with compassion and intention.”
I flipped open the book, afraid of what I’d see, but found the faded ink began with illustrations on how to braid a knotted bracelet.
“Oh,” I said, feeling it was a bit anticlimactic. But I turned the page and found a lot of more detailed weaves that added shields, healing, and more—all starting with a physical act of binding or braiding. “What?” Was I meant to cast spells into friendship bracelets?
Nat held his hand out to me. “Page four, the healing one?”
I flipped ahead and took his hand, uncertain of what he planned. But the second we touched again; an array of colors straightened around him as if they were threads. I blinked a dozen times and searched the room for more lines, finding them clarified only around him.
“Start with me, as I can undo anything you can do,” Nat instructed. “Copy the healing weave.” But the book was without color, and Nat’s lines had an array of dark, rainbow ombré tones.
“Do the colors matter?” I wondered.
“In this?” Nat shook his head. “Let instinct guide you.”
I studied the book’s diagram and the shimmering threads. The intricate pattern of loops and swirls made sense in a way I couldn’t really describe. I brushed the glowing threads, feeling as if I needed to touch them to move them, though my power latched on without effort. Not the wild and uncontrolled panic I’d experienced before, but a confident recognition that let me slide the strands into place as easily as tying a knot, like I’d done it a thousand times before.
A gasp escaped me as the completed weave flared bright between us. Warmth spread through my palm where I held Nat’s hand, the energy humming with quiet power—clarified, strong, and yet not taxing at all.
“Excellent. You’re a natural.” Nat flexed his fingers and examined the weave. “Now let it go slowly. Like releasing a slow breath, gradual.”
The glowing pattern faded as I released the weave, drawing back my magic. Nat looked unchanged, but he gave me a satisfied smirk.
Angel watched silently; expression filled with interest.
“Your mate reads you well,” Nat said, pointing at Angel. “Now heal him.”
I winced, but Angel held up his scarred hand.
“You’ve got this,” Angel said as I took hold of his hand, my own trembling.
The guilt made me nauseous every time I looked at it, but I took a steadying breath and focused on Angel’s threads, now insanely vibrant, as if the exercise with Nat had given me an added boost. I could trace a dozen weaves in his colors, some of them I recognized with no more than the barest touch. The first was our mate bond. It was a small thread, the knots delicate and strained, but I could see a dozen ways to loop more lines around it and enhance the weave to make it strong and beautiful.
“Focus, little necromancer,” Nat instructed. “Little things first. That one will strengthen with time.”
I lifted Angel’s threads, trying to clarify the scar specific lines, and was surprised to find them darkened and snagged, like snarled fishing line.
As if sensing my anxiety, Angel brushed his thumb over my knuckles. “I trust you.”
Those three words steadied me. I called my magic forth, letting it flow into the familiar pattern I’d just learned. Untangling them felt like it took forever, although other than the frustration of tugging slightly and then moving to another until they unwound and smoothed out, I felt no strain. It was as though I’d had the weave right the first time but added too much tension in some places and not enough in others. Panic, worry, and pain had clouded my instinct, causing us both damage.
A soft gasp came from Angel as the weave took hold. The scar faded before my eyes, the skin smoothing beneath our joined hands. Even the tattoo that had been marred was restored to its original perfection. I sucked in a breath, relieved to have fixed the damage, and Angel gave me a sweet smile, like he’d known I could do it the whole time.
“Good job, baby necromancer. Imagine what you can do with a little practice.”
I barely heard him, too intent on my focus of Angel. My heart raced at the idea that I’d fixed it. Yes, my gut still churned at the memory that I’d hurt him, but this gave me hope.
“Let’s not try to stop cars for a while,” Angel said with a touch of humor in his voice. “Until you practice a little.”
“I don’t understand how it was so easy.”
“You were manipulating my lines, not pulling them into yourself to reuse,” Angel said. He gripped my hand, hauling me in close. I couldn’t help but admire our bond and wondered if he’d sense me fixing it.
Nat cleared his throat, and I glanced his way, heat filling my cheeks as I’d almost forgotten he was there in favor of staring at my hot boyfriend and finding hope that we really were meant to be. “The book will teach you more, but take it slow. There’s room for notes, and all magic takes practice.”
I nodded, still reeling. “What do I owe you for the book?” And the lesson? And the hope? How could I ever repay this guy?
