Page 64 of Thistle Thorns

He finally turned his attention to Arthur, letting his magic dome complete itself.

The lumberjack shifter was motionless on the grass, the Crafting Circle ladies clustered around him, offering what comfort they could with their presence that I could not. Flora darted out with her wand raised, the tip glowing green. “Nobody hurts Redbud’s lumbersnack. No one!”

“Begone, chaff,” the Stag Man boomed.

My friends were powerless before his presence. Shari practically flung herself out of the way. Daphne followed reluctantly, one hand scruffing not-Sawyer, but Flora looked like she might actually resist. Her green eyes slid to mine for confirmation, and I nodded. We didn’t have time for heroics. There was no time left at all.

Cowed, they could have fled for the safety of the house, but the Crafting Circle ladies chose to cluster around me. Their solidarity might’ve been worthless in Ossian’s eyes, but it meant the world to me. We would defend Redbud and our loved ones, no matter the cost. Surrounded by my courageous friends, I felt a new strength rise within me. I think they felt it too, for Flora sputtered and Daphne gasped.

Then the older woman yelped. Not-Sawyer had finally wiggled loose, yanking out half a dozen tassels from her shawl as he launched away from her—

Magic shuddered through my shoulder where he landed, and the little cat mewed in confused distress, or hope, and I could have sworn I heard my name.

I yanked the tomcat down from my shoulders and wrangled him into the crook of my arm. The not-Sawyer would’ve fought this hold, done anything to protect his belly, but the glaze on this tabby tomcat’s eyes faded away, and my Sawyer returned.

“Meadow?” he whispered, both ears, the good and the torn, pricking forward.

“A bonded familiar wouldn’t need a collar. His witch would be imprinted on his heart, and vice versa. Their connection would create an immunity to faelight and fae magic, or at least a resistance, depending on their power.”

Our bond wasn’t conventional, but it was there. It’d just needed to be activated through touch.

I would’ve blessed the Green Mother right then and there had the Stag Man’s sudden movements not wrenched my attention to the lumberjack shifter.

Ossian squatted down, seized a fistful of Arthur’s hair, and yanked his head up off the grass.

“Play dumb,” I whispered to the cat, dropping him to the ground. “Hey!” I shouted at the Stag Man.

Ignoring me, the fae lord pressed two fingers against Arthur’s neck like he was feeling for a pulse. Twinkling copper magic sparked at his fingertips, soaking into Arthur’s neck, and a tense moment later, his hazel eyes flashed wide open as he sucked in a wheezing gasp. Color returned to his flesh, a flushed tint of new life to his tan skin, and he drew in a second stronger breath.

But Ossian didn’t release him. The Stag Man wrenched the lumberjack shifter to his feet by his hair, jabbing his same two fingers into Arthur’s chest over his heart. The copper sparks disappeared from his fingers, a blue light glowing beneath them instead.

Arthur roared in agony. He twisted, but coppery restraints held him upright and prevented him from shifting.

“Stop it!” I cried. “You’re hurting him!”

“Indeed,” Ossian agreed, “but he is neither family nor friend. Magic is precise, Meadow. He left what you mortals call ‘the friend zone’ some time ago. He is your lover, and thus not part of our bargain.”

I was still too weak to summon battle magic, but emerald green magic burst from my hands. Beside me, Flora raised her wand, Daphne her blackthorn shillelagh, and Shari her knitting needles.

“Tallyho, ladies!” Flora trumpeted.

Without so much as a glance in our direction, Ossian let go of Arthur’s hair to sweep a lazy hand in our direction. The buried roots of the nearby maple tree erupted from the earth, tangling up our legs and locking us in place. True to my command, Sawyer played dumb and just hissed from where he’d fled to the delphinium floral wards.

“Jumping hop-toads,” Flora exclaimed, stabbing everywhere with her wand like she was poking holes for the caramel and fudge sauces in a Better Than Sex cake. “The roots won’t budge!”

“I thought I sensed something in your kiss, Meadow,” Ossian mused over the ruckus. “Your bond with the bear is strong, but I never expected to find this.”

“What are you doing to him?” I thundered.

“Removing a distraction,” the Stag Man answered. Bracing his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, he pulled his two fingers away from the shifter’s chest, a rope of crackling blue light extracting from Arthur’s heart.

A pang shot through my own heart, a blue light rising to the surface of the skin on my left breast. What the—?

With a shout, I lashed with my emerald green vines. A copper shield intercepted them before they could strike the Stag Man, dashing them into glittering pulp. Ossian continued to pull at that crackling blue rope like he was extracting the taproot of an invasive weed. As he worked, the magic that had hidden his stag legs and antlers began to waver, his true form reappearing once more.

Arthur fell to his knees, spine arched in pain, as the rope snapped free of him. Only a faint blue blush of light remained where it had attached to his heart.

I cried out then, slumping forward as an excruciating pain squeezed my heart. It was being wrung like an orange for juice, like a seedling shriveling from being left out in the sun for far too long.

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