Page 15 of Their Fated Magic

“So, we could be days away from the cure to the illness,” Rinan says with a smile. “That’s a nice thought.”

“Hopefully, it’ll be quick enough to save all the people who are already sick,” Drogo adds, looking doubtful.

My father’s image comes to my mind, and my gut tightens. Something about seeing him coughing blood, just like the dead shifter, has changed something inside of me. It’s like up until that point I really just didn’t think it was possible for my father to die. And now? Now I have this pressure on my chest that can’t be eased.

I turn to face Tara, and her gaze meets mine. The whole world seems to fade away, and my nerves jump as I force myself to ask the question. “Do you think everyone who is sick can be healed once you find the source of the illness? If you break the curse, will they get better?”

My father is there again, at the back of my mind, sick and frail: a shell of who he once was. I can’t watch him wither and die. I slowly breathe in, trying not to fall apart in front of everyone. My throat gets tight, and I cough, trying to shift my thinking.

Tara looks at me, a softness in her eyes. “I don’t know.”

I exhale, my breath turned shaky. I drag my hand through my hair and try to steady myself. I’m losing myself, but the thought of losing my dad… I hang my head. “I’m scared I’ll lose him, and I can’t. He can’t die,” I whisper.

Tara’s small hand touches my back, and then she’s rubbing slow circles on my back to soothe me. It’s unexpected, but comforting. Here she is, a woman who I’ve hurt over and over again, and she’s still willing to offer me comfort after all I’ve done. The touch of a woman – of this woman – soothes like nothing else.

“I understand. My father was really sick before I lost him.” Her words are quiet, but they sound loud in the silent night. “I watched him go from a strong, hulking man to someone who could barely lift a cup to his own mouth.”

She’d told my father about this while we eavesdropped. I think it had been a shock to all three of us. Tara seems so innocent, naive even, that we assumed that she’d literally lived a life of privilege without even a glimpse of sadness or loss. Her story painted a different picture.

“Was… was it like this?” This painful.

She releases a slow breath. “It was difficult.” She hesitates before pressing on. “I spent all my time with him, taking care of him and keeping him company. I did everything I could to try to save him, used every bit of magic I could muster, and nothing helped.”

I imagine a little Tara, using her child magic to do adult things like save a man’s life. “That must have been really hard.”

“Honestly? It was agony. It hurt like hell to watch him suffer like that, but I couldn’t let him see my sadness. I couldn’t make him feel guilty for making me sad when he had no control over what ailed him. So I made it my job to smile. I learned to smile through any and everything that life threw at me, no matter how hard it is or how much I hurt. My duty was to smile and make my dad feel better.” Then she smiles, and I realize just how much she smiles.

But maybe, like then, she doesn’t always feel like smiling. The notion brings to mind a thousand moments where I expected Tara to cry or get angry, and she’d simply smiled. The realization makes me feel like absolute shit.

Rinan seems to realize it too. “Smiling all the time isn’t always the way to go. You’re just pushing your true feelings down. It’s okay to be sad.”

Tara opens her mouth to say something, but closes it, pressing her lips together like she’s holding back what she wants to say. She stares at Rinan and then looks away into the fire. There’s a strange energy in the air that I’ve never felt before.

We’re shitheads. Absolute shitheads.

I watch her, deciding to look into her eyes the next time she smiles. Maybe then I’ll know if she’s really happy or if she’s feeling something else.

It’s strange. I’ve always seen myself as a good man. I’ve always treated women well. But I haven’t done a good job with Tara. The fact that smiling through it all was her way of being tough rips my heart out. If we’d seen how much we were hurting her… I’d like to think we would have been better to her. Hell, we should’ve been better to her regardless.

She turns her gaze from the fire and back to me, and I stiffen, not sure what to prepare myself for. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to make sure your father survives. I couldn’t save mine, but I’ll try my best to save yours.” Her eyes twinkle with this smile, and I believe her.

Hesitantly, I reach out and take her hand. After a moment, she stops holding herself tensely and holds my hand right back.

“You’re too good for us. You know that don’t you?”

Her dark eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

There’s no question to it. It’s a statement.

I squeeze her hand. “Thank you for helping us even though we’re assholes.”

She gives a little shrug. “Assholes or not, I’m not going to let your people suffer when I can help.”

My gaze finds Drogo, and I swear every wall he’s put up has fallen. He’s just staring at the little witch like this is the first time he’s ever seen her, which is good. I think he’d be a lot happier if he let go of his anger and stopped directing it at Tara.

She leans so that her head rests on my shoulder. “I’m sorry about your dad. I can see the weight all of this is putting on you. It’s a lot to handle.”

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