Page 15 of Taming the Wicked Wolf

“Magic, especially a witch’s magic, is tied to their emotions. I can see yours right now, glowing as bright as a star.”

“Can you teach me how to find it again?”

Shit.

“I can try.”

Maybe I haven’t thought this through completely. Of course, I can help her. It’s probably just a case of her confidence being shot. I can already see glimmers of it returning, and it’s such a beautiful sight. Magic is personal, like a fingerprint. To remind her of the feeling, I would have to let her feel a bit of mine.

The process is intimate. This wouldn’t matter if I were a full demon, but since I have witch blood, it would allow her to sense my emotions, including this hopeless attraction.

“Good.” She says, “Poppy, go to bed.” She snaps her fingers, pointing to the large cushion against the corner of the living room.

The dog saunters over and grabs her lamb toy, squeaking out her grievances as she obeys, curling up on the pillow.

“You want to start right this moment?”

“You said that it would be easier if I could use magic.” She shrugs, walking over to kneel in front of the coffee table.

“Don’t you have work?” I step closer.

“Yeah, but we have time.” She points to the spot beside her and gives me a gruff, “Sit.”

The spell connecting forces me to my knees right next to her, the sudden movement surprising us both.

She chokes out a laugh, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, Gods, I am so sorry, Silas. I forgot all about the bracelet. Are you okay?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

I try to glare at her, but can’t muster the ire. Her cheeks are flushed a rich pink, the color continuing down across her shoulders and chest, disappearing under her shirt. Gods, I would love to bury my face against her neck, filling my nose with her scent, feeling her soft body pressed against me.

I am so screwed. Though, maybe not. If I keep the touches light, just a brush of my fingertips. I should be able to do this without revealing too much.

All risks aside, I am curious to see how much power she has. This could be an opportunity for me to glimpse her potential to shatter the demonic hierarchy once and for all.

“How do we start?” She asks, her voice still bright with her laughter as she represses a smirk.

“I don’t trust either of us enough to play with fire at the moment, so what other abilities do you have?”

She settles back, tucking her feet under her, “Just my telekinesis. That was the first to manifest. You can imagine how surprised I was when I moved my hairbrush one day and set it on fire.”

“We can start there and leave the fire for later on. Focus your energy on something lightweight.”

Emilia tries to hide her discomfort, but it’s clear she has some trauma attached to her magic that forces her to keep it contained to the point of being stifled.

I’ve had it happen several times throughout my life, but it’s hard to force yourself to look inward, especially when you’re afraid of losing control.

She scans the room, her attentions snagging on the half bookshelf in the corner. I pick out her target immediately,amidst the old dusty tomes is the single Harlequin romance I left there a few days ago after I finished it.

It has to be one of my favorites so far. The story is about a billionaire who has to fake date his receptionist to improve his emotional intelligence, all the while ignoring their clear sexual attraction.

Emilia lifts her hand, and I keep my eye on the book. After a few seconds, shuffles its way across the shelf then stops, like it’s hit an invisible block despite her hand shaking from the exertion.

“I can’t.” She slumps her shoulders.

She’s still in her head.

“Why the Harlequin?”

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