Page 22 of Claws for Celebration
The green-bound Thornwell genealogy lifted itself from the shelf, floating through the air with serene grace to settle gently on the table beside her laptop.
Moira looked up in time to see the book completing its magical journey. Her face went white with shock.
"What the hell?" she breathed, staring at the volume that had just defied several laws of physics to answer her casual request.
Lucien's protective instincts went into overdrive. The careful revelation timeline the Council had planned, the gradual introduction to supernatural concepts, all of it became irrelevant in the face of Moira's obvious distress.
"Hey," he said softly, moving to her side with the fluid grace his panther demanded when their mate was frightened. "It's all right."
"All right?" Her voice rose to just below panic levels. "Lucien, that book just flew across the room! Books don't fly! They don't just levitate themselves when I need them!"
"Sometimes they do," he said carefully, settling into the chair beside her. "In places where old magic runs deep."
"Old magic." She laughed sounded with hysteria rather than humor. "Right. Magic. Because that's a perfectly reasonable explanation for why inanimate objects are responding to my subconscious desires."
Lucien studied her face, noting the way her pupils had dilated with shock and her hands trembled as she reached for her water bottle. His panther wanted to gather her into his arms, to provide comfort through physical contact and protective presence. But his human mind recognized that she needed honesty more than comfort right now.
"Moira," he said gently, "what's the most logical explanation for what just happened?"
"Logical?" She stared at him as if he'd asked her to solve quantum physics with finger paints. "There is no logical explanation. Books don't levitate, air doesn't shimmer with golden light, and genealogy pages don't suddenly become readable just because I want them to."
"They do if you have the power to make it happen."
The words hung between them, weighted with implications that would change everything about their relationship. Lucien watched her process the statement, saw the moment when her analytical mind began accepting possibilities she'd been fighting for weeks.
"You're saying I did that." It wasn't a question.
"I'm saying you've been doing things like that since you arrived in Hollow Oak. The difference is now they're becoming too obvious to rationalize away."
Moira was quiet for a long moment, her gaze moving between the mysteriously transported book and her own hands as if seeing them for the first time. "The protection spells. The ward-work. You know what I've been doing unconsciously."
Her matter-of-fact tone surprised him. "You're taking this more calmly than I expected."
"Panic is a luxury I can't afford right now," she said with the controlled precision of someone holding herself together through sheer willpower. "If I start screaming about impossible things, I'll never stop. So let's stick to facts. I have some kind of magical ability. You've been aware of it. What else haven't you told me?"
The directness of her question cut straight through his protective instincts to the core of his dilemma. Moira deserved honesty, but revealing too much too quickly could overwhelm her still-fragile acceptance of the supernatural.
"Your family's heritage runs deeper than the genealogies suggest," he said carefully. "The Shadowheart bloodline wasn't just influential in Hollow Oak's early days. They were essential to its survival."
"Essential how?"
"They created the magical protections that keep this community safe. The ward-work you're unconsciously performing? It's restoring defenses that have been weakening for decades." Lucien watched her face as she processed this information. "Your great-great-grandmother and her sisters and your own grandmother didn't just disappear from the historical record. They sacrificed themselves to create a sanctuary that would endure long after they were gone."
"And now I'm supposed to take their place?" Her voice carried a tremor that carried the weight of inherited responsibility.
"Not supposed to. Called to. There's a difference." He leaned forward, wanting to bridge the distance between them without overwhelming her with too much contact. "No one can force you to accept your heritage, Moira. But ignoring it won't make it disappear."
"The residents here," she said slowly, "they all have gifts like mine?"
"Different gifts, but yes. Hollow Oak has always been a haven for those who don't fit into the ordinary world." He chose his words with deliberate care, offering truth without revealing the full extent of the supernatural community surrounding her. "Healers, seers, those with unusual connections to nature or ancient knowledge."
"And you?"
The question he'd been dreading and anticipating in equal measure. Lucien met her gaze steadily, knowing that his next words would determine whether she trusted him enough to continue down this path.
"I have my own gifts," he said simply. "But understanding yours is more important right now."
Moira studied his face with the intensity she usually reserved for historical documents, searching for meanings hidden between the lines. "You're still protecting me from something."
