Page 31 of Unbearable Attraction
21
LEENAH
Leenah's hands shook as she turned the pages of her grandmother's most dangerous journal, the taste of Luka's kiss still burning on her lips hours after he'd stormed out of her cottage. She'd thrown herself into the ritual preparation with desperate focus, using the complex magical theory as a shield against the emotions threatening to overwhelm her carefully constructed defenses.
But the words on the page kept blurring as her mind replayed their argument, the way his amber eyes had darkened with hurt when she'd accused him of trying to control her, the desperate honesty in his voice when he'd confessed why she mattered to him.
“Because every time I look at you, I remember what it feels like to want something more than just surviving another day.”
"Focus," she muttered to herself, forcing her attention back to the text. "You don't have time for this."
The journal lay open to a chapter titled "Spiritual Burden Transfer: Final Resort Protocols," and the more she read, the more her stomach twisted with understanding. The ritual she'd been planning wasn't just dangerous to her necromanticabilities. It was designed to be a trade. Her life force for the trapped spirits' freedom, her mortality for their release from whatever curse had bound them between worlds for decades.
The necromancer serves as a willing vessel, accepting the spiritual burden that prevents the dead from finding rest. This burden may manifest as physical ailment, shortened lifespan, or gradual depletion of life force. In exchange, the spirits are freed to continue their journey to whatever realm awaits beyond the veil.
"Essentially a death sentence with extra steps," she said aloud, her voice echoing strangely in the empty cottage.
But as she continued reading, a more complete picture emerged. The ritual wasn't automatically fatal, just... costly. If she was strong enough, if she had enough life force to sustain both herself and the spiritual burden, she might survive. Weakened, certainly. Changed, probably permanently. But alive.
The question was whether she was willing to gamble her future on "might survive."
Minerva jumped onto the table beside the open journals, her mismatched eyes reflecting the candlelight as she studied her human with obvious concern. The cat's warm weight was grounding, a reminder that some risks were worth taking for the people you cared about.
People like Luka, who'd looked at her like she was precious rather than problematic. Who'd fought with her because he cared, not because he wanted to win.
"I really screwed that up, didn't I?" she asked Minerva, who responded with the kind of pointed stare that suggested her human's romantic skills needed serious work.
The fight replayed in her memory, but this time she heard the hurt underneath his protective instincts, the way his voice had broken when he'd asked her to trust him. She'd been so focused on defending her independence that she'd missed thereal message: he wasn't trying to control her choices, he was trying to share the burden of making them.
The realization brought with it a flood of memories she'd spent years trying to bury.
Her father's voice, cold with disapproval as he explained why her necromantic abilities were an embarrassment to the family name."Normal people don't talk to the dead, Leenah. Normal people don't make scenes at funerals or claim they can hear voices from empty rooms. You'll keep these... episodes... to yourself if you want to continue living in this house."
Her college boyfriend Aaron, initially fascinated by her gifts until the novelty wore off and the reality of dating someone who communed with spirits became inconvenient."It's weird, Lee. You're weird. I can't introduce you to my friends when you might start having conversations with their dead relatives."
Her aunt's relieved expression when she'd announced her plans to leave and find somewhere she could practice necromancy without judgment."Perhaps it's for the best, dear. You've always been... difficult to understand."
Each relationship had followed the same pattern. Initial acceptance, growing discomfort with her supernatural nature, and finally abandonment when the people she cared about decided that loving her wasn't worth the complications she brought into their lives.
No wonder she'd learned to keep her emotional walls intact. No wonder the idea of depending on someone else felt like setting herself up for inevitable heartbreak.
But Luka was different, wasn't he? He'd seen her at her most supernatural, had watched her communicate with ancient spirits and channel otherworldly forces, and instead of being disturbed by her abilities, he'd called her magnificent. When she'd argued with him about the ritual, he hadn't dismissed her expertiseor tried to override her judgment. He'd asked her to trust him enough to share the burden.
"I'm an idiot," she told Minerva, who purred agreement with feline satisfaction.
The cat's response would have been amusing under different circumstances, but sitting alone in her cottage with journals full of dangerous magic and the memory of Luka's hurt expression, Leenah felt nothing but regret for her defensive reaction to his concern.
She'd spent so many years protecting herself from the pain of abandonment that she never knew what it was like to have someone fight for her instead of walking away when things got complicated. Luka hadn't tried to change her mind about helping the spirits. He'd tried to ensure she didn't face the dangers alone.
The distinction was crucial, and she'd been too scared to recognize it.
A soft knock at her front door interrupted her self-recrimination, followed by a familiar voice calling her name. But instead of Luka's protective rumble, she heard Twyla's musical tones carrying through the November night.
"Leenah, honey, I know you're in there. And I know you're probably drowning in magical theory and emotional confusion, so I brought reinforcements."
Leenah opened the door to the fae-blooded café owner holding a thermos that smelled like heaven and a paper bag that promised comfort food designed to solve problems through carbohydrate consumption.
"Hot chocolate with a shot of courage," Twyla announced, pushing past Leenah into the cottage without waiting for an invitation. "And enough cinnamon rolls to fuel a proper breakdown if that's what you need."
