Page 65 of Brutal Alpha Beast
But, for some deranged reason, I trust her.
She looks nervous and vulnerable, and that creates a strange feeling in my chest. I don’t want her to suffer. Even when I thought that she was here to trick me and to spy, I felt protective of her in a way that feels impossible to describe.
It’s just there. Existing.
“Looks fine to me,” I respond, “Is there anything you need in particular?”
She shakes her head. “Just being outside in the forest is good, and away from any other energies that may intercept.”
“Okay,” I nod.
Although I’ve been learning more about how magic works over these past few weeks, I truly understand it so little—Danielle could say anything about it, and I’d just nod my head and agree.
“Let’s sit,” she says, and we both settle cross-legged opposite each other on the cool forest floor.
I remember the last time we were in the forest together, on the floor. I have the urge to reach out and touch her, to tell her that everything will be okay.
She has a glassy look in her eyes—an air of insecurity about her as she smooths the edges of her dress.
Have I made her feel this way?
Danielle is a badass witch; she’s powerful as hell.
I feel a pang of guilt.
“It’ll be fine,” I tell her, looking directly into her sad eyes.
I don’t know what compels me to say this, because I have no idea if it will be fine for either of us.
She repositions herself.
“Open up your palms,” she commands.
I open them, pointing to the sky.
She opens her palms, closes her eyes, and instructs me to do the same.
Then she murmurs witchy, unintelligible words. I hold my breath a little, waiting to feel something undoubtedly strange.
A stronger wind picks up around us, whipping and slapping at my sides. It’s howling, like a violent storm, crashing against my ears.
But I stay steady. I don’t feel anything changing internally yet.
Then I feel two hands slap against mine.
I open my eyes. Danielle is hunched over, her hands on top of mine, her knees on the floor as she chants the same words.
Her face is contorted with strain. I almost want to tell her to stop, but I know now that this is how the witches’ spells usually go.
She’s squeezing my hands, and I do my best to support her weight.
Around us wraps her magical glow.
“That’s it,” I encourage. “You can do this.”
She continues, chanting louder, with more emphasis. Her voice echoes through the forest—she sounds strong.
She’s almost screaming. I’m holding onto her tightly, supporting her.
