Page 92 of Samhain Savior
Raising my hand, I whispered, “Lux.”
The ball of witchlight that flared in my palm was instantaneous, bigger and brighter than anything I had ever conjured before, and I let out a little scream as I released it.
“I—” I stuttered, shocked, as I blinked away the strange afterimages the witchlight left behind in my vision. “That’s never happened before.” Usually, my witchlight was small and dainty, a firefly in the dark.
That had felt more like an eclipse, so bright it was blinding, and excitement fizzled inside me at the thought that I could create such a beautiful symbol of power.
Archer hummed thoughtfully.
“What else can you do?” he asked. “Earlier, you lit the candle. Could you do that before?”
“Yes, but not very often and not that easily.”
“Try it now,” he urged.
Turning my head, I stared in the general direction of the candle, wondering if I could do it like that a second time. Usually, I had to concentrate, my entire focus on the wick, and I was exhausted by the simple act.
Now, I didn’t even move my hand. My mind effortlessly conjured the image of the candle when I knew it sat, onthe desk next to my opened grimoire, and the next thing I knew, the flame leapt to life, looking more like an explosion than a candle.
“Holy Hell,” I muttered, feeling a tiny smile grace my lips as I used Vine’s favored expression.
“Indeed.”
“How is that possible?”
“I think,” Archer began, then paused. On the desk, the flame had settled down, still burning brightly but no longer a threat to the beautiful house. Reaching for the pendant around my neck—the small clay bauble and the first piece of the Fallen Key hanging as though they belonged together—I stared at the steadily burning candle, picturing the proud smile that would have graced Heidi’s face if she could have seen what I’d just done.
I missed her so. A wave of sorrow passed through me, and Archer’s arms tightened in response.
“I think you may have been bound,” he went on, not commenting on my sudden melancholy, for which I was grateful.
“What do you mean?”
Archer reached up, his big, claw-free hand curling around the back of my head and drawing me back to lay on his chest once more. Once I’d settled there, he resumed his stroking of my spine, his eyes on me as he spoke.
“It appears that when you were a child, someone locked your magic away from you, preventing access. But I also believe that binding is unwinding very quickly.”
“Who would have done that?”
“My best guess is someone involved with the Order.” He paused, as if considering whether he should reveal more information, before continuing. “For the last several weeks, we’ve been encountering several bound witches, each attempting to perform illegal summonings in my territory. We’ve questioned them, but their bindings are powerful, and so far, we’ve been unable to uncover who is behind them.”
“And that’s bad? The summonings, I mean.” I asked, still unclear on the intricacies of the Shadow Brotherhood.
“It’s…concerning.” He paused, as though he was holding information back, and I tried not to let my irritation show. Giving my body one final squeeze, Archer released me and rolled off the bed, sliding back into his lounge pants with a sexy bounce that had all my internal muscles clenching in appreciation. Looking around, I took in the tattered remnants of my dress with a frown.
“I’m very quickly running out of clothes,” I lamented with a sigh. Archer ducked down and scooped his t-shirt off the floor, holding it out to me with both hands. I reached for it, but he pulled it away, giving me a pointedlook that I somehow understood. Leaning forward, I allowed him to slide the shirt over my head, working my arms into the holes as he watched, a gleam of dark satisfaction in his eyes.
It was a satisfaction I could feel in my own chest, too, his masculine pride at seeing me in his shirt resonating through me. His clear possessiveness pulsing beneath my ribs at being the one to have put said shirt on me.
It was strange, but so very flattering at the same time that I didn’t stop to question it.
I also didn’t want to think about the fact that Archer could probably feel the flicker of slightly embarrassed joy that shot through me at his covetous gesture.
Not one bit.
“I believe this is all connected,” he finally continued gruffly, beginning to pace the room but not taking his eyes off me at the same time. “The summonings. The Fallen Key. You.”
“Me?” I asked, my hand once again going to the pendant that hung around my neck. The two pieces felt warm against my palm, even through the shirt.
