Chapter 8 Heat and Hooks #2
“Daniel wants his brother back.” Ronan's voice went quiet. “Not sure I'm that person anymore.”
I wanted to tell him that grief and time didn't erase family, that Daniel would take whatever version of Ronan existed now and be grateful for it. But platitudes wouldn't help.
“You showed up,” I said instead. “That counts for more than you think.”
Ronan looked at me then. Really looked. Assessing whether I meant it.
I met his gaze. Let him see I meant every word.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Maybe.”
We sat in comfortable silence after that. Then Ronan's expression shifted.
His brow tightened, his jaw setting, his hand coming up to press against his temple.
“You okay?” I asked, already setting my mug down.
“Headache.” He said it like it was nothing. “I'm fine.”
“You don't look fine.” I stood. “How bad?”
“Manageable.” But his hand was still pressed against his temple, and his breathing had gone shallow.
“I can help with that.” I kept my voice calm. “If you'll let me.”
Ronan looked up at me. Wariness mixing with what might have been hope. “Magic?”
“Just enough to ease the pressure. Won't dig around or invade anything. Surface work only.” I held his gaze. “But I need your permission first.”
He hesitated. Then he nodded once. “Okay.”
I moved behind him. Called magic to the surface of my palm.
“This might feel strange,” I warned him. “But it won't hurt. Just pressure releasing.”
“Okay,” he said again.
I raised my hand. Let it hover near his temple without touching yet. Shaped the magic into intent that said ease, release, let go.
The headache registered first. Tension and pressure built up behind his eyes.
I unraveled it carefully. Found the tight spots and smoothed them out.
Ronan exhaled. Long and slow. Relief bleeding through him.
“Better?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He started to turn his head. “Thanks, I—”
I felt it then.
Not the headache. Deeper. A structure woven through his mind in patterns that made my stomach drop.
Magic. Threaded through neurons and synapses with precision that said this wasn't accidental.
This was placed. Deliberately.
“Gideon?” Ronan's voice was careful. “What's wrong?”
“There's a weave.” I tried to find words for what I was sensing. “In your head. It's not natural.”
“What kind of weave?”
“I don't know yet.” I kept my magic steady. “It's complex. Layered. I need to—”
I reached for it carefully. Brushing against the edges, trying to understand the pattern.
The weave reacted.
It tightened like a living thing disturbed, threads pulling taut and pushing back against my magic with force that screamed get out and stop looking.
I pushed back. Gentle but firm. Because I needed to see what this was, needed to understand what had been done to him.
The weave shifted. Opened wide like a mouth, like a trap springing when you got too close.
I felt the pull hooking into my magic and dragging me forward into darkness that wanted to consume me. My awareness tilted, spiraled inward toward depth I couldn't measure, toward cold that tasted like void, like the space between stars where nothing lived.
Then I felt a thread. Golden and warm, running underneath the corruption like a river beneath ice. Not part of the weave. Something older. Something that had been there long before dark magic ever touched Ronan's mind.
Tether.
The word whispered through my awareness like a truth I'd always known but never spoken out loud.
Ronan was my tether.
The one person my magic would always recognize as anchor, as home. The bond every witch carried but most never found.
And he had dark magic woven through his mind.
Horror crashed over me.
Not because the tether was corrupted. But because my tether was trapped.
The weave pulled harder. Dragging me toward darkness that felt bottomless, toward the edge where my soul-stitches were already torn.
I tried to pull back. Tried to wrench myself free.
Nothing worked. The weave had hooks in me now, and pulling away meant ripping myself apart.
Then I forced it. Wrenched my awareness back with enough violence that the weave released me all at once. My consciousness snapped into my body so hard I had to lock my knees to keep from staggering.
Ronan was watching me. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I said. Kept my voice steady. “Just deeper than I expected. Give me a second.”
I pulled my magic back into focus. Ignored the way my hands wanted to shake. Ignored the panic clawing at my ribs. I'd come here to heal his migraine, and I was going to finish the job before I left.
I let the healing energy flow back through my palms where they rested against his temples. Carefully this time. Surface level only. I eased the inflammation in the blood vessels, soothed the nerve pathways firing pain signals, smoothed out the pressure building behind his eyes.
The migraine faded under my touch. I felt it ease, felt Ronan's breathing deepen as the pain receded.
“Better?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He looked at me. “A lot better. Thank you.”
“Good.” I pulled my hands back. Stood. Grabbed my toolbox from where I'd set it by the door. “That should hold for a few days. If it comes back, let me know.”
“Gideon—”
“I need to get going,” I said, moving toward the door. “Early morning tomorrow. Lots of work at the garage.”
Ronan stood. Followed me to the doorway. “You sure you're okay?”
“I'm fine.” I met his eyes. Lied straight to his face. “Just tired. It was a long healing session.”
He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. “Okay. Thanks for coming.”
“No problem.”
I stepped into the hallway. Turned back to see Ronan standing in his doorway, concern written across his face in ways he probably didn't realize were visible.
Then I did what I should have done when I first felt the weave.
I pulled magic to my fingertips. Shaped it into the simplest ward I knew—protection against entry, against intrusion, against anything dark trying to find a way in through his threshold.
I pressed it into the doorframe. Watched it sink into the wood and spread in patterns only witch-sight could see.
“What was that?” Ronan asked.
“Extra protection,” I said. “Just in case.”
Then I left before he could ask what I was protecting him from.
I made it to my truck before my hands started shaking properly. Made it home before I had to pull over and sit in my driveway, gripping the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles went white.
Ronan was my tether.
And I had no idea what to do with that.