Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The door to my bedroom opens at the crack of dawn the next morning, and I’m in a half-dazed stupor when Wylder slides inside carrying a leather satchel. “Sorry to disturb you, but I had an idea and wanted to catch you when your mind is relaxed and empty.”
“Does that mean I don’t have to get up?”
“Exactly. I don’t want you to get up. Close your eyes and stay sleepy and relaxed. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
I’m not sure what he’s up to, but honestly… I don’t care.
It’s been weeks since I’ve slept this soundly, so if he wants to pitch a tent in my room and…
Whoa, now… I meant a camping tent.
I chuckle, finding my dirty mind amusing even in a sleepy haze. Okay, I was supposed to keep my mind empty, but now I’m totally aware of Wylder being in my bedroom and me just wearing a t-shirt and underwear.
The mattress dips as he climbs on top of my comforter and lies beside me. “Keep your eyes closed. The house is still quiet, the lights still off, and there’s nowhere you need to be. It’s just you all snuggly and warm in your bed.”
His voice is soft and low, and when I feel his magical signature tingle over my skin, I’m pulled even deeper into his dreamy trance. “We’re going to work on Asher’s Occlumency idea. I’m going to walk you through a couple of simple mental exercises I want you to practice.”
"Mental exercises?"
"Mm-hmm. I’ve set up a few crystals to help focus your intention. I’m going to teach you how to compartmentalize your thoughts and build walls around them, so they don’t bleed into everything else.”
I yawn but don’t open my eyes. “I took a potion and have a neck thingy for that.”
“Until you don’t. Potions wear off, and enchanted objects fail. In the clutch, you need to take care of yourself.”
I can’t disagree with that.
So far, the safeguards I’ve been given are working perfectly, and now there is silence where there'd been constant whispers, peace where there'd been creeping dread.
"The thing about mental magic," he whispers next to me, "is that it requires trust. You have to let me in, Poppy. You need to trust me with whatever is going on inside you so I can guide you through it.”
My stomach drops and I start to panic, but whatever seductive spell he’s got me under, my worries don’t take hold.
He places a flat hand over my heart, and a rush of healing energy settles my anxiety. “Trust me to see the flaws, the demon influence, the darkness, all of it."
I open my eyes, and it takes a moment for my vision to adjust enough to make out his features. "Wylder, I don't think—"
He leans forward, and his hand slides up my neck to cup my cheek. “Shh, seriously, Poppy. Nothing you show me will scare me off. I’ve always been straight with you, haven’t I?”
The question sits heavily between us as I consider that.
Even through everything—the hostility in the beginning, him having to mentor me when he was angry and hurt about his mother’s death, and us slowly building a rapport—he’s never wavered.
“You have, yes.”
“Then trust me to help you.” He relaxes beside me, and when I do a gut check, there’s nothing there except warm fuzzies.
I roll onto my side to face him and clasp his hand with mine. As always, the moment our skin connects, magic sparks between us and the hair on my arms stands on end.
Wylder’s essence is filled with warmth and potential. It’s grounding.
“Okay, relax and close your eyes again.”
I do as he says.
“You’ve probably shut him out based on self-preservation and an instinct to survive.
You’ve tried to keep him out of your head, but for you to let me in, you’ll have to take down those blocks.
It’ll be unpleasant at first, but I’ll show you how to compartmentalize those thoughts and lock them down properly. ”
He talks me through taking down the safeguards I instinctively put in place and immediately, the darkness rushes in.
Tharuzel's presence coils through my thoughts like smoke, whispering promises and threats in equal measure.
You are mine, Poppy Hallowind.
Wylder’s presence brushes my thoughts, his magical signature tingling beneath my skin. "Focus on my voice, Poppy. Feel where my magic touches yours."
His presence is like standing on a heated floor in winter and having that comfort ebb through you.
It’s gentle but unmistakable.
And with it comes awareness.
Not just of his magic, but of him. His unwavering commitment to what’s right. His worry for me. He’s bracing himself for what he'll find inside my head, but is determined to accept me no matter what I’ve pushed into the dark recesses of my mind.
Then he hits the corruption.
His recoil twists inside me like a physical blow. The demon's influence isn't subtle—it's a festering wound in my consciousness, pulsing with malevolent energy. Black tendrils wrap around my thoughts, my fears, my anger. They've grown since the blood contract, spreading like an infection.
Shame floods through me. "I told you—"
"Don't." His mental voice cuts through my spiral. "Don't hide from me now."
But I want to. Want to shove him out and lock the door and pretend he didn’t see how twisted things have become inside my head.
How the darkness doesn't just whisper anymore—it hooks into me, finding every insecurity and magnifying it.
"Poppy." Wylder's hand tightens around mine. "Poppy, look at me."
I force my eyes open.
Even in the darkness of my bedroom in the wee hours of the morning, I can see that his expression is fierce. "There is nothing inside you that will make me think less of you. For over a month, you’ve been fighting a literal demon for control. That you're still you is remarkable."
"It doesn't feel remarkable. It feels like I’m drowning."
"Then let me throw you a line."
He closes his eyes again, and I follow suit. When his presence enters my mind next, I don't fight. I try not to flinch or hide the corruption or pretty it up or pretend it's less than it is. Instead, I let him see everything.
The constant and growing pull toward violence.
The way Tharuzel's voice sounds almost reasonable sometimes, offering power and protection in exchange for small concessions.
The exhaustion of fighting every single day just to stay myself.
Wylder doesn't flinch. He doesn't retreat. Instead, his magical essence heals the corrupted parts of me, shoring up my mental shield.
"Now," he murmurs, "imagine a box. Something strong. Something that belongs to you, not him."
I search through my mental landscape. Everything feels tainted, marked.
Then I find it—the memory of my mother's jewelry box.
Carved wood with brass hinges, small enough to fit in two hands but sturdy.
She kept her grandmother's ring in there, her wedding band when she was pregnant with my sisters and too puffy to wear it, every precious thing she wanted protected.
“Okay, got it.”
Wylder exhales next to me. "Now we take Tharuzel’s influence and we put it there. It sounds simple, but it's not. It’ll take time and effort, but I’ll get you there.”
I can think of a dozen other ways I’d rather him ‘get me there’ while lying in this bed, but sadly, Tharuzel ruins everything.
He chuckles beside me. “I’m sharing your thoughts with you right now, remember?”
“Uh… yeah, sorry.” Heat burns my cheeks, and I’m suddenly thankful we’re lying here in the dark.
“All right. Now, let’s move anything tainted with his dark influence into the box and lock it away.”
It takes a few tries to figure out how to manipulate things within my mind. Eventually, I get it, but the moment I try to gather the corruption, it fights back.
Tharuzel’s voice snarls through my consciousness, and the darkness burns stronger. You are mine, Poppy Hallowind.
And in the darkest recesses of my soul, I’m terrified he’s right. "He's stronger than I am.”
“No, he’s not. And even if you think that, you can’t think he’s stronger than both of us." Wylder's magic surges, reinforcing mine. “Try again.”
Together, we wrangle the black tendrils of Tharuzel’s dark influence. They writhe and resist, trying to sink deeper into my thoughts, but slowly—painfully—we force them into the mental jewelry box.
The longer I work, the louder the demon's whispers grow. Desperate promises of power. Threats of pain. Reminders of the blood contract binding us.
But with Wylder's steady guidance, they lose their bite.
When I shove the last of the corruption into the box, I slam the lid shut. In my mind's eye, I see brass clasps clicking into place, a lock turning.
The silence that follows is unnerving.
It’s not a complete extrication—I can still feel Tharuzel's presence and know he's there—but the constant pressure of growing darkness has eased.
The fiery burn of anger, ready to ignite, has been reduced to a smoldering ember.
I open my eyes, grinning, triumphant. "We did it.”
"You did it, Hallowind. How do you feel?"
I yawn. “Drained from the mental exertion but quieter, calmer. Like I could close my eyes and sink into a deep, restful sleep.”
Wylder gives me a crooked grin. “Would you mind some company? I admit, knowing what you’ve been going through and being across town hasn’t made for the most restful nights on my end, either.”
I chuckle. “Well, I’m certainly not going to kick you out of my bed, so get under the covers and close your eyes.”
He rolls off the bed, flips back the comforter, and is sliding in beside me a moment later.
I roll the other way and give him my back. “You don’t snore, do you?”
“Not that I’ve been told, no.” He spoons in behind me and drapes a heavy arm over my waist.
“Good. Oh, and stay out of my head. I can’t be held responsible for what my subconscious mind dreams up while I’m asleep.”
He chuckles behind me, the warmth of his breath washing the back of my neck. “Get some sleep, Hallowind.”
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Hallowind and her broody slumber buddy. Welcome to breakfast… oh, wait, it’s lunchtime. You crazy kids have canoodled half the day away.”
“Canoodled?” Wylder repeats, blinking at my bestie.