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.