Another fierce wave of emotion washed over her, but this one was definitely hers. It felt strangely like jealousy. Except she couldn’t possibly be feeling this territorial over a man she barely knew, could she? Not when she was determined not to make the same mistakes her mother had.
She looked away, confused by the knot of emotions she couldn't sort into neat categories of his, mine, and ours.
When he spoke again, his voice was back to being carefully neutral. “You hesitated before when I asked how your visit with Ana and Ryssa went, then deflected.”
The subject change was deliberate, a wall going back up after that brief moment of vulnerability. Muriel let him retreat, even as she felt the loss of that openness.
She considered denying it, but she was too tired. “It’s nothing, really. Just a feeling that they knew something I didn’t.”
“I’m sure they know lots of things you don’t,” Brandon said easily.
“No, I mean, something about—” she almost saidus, but stopped herself. “—me.”
“They probably sensed our bond and were curious,” he said, his eyes watching her intently. “It’s not something you see very often.”
“Maybe, but we talked about that. I told them about resonance and how you’re helping me. I don’t think it was that.” Muriel put down her half-eaten club, no longer hungry. “Maybe I'm being paranoid. Comes with finding out you’re being hunted, I guess.”
“You should rest,” Brandon said finally. “Tomorrow, we’ll start working on accessing theCodexintentionally instead of waiting for it to show you things.”
“That sounds intense.”
“It will be. But you're ready for it.”
“Is that you talking, or fate?” she asked with the hint of a smile.
“Both. Go on, now. I’ll clean up here, then head downstairs. I need to start gathering those things Armand requested.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Brandon.”
“Goodnight, Muriel. Sleep well.”
She retreated to the guest room and closed the door behind her. The room had become her sanctuary over the past week, with its comfortable bed and fluffypillows; the thick carpet and multitude of plants, including the night-blooming jasmine that filled the room with its lovely scent.
This place was safe. Not just because of the complex wards Brandon had weaved around it, but becausehemade her feel safe.
Muriel sank onto the bed, setting theCodexbeside her. She didn’t know what to do with these conflicting feelings. Her mother had nearly been destroyed by a handsome mage, and here Muriel was, living with one. Training with him. Trusting him in ways that would have horrified her mother.
But her mother wasn't here, Muriel thought with an uncharacteristic twinge of bitterness. She'd died without telling Muriel about theCodex, about their bloodline, about the danger that had been stalking them for generations. She'd kept secrets that had left Muriel vulnerable and alone when the Collectors came calling.
Could she trust Brandon? He'd been nothing but helpful, patient with her fears, respectful of her boundaries. He hadn’t given her any reasonnotto trust him.
Even now, the resonance hummed softly between them, a constant awareness of his presence nearby. Close enough to reach if she needed him. Far enough away to give her space.
Maybe she wasn’t being fair, judging Brandon based on someone else’s experiences. After all, she wouldn’t like it if Brandon had judged her without taking the time to get to know her.
Maybe history wouldn’t repeat itself, and trusting him wouldn’t turn out to the biggest mistake of her life.
Muriel brushed her teeth, washed her face, and changed into her pajamas. She hesitated before turning off the light, thinking about the strange dreams she'd been having the past few nights—fragments of gardens she'd never seen, voices she couldn't quite hear. Stress dreams, she'd told herself. Each day revealed something new, and the dreams were just her mind’s way of processing it all.
She pulled back the covers and slipped into bed, theCodexresting on the pillow beside her. Exhaustion won out over unease. She was asleep almost immediately.
She wasin the garden again, but this time was different. It was whole, real, vivid in a way that made her previous dreams feel pale in comparison.
The detail was incredible. She could make out every leaf against the velvety dark sky. Every blossom and bloom was richer and brighter than anything she’d seen in her waking moments. The scents of lavender and rosemary were so overwhelming she could taste them, mixed with something earthier—freshly turned soil, crushed herbs, the delicate smell of new growth.
It was a stunning garden. The deep reds of climbing roses looked like blood in the moonlight beside cascading waterfalls of lush purplish-blue wisteria. The ghostly whites of sweet-smellingmoonflowers mixed with the more dangerous beauty of datura. Foxglove stood sentinel in the shadows, their purple bells deadly and beautiful. At the center, an ancient hawthorn tree twisted upward, its branches heavy with white blooms that scattered petals like snow.
She'd been here before—an observer in those fragmented dreams. But this time she could move, could feel the grass beneath her bare feet, could hear the hum of bees and the whisper of wind through leaves.