The cathedral's library had become my sanctuary during the afternoon hours when my official correspondence duties were complete.
Surrounded by centuries of accumulated knowledge, I could pursue my research without interruption. Boring on the surface, absolutely fascinating when you knew what to look for.
And I was getting very good at looking.
The puzzle pieces were gradually coming together, forming a picture that was both fascinating and deeply unsettling.
References to a weapon specifically forged to combat witchcraft appeared across multiple time periods. Another document, this one much more recent, mentioned ongoing efforts to locate it and underlying urgency was unmistakable.
They're not just preserving history. They're actively hunting for this thing.
Which meant it was real. Which meant I was in significantly more danger than I'd calculated.
Fantastic. Just fantastic.
I was so absorbed in connecting disparate references, in trying to figure out exactly how screwed I was, that I didn't notice the approaching footsteps.
Until Brother Dominic's huge and intimidating shadow fell across my workspace like a bad omen. "Interesting reading?"
Shit.
His pale eyes fixed on the manuscripts spread before me, and that familiar crawl of unease skittered up my spine. The man had all the warmth of a cemetery in winter and twice the charm.
"You seem quite... dedicated to your historical research lately, Sister Wren."
"Knowledge is never wasted," I replied evenly, casually closing the manuscript I'd been studying and stacking it with apparent nonchalance. "Father Atticus appreciates thoroughness in archival work."
"I'm sure he does."
Dominic stepped closer, invading my personal space in a way that made my skin crawl.
There was something predatory in how he moved. Something that reminded me uncomfortably of the way my mother's enforcers used to circle their prey before they struck.
Don't flinch. Don't give him anything.
"But I have to wonder about your particular... interests. The questions you ask. The way you watch everyone." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, forcing me to remain still as he leaned closer. "Always calculating. Always performing."
He knows. Oh God, he knows something.
"There's something off about you, Wren." The way he said my name made me want to shower. "I've seen your kind before—the way you calculate every interaction, always working some angle. I know deception when I see it."
The accusation hung between us like a blade.
He wasn't directly calling me a witch, but he was making it clear that he knew I was hiding something significant. Something dangerous.
"My kind?"
I asked with deliberate sarcasm, letting disdain color my voice as I gathered the manuscripts with steady hands.
Act offended. Act like you have nothing to hide.
"You mean women who think for themselves instead of simply nodding along with whatever authority figures tell them? Yeah, we're terrifying. I can see why you'd be concerned."
"Don't play games with me."
His hand moved closer to the papers I was organizing, close enough that I could feel the threat in the gesture.
"I've been watching you since you arrived. The way you manipulate every conversation, how you seem to know exactly what people need to hear." His smile was thin and cold. "It's not normal."
"What's not normal is a grown man stalking a married woman instead of focusing on his own duties," I shot back, my temper flaring despite my better judgment. "Perhaps you should examine why you find my behavior so fascinating instead of projecting your paranoia onto innocent people."
My sharp tongue only inflamed his anger. I saw it in the way his face flushed, in the way his hands clenched into fists. His arm rose, and for one crystalline moment I saw exactly what was coming.
This is it. He's going to hit me and I'm going to have to use magic to stop him and then I'm dead, I'm so dead…
His hand was inches from my face when Mikael caught it mid-air. Just—caught it.
Mikael's grip twisted Dominic's wrist at an angle that made him gasp, forcing him to his knees. "Keep your hands off my wife."
Mikael's voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. Which somehow made it more terrifying than if he'd shouted.
I'd never seen him like this. Gone was the gentle priest who bandaged wounds and offered comfort. Who blushed when I stood too close and stammered through compliments.
This was someone else entirely—dangerous, focused, and absolutely lethal in his stillness.
He moved between Dominic and me with predatory grace, still maintaining that grip on Dominic's wrist, and for one breathtaking moment I glimpsed the witch hunter beneath his carefully maintained facade.
Holy shit.
The protective fury in his stance, the controlled violence in the way he held Dominic immobilized—it made something in my chest flood with heat that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the fact that someone was protecting me.
Not using me as a shield. Not sacrificing me for the greater good. But actually putting himself between me and danger without hesitation.
No one's ever… No one has ever…
"Father Mikael," Dominic managed to gasp out, his voice carrying significantly less conviction than it had moments before when he'd been threatening me. "I was simply having a conversation with your wife about her research interests."
"Were you?" Mikael's tone remained conversational, but he still hadn't released Dominic's wrist. "Because it looked like you were about to put your hands on her. And I'm fairly certain that's not how we conduct conversations in this community."
The casual way he said it, like he was discussing the weather while simultaneously demonstrating exactly how many ways he could break someone's arm, was possibly the most attractive thing I'd ever witnessed.
He was magnificent.
All that restrained power, that controlled fury, entirely focused on keeping me safe. The way his shoulders blocked Dominic from even seeing me properly, how his body had instinctively positioned itself as a shield…
You're in so much trouble, Rowan.
You're falling for this man and it's going to destroy everything.
Dominic's face flushed darker, but he took a stumbling step back when Mikael finally released him.
"I merely have concerns about her behavior. She asks too many questions, seems overly interested in things that don't concern her. There's something suspicious about the way she—"
"Remember yourself when you first came here," Mikael interrupted, his voice carrying quiet authority. "Remember how you lived before finding faith, the suspicions and paranoid thoughts that drove you to seek sanctuary."
What?
I filed that information away for later. Dominic had a past. Something that had brought him here, something that still haunted him enough that Mikael could use it as leverage.
"She just needs time to adapt to our community," Mikael continued, his tone gentler now but no less firm. "Time to feel safe enough to stop watching her back constantly. Surely you can understand that."
The implication was clear.
You're making her feel unsafe. You're the problem here, not her.
"Of course, Father Mikael," Dominic said finally, but his pale eyes never left my face. There was a promise in that look. A threat. "I'm sure you know your wife better than anyone."
He left with all the dignity he could muster, but the look he gave me promised future trouble. This wasn't over.
If anything, Mikael's intervention had only convinced him that his suspicions were justified.
Great. Just great. Now I have a zealot with a vendetta and something to prove.
When his footsteps faded down the corridor, the silence stretched between us like a taut wire. Mikael remained standing where he'd positioned himself between me and danger, his shoulders still rigid with barely controlled tension.
Like he was still ready to fight.
For me. He was ready to fight for me.
"Thank you," I said quietly, letting genuine gratitude warm my voice. "Though I should warn you to expect betrayal from that quarter. Men like Dominic don't forget perceived slights."
"He was threatening you," Mikael replied, but his voice carried a rougher edge than his words suggested. "Any decent person would have intervened."
I studied his face, noting the way his hands were still clenched, the tension that hadn't left his shoulders, the genuine anger that lingered in his dark eyes.
"Was that all it was?" I asked softly, taking a step closer even though I probably shouldn't. "Decency? Because you were magnificent, Mikael."
Color rose in his cheeks at my words, but he took a deliberate step back, rebuilding the careful distance between us with visible effort.
No. No, I need to say this. He needs to know.
"I mean it. I've never had anyone defend me like that. But you—"
My voice caught, and I had to swallow hard against the sudden tightness in my throat.
Don't cry. Do not cry. You're supposed to be manipulating him, not having a genuine emotional breakthrough.
"You didn't even hesitate," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper, as I moved to gather the scattered manuscripts. "You were like something out of the old stories. Strong, protective, absolutely fearless. I felt so safe with you there."
His jaw tightened, and I could see the war raging in his expression.
The compliments were hitting their mark, I could see it in the way his breathing had changed, the flush that spread down his neck, but his walls remained firmly in place.
"What else would it be?" he asked finally, deliberately turning away from me to straighten books on the shelves. "You're my wife. It's my duty to protect you."
Duty.
Always back to duty with him.
But I caught the way his voice had roughened on the word "wife," the slight tremor in his hands as he arranged volumes with unnecessary precision.
"Still," I said, moving to help him reorganize the materials Dominic had scattered in his aggression, "thank you. For seeing me as someone worth protecting."
"Of course you're worth protecting," he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.