Page 75 of Harnessed in Gold

“We need you,” he says, reading my doubts in my expression. “Letmeworry about Rime.”

I’m tempted to argue, but as we approach the spot where Rime called on the kingfishers, I realize we’re nearing our destination—the location of the musket fire. I keep my eyes open for birds, kingfishers or any others, but there’s only the distant caw of crows.

Leo abruptly stops and signals for me to do the same.

“We’re close,” I say.

He nods as he opens his phone. “Do you want me to tell you?”

I shake my head. “I know it’s coming.”

“And then what?” It’s not sarcasm, it’s a test of my recall.

“And then I lean into it,” I answer. “Breathe.”

“Dissociate.”

“Yes. Dissociate.”

I must not have sounded confident enough, because he pockets his phone and grabs my hands. “You can do this. It’s not going to hurt you.”

“I know.” I survived this site before, survived the mill-workers’ accident.

He draws our joined hands to his chest, tugging me closer. “Now, tell me what you’re going to do next.” His features are etched in worry, his brow low and his dark eyes searching mine.

I swallow. “Harness it.”

“How?”

Shit, what did Avery tell me to do? Why have I suddenly forgotten? Why can’t I think right now about anything other than the solidness of Leo’s chest and the warmth of his hands?

“Betts—”

“Open my cloak,” I splutter. Just the front, Avery said, and keep the rest on me so the feelings only have one point of entry. “Collect them. Draw them in.” I slip a hand from his and tap the space between my chest and belly. “Like I did with yours.”

“And hold them there.”

I nod absently, trying to imagine myself going through theprocess and realizing my nerves right now aren’t a fear of the emotions, but a fear of failing. Of forever being their bitch.

“You’re in charge, Betts. Make them do what you want them to.”

“Got it.”

“Are you sure?”

No.But I nod. Because he’s right, I have to master this.

“I’ll drag you out if I need to,” he promises. Or is it a warning? “I’m not asking your permission.”

Yeah, it’s a warning.

I lift my chin. “You won’t need to.”

There’s the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “There’s my rebel violet.”

I step back, my hands sliding out of his. He can’t be calling me that. It makes my knees wobbly and my head feel like a helium balloon. His smile falters, but he clears his throat and turns his attention back to the path.

We walk, close but not touching, only another twenty or so yards before an inexplicable heat assaults me. Anger. We’ve reached the site of the confrontation. Determined, I walk headlong into it.