Chapter 6 Fated Mates Can't Be Ignored - Poppy's POV

I stared at the book for several seconds before finally sitting down on the rug in front of the fireplace. Alden sat beside me, his tail curling around his paws as he watched the book in my hands.

“You’re certain this is safe?” He asked.

“No,” I laughed.

He blinked. “That wasn't the answer I was hoping for.”

I couldn't blame him. It wasn’t the answer I wanted to give either.

I ran my fingers over the worn leather again. The strange flutter of magic beneath my fingertips hadn't disappeared. If anything, it seemed stronger now that I was holding the book.

“I wonder what she kept in here,” I murmured.

“Well, I hope it has instructions on how to fix things when your magic goes awry,” he replied, his voice a bit clipped.

I glanced at him with one eyebrow arched. “You’re very focused on being turned back.”

“I just so happen to enjoy being a man,” he said, his voice low.

I chuckled at that. “You’ve only been stuck as a fox for less than an hour.”

He rolled his eyes and looked toward the door. “It’s been a lengthy hour."

I smiled and turned my attention back to the book.

The leather was softer than it looked, worn smooth from years of being handled. Tiny scratches covered the surface, and the corners had been rubbed nearly bare. My grandmother must have used this book often, which made me wonder why I had never seen it.

I grew up in this cottage. I'd spent countless afternoons curled up in front of this fireplace with a book while my grandmother worked in the kitchen. I knew which floorboards creaked, which windows rattled when the wind picked up, and which cabinet door refused to close properly.

Yet somehow, she had managed to hide away three books from me for years. I wasn’t even sure where the other books I had seen were. That realization made my chest ache.

My grandmother had never been secretive about much. She had been stubborn, certainly, and she had a habit of answering questions with another question whenever she didn't like where the conversation was going. But there had always been an easy warmth between us.

At least I had thought there was.

I opened the cover.

The pages barely made a sound as they shifted beneath my fingers. They were thick and yellowed with age, and the edges were slightly curled. The first few pages were filled with my grandmother's familiar handwriting.

I recognized it immediately.

Her letters were neat and precise, with every word carefully formed. She had always written that way, even when making a quick grocery list.

I slowly turned the page. My eyebrows lifted.

At first glance, they looked like recipes. My grandmother had kept dozens of recipe books, and I had spent most of my childhood watching her scribble notes in the margins.

But these weren't recipes.

Moonflower. Autumn rose petals. Silverleaf. Starroot.

I frowned as I studied them again. Some of the ingredients were familiar from the herbs we kept behind the cottage. Others I'd never heard of, even after years of working with my own magic.

I turned another page, just as a breeze went through the house. My gaze darted up as the silver sparkles brushed by everything.

Faelight? What was it doing here?

I shook my head when I noticed Alden still studying the pages. Maybe… I was imagining things.

My gaze found the page again, noticing there were notes beside each ingredient and notations about magical properties. Then came the warnings about how much could be used.

Several sections had been crossed out entirely.

I leaned closer. “What were you doing with all of this, Grandmother?”

Alden shifted beside me, his fur brushing against my leg. I barely noticed.

The deeper I went into the book, the stranger it became. There were pages about enchantments, protective spells, healing magic, and binding magic. Some were so old that the ink had faded into pale brown lines.

Then I saw something that made my fingers stop—fated magic.

I stared at the words. The fire's warmth suddenly felt too hot against my back.

I had heard stories about fated mates my entire life. Everyone had. They were the sort of stories people told at festivals and weddings, usually accompanied by too much wine and exaggerated details.

I swallowed and turned the page. The handwriting beneath the heading was different. It wasn’t my grandmother’s usual notes.

This was more personal.

I read the first few lines slowly, trying to make sense of them.

Certain forms of magic can’t be commanded. They answer to the heart before the mind can understand what is happening.

I read the sentence again. A shiver traveled down my arms. My magic had never behaved normally.

Even as a child, it had always felt as though it had a mind of its own. It reacted to my emotions before I could control them, sometimes creating little bursts of magic when I was happy and far more troublesome ones when I was angry.

My grandmother had always called it a gift. She'd never called it dangerous.

I turned another page, running my finger carefully along the faded writing.

There were more notes about fated magic, though many of them were written in my grandmother's shorthand. I had seen it before, usually when she was making notes about recipes or ingredients that she didn't want me asking too many questions about.

This was different. There was a sense of urgency in the way she'd written these words.

Magic tied to the heart can’t always be separated from the person who awakens it, and fated mates can’t be ignored.

I stared at the words until they began to blur. Fated mates couldn’t be ignored. My gaze drifted toward Alden before I could stop myself.

He was watching me, his amber eyes fixed on my face rather than the book. There was something different about his expression now. The teasing was gone, replaced by an intensity that made my stomach flutter.

Even if I found a way to change him back, there was still the little problem that he was my fated mate.