Heir of Uncertain Magic (Whimbrel House, #2)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

He’d never let himself miss her. He’d forced himself not to. Played pretend for over a decade. A drowning man who insisted he didn’t need to come up for air.

He pressed his face into her hair and slowly aged under her sobs, turning from ten to eleven, to twelve, to seventeen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty-one. All in an instant and yet it took an eternity,

Merritt’s eyes narrowed at Peter. “Consider it a gift from my father.”

theory of magic being connected to his personality—wardship to his protective instincts, communion to communication, and chaocracy to anger

“In total, I believe you are sixteen percent wizard.”

“I do want you to understand that . . . it’s not only BIKER. That is”—she fidgeted—“that’s not the only thing I love.” Warmth bloomed in his stomach and spread out to his limbs. “Miss Larkin, I am not a thing.” She swatted at him. “Do not make this difficult.”