Episode 38
Burning Hotter
The pounding of the waterfall yanks them under the water, and the spell Rominy held over Elowyn breaks.
His arms still encircle her as she grasps at her magic and reroutes the current to push them away from the force of the streaming water. When they surface, Elowyn gasps for air while Rominy coughs beside her.
“I’m sorry,” she rasps as she struggles to fill her lungs.
He shakes his head and coughs again. He must have swallowed a mouthful of water.
Finally loosening his grip on her, he crawls onto the bank and collapses on the sand, and she follows, lying on her back beside him.
Neither of them speaks as they focus on breathing. The memory of Rominy’s touch sends shivers down Elowyn’s neck. It was so...perfect. And then he kissed her ear, and every thought fled her head.
“Are you all right?” Rominy props himself up and gazes down at her, his bare shoulders and chest glistening in the sun streaming through the foliage overhead.
She nods, suddenly cognizant of how scandalously underclothed she is, lying here beside him with only her sodden underlayer clinging to her.
“I probably shouldn’t have done that,” he says sheepishly, and she laughs.
“Perhaps not at that exact moment.”
His expression turns serious as he looks down at her, his eyes darting to her lips. “And now?” His voice is soft and low, sending chills all the way to her bare toes despite the warmth of the sun beating down on them.
Her heart pounds along with his, and she gently reaches up to brush his dripping golden-brown hair behind his ear. His caramel eyes bore into her, and an ache deep within fills her core.
An ache for him.
With the softest touch, she slips her fingers behind his neck, and that’s all the encouragement he needs to close the distance between them. His lips graze hers, cool against her hot flesh, and her hands begin to tingle.
Mother and Father warned her that might happen. But she balances her intruding fire magic with her water magic, keeping most of the heat at bay.
“Elowyn,” he whispers, and she wraps her arms around him, holding him close as his lips claim hers in a tender kiss.
When he pulls away, he draws her to his chest, where she clings to his neck, burying her face in his damp hair.
And then everything fades away once more.
Arisanna stares at the ceiling in her new chamber, trying her hardest not to think about the elf sleeping next door.
Her elf.
Is he sleeping? Or is he lying awake thinking about her?
That’s absurd. He’s probably sound asleep while the heartbinding waits to whisk them away to their heartlanding.
She just needs to close her eyes and not think about him or anything else. Then she’ll blink and be with him on the train.
If only it were that easy.
What if he’s not sleeping, either? Perhaps she could check on him. Just to see if he’s awake.
And then what would she tell him? If she suddenly appears in his chamber at night, he might assume she wants to...wants to...
Stars above.
It would be a reasonable assumption.
Would he send her away? Not that she wants to...bond. At least, not tonight.
Someday, though. She is his wife, after all.
Thoughts of his brilliant green eyes and pointed ears fill her head. His hair, dark like a moonless night. His solid chest with the way his leather shirt stretches across his muscles.
Does he sleep without a shirt?
A groan escapes her lips. That’s not helping. At all.
She could just check on him. He’s probably sleeping, anyway.
And if he is awake? She can just tell him the truth. That she couldn’t sleep, and she wanted to...what? Find out if he slumbers shirtless?
She groans again. What’s wrong with her? Why the sudden obsession with Cerian’s muscled torso?
Just because they’re married now...
Why is she even sleeping in here?
Not that she’s sleeping. Or doing anything remotely close to sleeping.
Maybe she’d sleep better in there.
For goodness’ sake, she’s not really considering inviting herself into his bed, is she?
That would definitely send the wrong message.
With a frustrated huff, she rolls over and tries to shove all thoughts of the elf next door and his maybe-bare chest to a far corner of her mind.
Arisanna isn’t sleeping. That much is obvious from her dramatic groans and the way she keeps tossing and turning in her bed.
Cerian rubs his gritty eyes. After his night in the chair, his body longs for sleep, but every little sound drifting through the cracks around the door reminds him of her. Is she hot? Cold? Uncomfortable in an elven bed of moss?
What if she fears the dark? He left a lamp for her, but what if it burned out? Or what if the fire he lit before saying goodnight died down?
She groans again, and Cerian sighs. How is he supposed to sleep with her making so much noise next door? She must not realize he can hear her.
Should he check on her? Invite her to join him in here?
Whistling wind, he can’t do that. She’d probably think he wants to...bond with her.
His palms tingle at the thought. That won’t be happening any time soon. He’d light the entire bed on fire.
Not that he’s considering it. Not yet, anyway. Not even if her hair shines like fire in the sun and that shimmeron gown drapes across her in the most enchanting way. Not even if she has the most perfect legs.
What in the Wildthorne Woods is wrong with him?
This time, he groans as he shakes his burning hands to quell the heat. He’s going to light something on fire right now if he doesn’t get a hold of himself.
Perhaps he should discuss this sudden loss of control of his fire magic with Father. Does Father struggle with his own fire magic?
What a horrifying thought. Not that Cerian hasn’t witnessed his parents kissing a thousand times.
That doesn’t mean he wants to think about it.
And he definitely doesn’t want to talk about it.
He lies in his bed, staring at the ceiling, until the noise next door quiets. Then his own eyelids droop, and he pushes thoughts of his human princess aside as he succumbs to sleep.
After what feels like minutes, Cerian’s bed rumbles beneath him, and the most annoying clacking fills his ears. Something heavy lies across his lap, and he rubs his eyes, trying to orient himself.
An empty velvet bench faces him, and it all rushes back.
The heartlanding. Of course.
He glances down and freezes.
Arisanna. In her scandalous dress. She’s curled up on the bench beside him with her head in his lap.
His palms grow warm just looking at her.
Clearly, she fell asleep in the real world. And so did he.
Her eyes flash open, and her swift intake of breath as she stares up at him does cruel things to his fire magic.
“Well,” she says. “This is unexpected.”
To his surprise, she doesn’t bolt from his lap, though it may have been better if she had with the way a burning heat itches at his hands, begging for release.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “You look...stiff. I’m guessing you don’t want me here.”
She says it lightly, but something in her eyes betrays disappointment. Perhaps hurt.
“I fear I may light you on fire,” he forces out through gritted teeth as he struggles to prevent flames from bursting out of his palms.
“Light me on...stars above.” She rolls to her feet and takes a few steps backward, grasping at the seatback across from him.
She’s terrified of him now. Him and his magic.
Unsure what else to do, he lights a small fireball in each palm. It’s not much, but it takes off the edge.
“Cerian, what’s going on?” she whispers. “This isn’t normal, is it? Losing control of your magic?”
Whistling wind. How is he supposed to answer that? He can’t tell Arisanna it’s her. Can he? What would she think if she knew where his mind drifted as he lay in bed unable to sleep earlier?
“Your head is full of thoughts,” she says. “I can see them in your eyes. Tell me? Please?”
He can’t. He shouldn’t.
“Cerian?”
“This is not normal for me,” he finally says. “Though perhaps it’s not unusual for fire wielders. Strong ones, at least.”
She shakes her head, her delicate brows drawing together in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
He can’t tell her. What if it ruined everything between them? The thought of not having her smiling beside him guts him.
“We agreed we could talk to each other,” she says as she takes a small step toward him.
Perhaps she isn’t terrified.
Would knowing the truth draw them closer rather than frightening her away?
She lowers herself to the bench beside him as he focuses on her face. He can’t even imagine what would happen if he looked at the rest of her with the heat flowing from his palms right now.
“I want you to tear down all the walls between us,” she whispers. “Remember?”
He swallows, and the fire in his palms burns hotter as her words rattle inside his head.
“Cerian?”
“It’s you,” he blurts out. “My fire magic burns hotter around you.”
She frowns. “Me?”
“When I think about...you...I lose control of my inner flame. About being...with you.”
She still looks confused.
Whistling wind, how much clearer can he be?
Then she gasps, and her eyes widen. She looks from his face to his hands and back again, and her cheeks turn an alluring shade of rosy pink.
Fates save him.