9. Her Terms
HER TERMS
The three Awyans departed at last, trailing perfume and laughter in their wake, leaving behind an ornate invitation for a garden party in Lady Maren's honor. Surian accepted it with her usual grace, but when Malec read the embossed script, he scoffed.
"They would allow a Canariae to attend their childish gatherings?" His tone was sharp, disdain dripping from every syllable.
Surian raised her chin, her voice calm but steely. "They extended the invitation, Malec. To refuse it outright would be an insult."
"It is already an insult," he snapped back.
From the corner, Luko leaned against the wall, watching the siblings volley. "You two should just get married to each other already, save everyone else the grief," he muttered.
Two pairs of pale eyes cut toward him. "Butt out," they said in unison.
He lifted his hands in mock surrender, grinning as he slipped into the parlor.
Allora was stretched across the couch, one arm draped over her eyes, her robe pooled around her.
Her mind was a knot, tangled with thoughts she couldn't smooth out.
She barely noticed Luko until his fingers circled her wrist, pressing gently against her pulse.
She blinked and lowered her arm to look at him.
"So," he said, his voice soft but teasing, "you're friends with Kirelle now?"
Allora snorted. "No. Not really." She kept it brief, a half-truth designed to end the line of questioning. "I made a deal with her that I'd give her a way to enchant Malec, make him look at her instead of me, in exchange for leaving Surian alone."
Luko let out a strangled sound, part gasp, equal parts laughter. "Allora, you are too much for this world."
She smirked. "I told her I'd help. Didn't promise it would work."
He shook his head, eyes dancing. "You really think Malec would look anywhere else? He told me himself earlier, said being soulbound isn't just sex, but that it makes the sex..." Luko gestured vaguely with his hands, at a rare loss for words. "Trandscendant. His word, not mine."
Allora's eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open before she burst into laughter, smacking him lightly on the arm. "He did not say that!"
"He did," Luko grinned, holding his ground. "Swear it."
They dissolved into muffled giggles, their laughter tangled together until Allora dropped her head back against the cushions. When his hand moved to her forehead, she rolled her eyes.
"You need thermometers," she muttered. "This way is barbaric."
Luko scoffed, pretending to be offended. "Then make me one of your contraptions, Doctor. But don't look down on us. Your Canariae sciences aren't the only answer."
She turned her head toward him, her eyes soft but defiant. "Magic can't fix everything, Luko. That's where science comes in."
He arched his brows and gave her a lopsided grin. "Blasphemy," he teased, though his smile betrayed affection.
Before she could reply, Malec entered, his presence filling the room like a tide.
He sank down beside her on the couch, his arm sliding over the backrest behind her head, the other settling over her hand in her lap.
He angled his body close enough that his chest pressed lightly against her shoulder, urging her to lean into him.
And she did, if only because her body was betraying her, her strength running low.
Luko's smile faded as he looked back at her. He brushed his palm across her arm, frowning. "She feels clammy. It's almost like her body's being drained of energy."
At once, Malec's head lifted, his gaze snapping to Luko, pale earthen orbs bore into him with unspoken demand. "Explain."
Sighing, Luko pulled a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket.
He bent over Allora and gently wiped the sheen of sweat from her forehead.
His brow was furrowed in thought, his movements uncharacteristically careful.
"I ran a healing medallion over her chest earlier," he said at last, his tone serious.
"And before I could finish grinding the herbs for her vitamins, it was drained. Completely."
Malec's head snapped toward him, the pale tan of his eyes burning with intensity.
He looked down at Allora, who stirred faintly, her brows pinched together.
"What the fuck is a healing medallion?" she muttered, voice rasping, her irritation cutting through her exhaustion.
Luko gave her a small, rueful nod. He'd expected that reaction.
"It's a type of magic infused instrument," he explained evenly.
"One you don't believe in." He raised the small bronze disk between two fingers, etched with delicate runes that shimmered faintly even now.
"It diagnoses sicknesses in the blood. The medallion reacts, turning shades and hues depending on what it detects.
Poison, illness, any number of ailments.
" His eyes flicked back to hers, steady and assessing.
"But when I ran it over you, it didn't react.
It drained. Every drop of its magic just…
gone. And that," he said pointedly, "is not supposed to happen. "
Allora blinked at the object, her lips curling into a weak, humorless laugh. "So what, you're saying I broke your magic stethoscope?"
"Not sure what a steth-i-sco is, but sure. Something like that." Luko said softly, tucking the medallion away. His expression stayed troubled. "Somehow, you drained it."
Allora melted into him, her body surrendering to exhaustion even as Malec and Luko spoke in low tones above her head.
They discussed what might be causing this, their words weaving around her like a lullaby she could no longer follow.
Her lashes grew heavy until they fluttered shut.
When her body listed forward, Malec's hand shot out, catching her instantly.
He steadied her with the ease of instinct, his reflexes honed from years on the battlefield now spent on keeping her upright.
The conversation between the two elves dwindled, and soon Malec rose with her cradled against his chest. Her head rested against him, dark coils brushing his jaw as he carried her upstairs.
He could bathe her, he thought briefly, but rest mattered more.
Carefully, reverently, he laid her down upon the bed, adjusting the robe around her body as though tucking her back into herself.
For a long while he sat on the edge of the mattress, head bent, his mind a storm. Surion's schemes at the palace loomed heavy, plots whispered behind closed doors, threats he could no longer ignore. He needed answers. He needed to stop whatever fire Surion was fanning before it touched Allora.
He rose and began to strip off his clothing, his thoughts straying.
He pictured her waking to find him naked beside her, imagined the way her dark eyes would flash.
Would she be furious, throwing the nearest object at his head?
Would she laugh, wicked and unbothered? His mouth curved at the thought.
Perhaps she would simply accept him, curl against him, let him worship her until dawn.
He would take any of it, all of it, if it meant lying beside her again.
Touching her skin was his one weakness, but it was also one of the few indulgences that made him feel good.
Sliding beneath the covers, he drew her gently into him, placing her head against his chest. Her breath fanned warm over his skin, and he closed his eyes, savoring the rhythm.
The weight of her body and the fragile trust of her sleep filled him with a tenderness that caught him off guard.
He gazed at the moonlit sky through the window.
He had seen the night sky a thousand times, cold and empty, but with her in his arms it was suddenly beautiful.
She had changed the way he saw the world, shifted every color, every sound.
He could no longer imagine life without her.
His eyes were drifting shut when the sound came: a faint buzz. Malec's body tensed, eyes snapping open. The low hum grew louder, insistent, until he saw it. A dragonfly hovering near the window. Large, shimmering, its body glowing faintly with magic. His breath stilled.
It was the same insect Allora had once shown him, the one he had believed dead. Yet this one burned brighter, its body pulsing with an unnatural light. His first thought came swift and cold: a familiar. A parasite feeding on her. Another predator stalking his dove.
The insect drifted closer, cautious, as if weighing the danger he posed. Then it settled on Allora’s bare shoulder. Its wings trembled as the glow dimmed, flickering while it drew strength from her. Feeding.
A hiss escaped between his teeth. His body went still, every muscle ready. He watched, waiting for its intent to declare itself. But the longer it clung to her, the more his fury built. He would not risk her life for curiosity or patience.
His hand shot out and smashed it flat against her bronze skin.
Allora stirred, brow furrowing at the sudden movement. His voice was a whisper at her ear, soothing, low. "Shh… shhh. Sleep, dove."
She blinked at him once, unfocused, then let her head sink back onto his chest.
When he lifted his palm, the glow was gone.
The creature's body was nothing but pulp, its innards dripping down his fingers.
He grabbed a towel from the table and wiped her shoulder carefully, then his hand.
Rising, he crossed the room and shut the window with finality, locking it against the night.
He stood there for a long moment, staring out into the silver-lit dark. Another threat circling her endlessly. Would it never end?
He turned back to her, lying small and still in his bed, and swore silently that as long as he drew breath, none of them would have her.