Chapter Two
T he walk to my village doesn’t take long and although we continue holding hands, instead of talking, we share a companionable silence.
I want to say that it was comforting to know that we didn’t have to force a conversation, we could just enjoy being in each other’s presence. It’s true that I didn’t have anything to say, but I wanted so desperately to hear her talk. I just love listening to her.
She is magnificent and wild, and I find it fascinating that she is just as surprised as everyone by what comes out of her mouth at times.
A mouth that I would give anything to press mine to while letting myself get lost in the deep waters of her eyes. Maybe even taking a fistful of that gloriously unruly hazelnut hair to tilt her head back a little. I would let my other hand trail up her torso and…
And now I’m the creep that’s fantasizing about a girl from our neighboring village.
Pull yourself together Ororbas. It’s not like it could ever be anything more than a short-lived physical satisfaction between us. Not that I didn’t yearn for more with her.
Fuck, deep down? I want everything with her.
While the demon village and witch village were friendly with each other, engaging in tradings, joint celebrations, and the occasional tryst–as evident by Olive and Neven–there were no cross-faction matings. Demons mated with demons and witches with witches. No exceptions.
Although, with Elswyth being an elven halfling, maybe that meant she was a little more free to mate with others.
My heart leaps a little at the idea that maybe I can have the mate I have been dreaming of for years. Because I have been dreaming of her. Every fucking night and all day long she haunts my thoughts and desires. Not when she was a child or anything, but in my mind my mate has always been Elswyth, just as she is now. I just didn’t realize it until recently.
When I met her almost a year ago at one of the village’s delivery days, I thought my eyes were deceiving me. My heart nearly leapt straight out of my chest and I wanted nothing more than to claim the woman of my dreams with the body of a wood nymph. And then I watched in fascination as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, and revealed their dainty tips. A trait that can only be passed by elven parentage. I decided then and there that I needed to learn as much about her as I could before I approached her. It was in my best interest as faction leader, so as not to cause any rifts between our people and the fae magickals that resided in a juxtaposed realm.
When my inquiring led to the discovery that she was a mere 20 years old, making her nearly 12 years my junior, I cursed the Gods for their cruel punishment. Surely I hadn’t been dreaming of a mate who would have no chance of feeling the same as me for nearly another decade?
At 32 years old, I had never had the call of a fate-bonded or soul-bonded mate. Fate bonds were relatively common and happened to about fifty percent of magickals. Soul-bonds however, were incredibly rare. They were a mating pair that was basically chosen by the Gods. These bonds were ignited–in a manner of speaking–when the female became of reproductive age. In the magickal community, that age was 27 years old.
Although sadly, I suspected that due to the elven contribution to her genetics, Elswyth would never experience either of those types of mates. No, hers would be a chosen bonding. Not that there was anything wrong with that prospect. Actually, it meant that I had a chance. A very tiny chance, but still a chance nonetheless.
But the dreams, and the deep emotions they evoked, that just had to be some sort of destined mating. Right?
I should talk to Morfran about this. He is my brother and my most trusted friend, as well as the smartest person I know. He truly loves studying everything and anything. I know I can always trust him to tell me the truth and I love him for that. Surely in all his readings, he would have come across something that might shed some light on these overwhelming emotions.
My gaze drifts around as we reach the edge of the village and see many of my faction bustling about now that the sun has left its highest peak. Various people pause to wave at us or nod in greeting before they continue about their lives. I hear some of the women whispering, and it is at that moment that I realize that we are still walking hand-in-hand. It’s an action a little more intimate for two people who are supposed to be mere friends. I can’t seem to force my hand away from hers though, so instead I choose to ignore their remarks as we walk on.
As we pass a group of women–a few of which have repeatedly made advances at me–I catch a few words that set my blood boiling. How much it must truly hurt their ego to see me holding hands with ‘ witch filth ’ and the ‘ village whore ’. Although last I caught, Elswyth has not been involved with much of anyone. Most prefer to keep their distance a bit. I wonder if that is more out of fear of her wild personality or the half-fae blood that runs through her veins?
I make sure not to allow my strides to falter. Not letting myself show the sudden anger I have at the snide words against Elswyth. Instead reminding myself that is all they are.
Words.
And while words can hurt and cause pain, surely a few demonesses flapping their gums couldn’t cause any life-changing effects.
Right?
Some of the village children are chasing each other about and one little girl runs straight up to Elswyth. Before I can intervene, the girl looks at her in pure awe and says, “Are you an elf princess?”
Elswyth’s eyes dance mischievously, as she leans down to the girl and says, “I don’t think so, but you must be a demon princess.” To which the little girl squeals excitedly and leaves us to chase after her friends.
“You will be a magnificent mother one day.” The words spill out of my mouth before I can catch them. I meant it to be a compliment, but her eyes look a little sad and she responds with a simple and rather quiet, “Maybe.”
I definitely put my foot in my mouth with that one. What if because she is a halfling, she was not blessed with fertility as most magickals are? Or what if she has no desire to mother children and would choose to abstain from reproducing? How could I be so crass?
As faction leader, I require an heir. Thankfully we aren’t a barbaric bunch and I could easily name one of Morfran’s children as my heir. If the man ever took his head out of his books long enough to find a mate of his own. Otherwise, there are always cousins with children I could choose from. So if she truly had no desire for children, or was unable, it wouldn’t be an issue at all. It’s something that wouldn’t stop us from being together.
My thoughts have taken on a mind of their own and I give my head a quick shake to try and right my thoughts. It’s not as though I know if Elswyth is even able to be my mate, let alone if she would want to. Would she want to?
That small question grips my heart like a vice and gives it a firm squeeze.
She has to because I am growing more sure day by day that she truly is the one for me.
We reach my house and I open the door for her. Even though I’m the faction leader, my home is the same size as the others in my village. Since we tend to be a more lively bunch at night, our houses are darker shades of green and brown, made from stone, and have little-to-no windows in the back where the bedrooms are.
She enters the space and her gaze travels around the room. She takes in everything from my various books and astrology tools, to the weapons that line my far wall. While I have yet to find myself in a battle–thank the Gods–I am properly versed in all manner of combat as well as hunting and fishing.
Moving around slowly, she continues her perusal of my domain as I simply watch her.
Even in such a mundane task as observance, she is a delight to behold. When she finally gives in and traces her fingertips across the flat of one of my blades I barely suppress a shudder. I wish she were touching my...
“This craftsmanship is exquisite. So many fine details.” I stand corrected. She was not simply observing. Her gaze was devouring every minute detail she possibly could.
I answer the question she hasn’t asked. “It was the last one my father created. It was meant to be my twenty-first birthday gift. A sort-of welcome to man-hood type thing. Whatever that means.”
She turns to face me and her smile radiates empathy. “Your father was a wonderful leader. Aunt Olive speaks fondly of him. I’m sorry he was called to the Ether.”
The memory floods me without warning. The tight-lipped smile and soft excitement twinkled in his eyes as he readied for the hunt.
Aedion Blackwell was a shell of the man he was when my mother was alive. A thought that always amused me given that he never seemed too terribly interested in remaining her bed partner every night. In fact, I’m nearly positive I once saw Olive herself in a precarious situation with dear old dad. Not that I plan to share that tidbit.
Regardless of their unique relationship, Father truly was different when Mother passed. I always felt terrible that it had to coincide with the arrival of my baby brother. While no one would ever blame an infant for the passing of their mother, Father never looked at us in the same light. The one thing that remained through his time here though, was his love for hunting and his expert weaponsmithing. Anyone would be honored to own an Aedion-crafted blade.
If only his weaponry had been a match for the stray bullet from a drunken human hunter’s rifle, then he might still be alive.
Elswyth’s hand gently squeezes my shoulder. The show of empathy has my anger instantly dissipating.
My lust on the other hand?
Yeah...
I’m just incredibly grateful that she is more concerned with my emotional state at the mention of my dead father. Instead of the massive hard-on, I have from a simple touch.
What is it about this female that has me feeling like a horny teenager all over again?