Chapter 37 #2
Just as he’d studied her body in the cave, Brand had watched and listened to her cues over the traumatic week, learning her in an entirely different way.
He knew to slide his hand gently beneath her sternum, because it tended to hurt the least. To support the back of her head as he levered her backwards and settled her against the mound of pillows behind her.
He’d tasted the deepest parts of her, but this was more intimate. More vulnerable. He’d spent six days witnessing the worst she had to offer and was still here.
She forced her eyes open and found him kneeling beside her. “Thank you.”
He ghosted a hand over her cheek, just shy of actually touching.
“You are a blessing,” he whispered. Glancing over at Fern, he swallowed.
“I’m ashamed to say I had little hope for her.
I’d thought there was no way…” His gaze came back to lock with hers.
“I am in awe of you, Luna. What you’ve done is astonishing. ”
A low hum left her, as close to a laugh as she could manage.
It was nothing she wouldn’t have done for anyone else. Shite, she had done it, many times before. There was a reason Cordelia contacted her in secret and sent particularly severe cases her way—Lunara was probably the Evesong’s most capable healer.
Except, the usual swell of satisfaction didn’t come. Not when a wave of shame pummeled into her instead.
Even when she had one eye over her shoulder, ever watchful for those who might come for her, Lunara had always felt a little thrill of inward pride. A sense she was still significant. Doing good work while defying the Council, right beneath their noses.
Shitting stars. What utter nonsense.
Her brows pulled down, a knot of tension forming between them as she stared at Brand.
Brand, who’d gone down into a Dread Chasm for a single person, and held friends as they wept. Who treated his brethren with kindness, helped lead them fairly and saw to their needs, despite his wish for a simpler life. Who would show the same respect to a youngling like Nyri as he did to a king.
Brand, who had stayed. Cared for her with no thought for himself. Who’d never once shied away as she’d snapped and heaved and screamed, picking up her broken pieces with crooning encouragements and gentle hands.
The truth… the truth was that Lunara wasn’t significant at all. Had no right to be proud. She’d wasted fifty-two years hiding and thinking it was acceptable to live her lonely, crippled little life in order to protect herself.
Only herself.
Sweet Sisters, was she really that selfish? Stellan and Almaura would be so fucking disappointed in her.
Her eyes stung again. She didn’t want that life anymore.
It sure as shite hadn’t been worth it. The safety had been an illusion, and she’d been missing everything.
The realms and their wonders. People to talk to, laugh at, cry with—people other than the voices in her head slowly driving her mad, and a figment of her imagination in the moonlight shape of an owl.
Family.
Her sluggish heart squeezed, its echoing thumps radiating out like hammer blows that felt an awful lot like regret. “Brand, there’s… there’s something I need to tell you. Things, I need to tell you. I—”
“Shh.” His hand shook as he brought it to her lips, the wisp of his careful touch threatening to break her. “I know, but not yet.” He turned back the sleeve of his tunic, pushing it up past his elbow. “Blood, first. Talk, after.”
Twin fang marks littered the flesh he exposed in various stages of healing and guilt joined the maelstrom of emotion. So selfish. So focused on Fern—on herself, herself, herself—that she’d forgotten to tend to him as well.
“No,” he husked, reading her mind or her face—she couldn’t be sure which anymore. “None of that. Whatever you’re thinking, I promise you’re wrong.”
She wasn’t though. Not about this.
He cradled her head again, and her mouth flooded with saliva. “Accept this gift, freely given.”
She sucked a breath through clenched teeth when his words caused her aching body to arch of its own accord. Five simple words that meant so much more—permission, for her fangs to sharpen and seek out the relief he offered.
Lunara latched on like her life depended on it, pushing through to the life in his veins.
The power. When the first, coppery drop hit her tongue, her particles leapt up and rushed to meet their salvation—racing, buzzing, darting as they carried sweet renewal out to feeble muscles and shredded sinew.
She drank and drank, hardly breathing, every swallow lifting a tendril of the fog and leaving clarity in its place. The more she had, the stronger she would be—strong enough, hopefully, to survive the unveiling of her long-held secrets and deepest truths.
Flushed and breathless, she detached herself, thrumming with renewed vigor as she gulped air into free lungs. Sisters, there was nothing like it.
Nothing like him.
Brand chuckled. “Welcome back.”
Only then did Lunara realize she’d clasped onto his arm, adding deep, crescent slices to the puncture wounds she’d inflicted. Before he could protest, she laid her hand over top and pushed out her magic, taking the pain into herself.
And the pleasure.
Something between a shout and a moan left her unbidden as sharp stings echoed over her body and almost immediately softened into bone-melting bliss.
“As you can see, your worry was misplaced, and it was no burden whatsoever to feed you.”
Fighting to control her breaths, she willed herself to let go of him, shaking her head. “I haven’t… Is it always like that?”
“Every time.” Brand looked away, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’ve never offered your gift to another?”
Lunara wasn’t even tempted to evade the question, even though it would normally raise more than a few eyebrows. “No,” she admitted. “Never.”
She’d had lovers. Not many, and not in quite some time, but that particular intimacy had always been off limits.
She’d been too afraid they would taste her blood and know she wasn’t at all where she belonged—more fool her, since gifts between Sorcerit partners was standard, and her denial of that shared experience could have been just as incriminating.
Stars above, she’d been such an arse.
Oh, and that’s suddenly changed? You used to be smart—now look at you.
Ugh.
She was having trouble seeing the logic and wisdom in that part of herself anymore. Tired of listening to its bloated, tiresome words. One gleaming benefit of being lost in her healing journeys was that she didn’t have the energy to go to war with it. Lacked the patience to bother listening.
The only tiresome one here is you. You, and your halfwitted dreams. Your sudden need for family and truth and sharing. Weakness, all of it. Your parents died protecting you, and you think honoring that is what would make them disappointed?
“Luna?”
She blinked as a shuddering breath left her. Brand was standing with his hand outstretched, waiting, his gaze searching. Shaking herself, she took the proffered hand.
“Is everything alright?”
Nothing she couldn’t handle.
Eejit.
She stood and pressed two fingers to her temples, head in a dizzy spiral as she reoriented herself into a reliable body. “Fine. Just… tired still.” Not a lie. “Ready for this to be done.”
Too bad the gifts don’t heal your addled mind. If only all of you could be reliable.
Apparently, her answer was good enough for him.
He led her over to Fern. “Your work is done,” he breathed.
“Look at her. She’s an entirely different creature.
” Admiration she didn’t deserve glittered in his eyes when he looked at her again.
“No one would believe the damage if they hadn’t seen it for themselves. You did that.”
“Hmm.”
“Is it normal for her to still be asleep?” he asked, posing a question she didn’t have a precise answer for.
You do, you just don’t like it. Go on, admit it. Since you’re so bent on spilling all your secrets, go ahead and tell him you aren’t nearly the astonishing blessing he seems to think. Nothing but a lying bitch.
Weeping moons, what the fuck? She could be unnecessarily cruel to herself, but this was a whole new level of vitriol.
“Luna?”
“Oh, umm… For now, yes. I often keep them out for a little while and allow them to come back slowly.” She wasn’t sure how to describe what she’d found.
“Fern has a blockage, though. Or a wall? It’s entirely possible she built it up on her own, to protect her mind from what happened, and it’ll fade as her body realizes it’s no longer in danger.
It could also be a part of her that’s always been there.
I won’t know for a couple of days whether or not it’s that or my magic keeping her from waking up. ”
Not going to tell him you dumped enough power into it to fell a dragon horde, and it still wouldn’t budge? So you do know how to keep a secret, you’re just too idiotic to do it when it matters.
Lunara sucked down a deep breath, refusing to respond as she rounded the slab and ran her fingers over Fern’s forehead.
The Fae was striking, whatever she was. “Nyri asked me if I’d ever seen hair like this,” she said, keeping her voice from shaking. “I wasn’t in the best mood to ponder it at the time, but now…”
From the comfort of her cottage, she’d traveled the realms through the pages of books.
Amidst her reading and research, she’d seen countless depictions of everything imaginable.
Sadly, truly informative texts on the Tempusrealm didn’t exist. The Fae were secretive.
But the pictures and paintings, the sketches and portraits and landscapes…
Boundless, like they enjoyed flaunting the beauty of their realm while leaving everyone guessing.
She glanced up to find Brand’s brow furrowed as he stared at the Fae.
Interesting. Almost pining, wouldn’t you say?
Lunara cleared her throat. “I once saw a painting of water nymphs with similar hair coloring.” Grabbing Fern’s hand, she turned it so the light of the stones could skate over deep bronze skin, shimmering across the surface as if she’d been dipped in gold dust. “But, if I’m not mistaken, I believe this feature is most often associated with the pixies of the Fall Domain.
Unfortunately, her size and wings belie that. ”
Brand nodded, leaning closer to inspect the verdant appendages. “Their shape is all wrong for a pixie. And the color is more typical of the dryads in the Summer Domain. Although, dryads don’t have wings.”
Ooh, did you see that? Hear that? The strange note in his voice… Distracted. Probably noticing how gorgeous she is, and thinking he made a mistake with you. Sure you didn’t mess with her mind on purpose?
Swallowing down a rise of bile, she laid Fern’s arm down, resting her hands together over her abdomen again—and shamefully unable to ignore herself. “What… what are you thinking?”
He shook himself. “That I’m too bloody tired to be recalling Fae features. Vann will know what she is, even if he doesn’t know precisely who.”
Well, what else would he say? He’s sorry but he’s fallen for a comatose female?
“Fair enough.” She summoned one of her blankets from the ether, the moonlight strands humming beneath her fingers. Hopefully, it would help energize Fern. “I can stay with her while you find him.”
Brand stalked around the slab, pausing a hair’s breadth away. His eyes were like white-hot irons, boring into her. “I would very much like to hold you. May I pick you up?”
No, he wouldn’t. He thinks you’re weak. Useless. Helpless.
She scoffed at him, finding it harder and harder to ignore the doubts. “I don’t need you to carry me through the corridors while we chase your brother down.”
He tilted her chin up, dragging his thumb over her lower lip. “You misunderstand me.” His markings flashed, eyes growing darker. “I’m not speaking to another damned person until I have a bath and something to eat—and neither are you, whether you walk or not.”
“I’m not hungry.”
She wasn’t. Not anymore. Something was… not right.
His grip tightened. “I can feel you, remember?” The tips of his horns curled ever so slightly, and power pulsed out from him in gentle waves.
“Not nearly as completely as I want to, but enough to know your mind has wandered somewhere it shouldn’t.
I’m not finished taking care of you, so may I please pick you up? ”