Fox #3
Thorne and Maddox have to go to Asher’s family home tomorrow.
They will need to transfer some of the harvested magic to Edmund and Emilie as per mandated by coven rules.
It’s the worst time to have to give up any advantage we may have, but canceling will make them suspicious.
Alric is supposed to be the first to receive his allotted gifts, as he’s the oldest coven member, but after the council meeting, we’ve decided to prolong his waiting period.
While Alric is entitled to his fair share of the yield, he is the last remaining member of his line. Meaning, he keeps all of it for himself. Another worry that’s driving sleep further away from my reality.
What would Alric do if he knew that his nephew and the other legacies were keeping a woman in the legacy manor?
I hate to admit that part of me believes that he would agree it’s the safest solution, which makes my skin crawl.
A broken clock may be right twice a day, but a pure hand needs no glove to cover it.
I toss to my back and try to envision the waves of my noise machine washing over me to take me into their undertow.
The moisture of my exhales mixes with the oxygen in the room and settles on the thin layer of sweat forming on my skin.
My heart beats in time with every crash of recorded wave and slows.
A heavy weight sinks my body into the mattress.
My limbs give into the quicksand of the sweet relief of lucid sleep.
“Come on, baby, follow Mama.” The familiar voice arrives and I struggle to open my eyes.
The sounds of waves fade, but the rocking sensation of my organs working in tandem is getting louder.
Water collects around my nose and mouth.
I try to spur myself to swim through the dark liquid taking me deeper than I’ve ever been before.
The filling of my lungs isn’t foreign, but there’s something different in the way my muscles feel constrained.
“Fox,” a new voice whispers to me. It’s faint but close.
“I’m here.” I reach out, searching for the source, but don’t feel anything but the push of water over the hairs of my arms. “Where are you?”
A blinding light flashes. The hot white fades into blue then deep purples and reds as the features of a face start to emerge. First, the ridge of her brows and curve of her nose. Then her cheeks, lips, and a soft outline of dark eyes.
Elsbeth.
I shouldn’t but I reach out for her, taking her soft cheeks in my palms to bring her closer, clearer. Her lips don’t move, but I hear her voice. “We’re alone here.”
“Yes,” I answer, though I know it wasn’t a question. “You’re safe with me.”
Do I mean that?
Her arms wrap around my waist and her smaller body molds to mine. When I look down to her, the haze of my dream clears and I can clearly see the mossy green of her irises. I press the pad of my thumb over the patch of freckles on her cheek and wish I could count every one of them before I wake up.
“Come to me,” she says, her arms loosening from around me.
Don’t let go.
“You’re close.” She’s being pulled out of my hold.
Her arms tighten, trying to cling to me. She flickers in and out of focus, and neither of us has the strength to keep her here with me. She slips through my fingers and sinks into the distance.
“I can’t. We—”
“Fox.” My mother’s voice echoes around us, and I turn around to look for her.
Elsbeth is further away when I look back.
“Stay.” I walk through the darkness to reach her again, but every step I take, the more space separates us.
“I’m right here,” she says, but her image becomes hazy.
“Come back,” I call after her until my throat strains and croaks. “Not yet. Don’t leave.”
The sounds of waves crashing on sand and rock come back from the silence and the pitch black of my room.
I sit straight up and turn the lamp on my side table on.
The trickle of dim light washes over my bedding.
My sheets are a tangled, sopping mess around my limbs.
I haul my body to standing, and my feet hit the floor into a puddle that has pooled around my bed in a perfect ring.
I slam my hand down on the noise machine, giving myself the relief of silence. Breathing in and out, I begin to collect the water. It flows in an upward stream and into a neat orb that hovers a few feet from the floor until the rug is bone dry.
Peering into the volleyball-sized mass, I watch it ripple.
Its movements mimic the way magic in my body ebbs, and I can’t help but reach out to hold it.
I take a deep breath then exhale, and the substance under my spell expands and retracts.
With a twitch of my fingers, the molecules separate into billions and billions of particles and disperse into steam that dissipates in seconds.
Reality settles in and I replay what woke me in the first place.
Elsbeth.
It was a dream.
Just my subconscious fears playing a confusing reel behind eyelids. She would never touch me like that in daylight.
Both facts feel like a lie. I can still feel the pressure of her body wrapped around mine and it has my gut in a vise. Was this how Maddox felt after he’d met Elsbeth in the coffee shop?
Now I understood why he was so freaked out . . . and desperate.
The floorboards creak in the next room and my thoughts silence. I hold my breath and listen as she shuffles from one side of her space to the other.
How long has she been awake?
I wonder if she’s slept at all, but then a question enters my mind and the answer would be devastating no matter if it were yes or no.
Did the feeling of being torn away from each other wake her, too?