23. Sleepover #3
“ I’ve had a bad dream is all. I’m sorry.”
Maelan cupped her face, his calloused thumb wiping away the tears. His other hand moved the tangled mess of hair from her face, his forehead resting on hers.
“Never apologize firelight, I couldn’t sleep, anyway.”
The heat from Maelans breathe kissed the cold sweat on her skin sending shivers through her body. He was rubbing her back in gentle slow circles, as he held her.
She leaned in and kissed his cheek softly. “Thank you.” She whispered and Maelan turned to meet her lips.
His kiss was slow and gentle as he held but a creaking from the hallway caught Sorcha’s attention. Kyron was leaning in the doorway. “You’re in good hands I see, if you need me I’m right next door.”
Sorcha was beside herself. She wanted Kyron, but she also wanted Maelan.
Kyron began to push off the door when Sorcha reached for him, calling after him.
“I’m okay, Sorcha. Seriously.” His smirk was filled with mischief. “If Maelan can’t take care of you, I’ll make sure to.”
Maelan didn’t pull away from Sorcha. Instead, his arm tightened around her waist, anchoring her against his chest. He looked up at Kyron, his expression hard, but there was no anger in his eyes only the deep, exhausted understanding of two men who loved the same breaking woman.
“I can handle my wife, Kyron,” Maelan replied, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling growl. “But she asked you to stay. Move your ass over here and help me keep her warm. Her skin is like ice.”
Kyron’s smirk shifted into genuine surprise.
He climbed onto the empty side of the bed, sliding beneath the damp sheets.
He didn’t try to pull her away from Maelan.
Instead, he slipped his arms around Sorcha from behind, molding his chest to her back, trapping her in a cocoon.
She was pressed against Maelan in front, her face tucked into the crook of his neck, while Kyron’s arms locked around her waist from behind, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder.
“Better, firelight?” Kyron murmured against her ear, teasing.
“Shut up, Kyron,” Maelan muttered, though he reached across Sorcha’s waist and clapped a hand over Kyron’s forearm, locking their arms together.
“I can’t, stay though.” Kyron murmured, his voice losing its playful edge, laced with regret. “My mother warned us about sharing these rooms for a reason…” removing his arms from around her waist he stood up and turned to face her “But I’m not leaving you empty-handed tonight.”
Before Maelan could object, Kyron knelt on the edge of the mattress. He caught Sorcha’s chin in his hand, tilting her face up and his lips hungrily met hers.
Sorcha gasped into his mouth, her fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer as the world narrowed down to the taste of him.
Instead of pulling her back, Maelan's hand slid beneath the damp fabric of her shirt, his warm palm pressing flat against the bare skin of her hip. The heat of his hand flared like wild fire against her, anchoring her to the bed while Kyron consumed her thoughts. Maelan’s other hand moved slowly up her thigh, his calloused fingers bunching the hem of her nightshirt, his thumb tracing slow, agonizingly circles against the sensitive skin of her thigh.
Kyron broke the kiss with a sharp, ragged exhale, his forehead resting against hers as they both breathed the same air. His eyes were dark, his lips flushed. He looked down at Maelan’s hand resting possessively on her thigh, then back to Sorcha.
“Remember this,” Kyron whispered, his voice shaking slightly as he forced himself to stand up and step back into the shadows of the doorway. “Because next time, Sorcha, there won’t be anything to keep me from you.”
With a final, lingering look that promised absolute ruin, Kyron turned and vanished into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him.
The room fell into a heavy silence. Sorcha’s heart was still hammering a frantic rhythm, her lips still burning from Kyron’s kiss.
She expected Maelan to leave or demand answers, instead, Maelan shifted.
His hand still on her thigh, the other hand he wrapped about her back and pulled her into him.
“Sorcha,” he breathed, his voice an undone rumble against her skin. “If I don’t leave this room right now, I don't know if I'm going to leave it at all.”
“Don’t go,” she whispered. The nightmare, the crushing weight of the crown, the dizzying ache in her heart—it all faded into the background. She didn’t want safety at a distance. She needed him here. She needed to feel alive. “Maelan, please.”
Maelan didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, his mouth capturing hers with a fierce, possessive heat that made her entire body arch into his.
When his weight settled over hers, the rest of the world ceased to exist. His hands were no longer just grounding her; they were worshiping her.
His mouth and hands mapping out every inch of her body.
Sorcha let out a moan, arching up to meet him as his fingers tangled in her hair, locking his mouth back to hers.
In the quiet of the shadows the last of her defenses dissolved entirely.
Hours later, the storm in her mind had cleared.
Sorcha lay tangled in the heavy blankets, her cheek pressed against the solid, warm expanse of Maelan’s bare chest. His strong arm wrapped securely around her waist, holding her flush against him as if he were guarding her even in his sleep.
She was floating in that heavy, hazy space between dreams and reality, her eyelids too heavy to open.
She felt a soft shift in the mattress as Maelan leaned down, his lips brushing a tender, lingering kiss against her temple.
“I have to go back to my room, firelight,” he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated against her ear. He sounded fiercely reluctant, his thumb tracing one last slow circle on her bare shoulder.
Sorcha let out a sleepy, incoherent murmur, leaning her face deeper into the warmth of the pillow as he carefully pulled the sheets up to her chin.
She heard the faint, rustling sound of him gathering his clothes in the dark, followed by the whisper of the heavy oak door clicking shut.
She let herself sink into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Soft chirping woke Sorcha as the sun began to rise, shades of lilac and soft blush painting the sky.
The chirping continued from the balcony, and she dragged herself over and pushed the door open.
Nestled on stone railing was a tiny, trembling hatchling covered in downy fleece of glowing ruby fluff, but a set of golden talons and leathery wings stood out.
Curious, she reached out to touch the little bird, but it screeched loudly in a panic and she instantly pulled her hand back.
“Shh, it’s alright,” she gently said, trying to soothe the little bird.
Softly she began to sing a little melody, “Oh, wee child of crimson feathers, How thy hiding in golden sun, Makes the fields look ablaze…”
She continued to hum the tune while extending her hand again.
This time, the hatchling quieted, leaning into her fingers.
it felt incredibly hot against her skin but it didn’t burn her.
Suddenly a massive shadow fell over the balcony.
The magnificent and terrifying Ellén Trechend landed heavily in front of her, the rush of its wings bringing a blast of wind and heat, Sorcha stumbled back in fear.
The great beast stood perfectly still, examining Sorcha with a long unyielding gaze.
Satisfied, the mother dragon looked at her hatchling, gently scooping it up in her wings.
“We’ll meet again,” a voice whispered in a deep gravely voice. The creature then took flight into the morning light, leaving Sorcha alone on the Balcony.
The sudden silence of the room snapped her back to reality. The sky was fully awake now, the lilac shifting into a bright, rose gold.
We have to go.
She whirled away from the window, the lingering awe instantly replaced by a surge of frantic energy. Moving quickly through the quiet house, she threw open the guest room doors.
“Wake up! Everyone, up now,” she called out as she grabbed her traveling pack from the floor. “We’re burning daylight, and we need to be on the road before the sun clears the tree line.”
The house erupted into a flurry of groans, rustling blankets, and the sudden clatter of boots as Kyron and Maelan scrambled to their feet, jolted awake by the sudden morning call.
The door clicked open, and Maelan stepped out into the hallway.
His hair was a wild, sleep-matted mess. He looked at her face, searching for answers but only met the eyes of a woman determined to get moving.
He leaned against the doorframe with a quick, testing smirk toward Kyron’s room and knocked on the wall.
“Move your lagging assets, Kyron. I, for one, would prefer to keep my hair un-plucked today.”
“I am moving!” Kyron emerged, frantically shoving a stray boot onto his foot while juggling his sword belt. He tripped over the threshold, catching himself against the wall with a scowl. “You two are entirely too energetic for this hour. Especially after last night.”
“We have a long road to Finías,” Sorcha said quickly, her face flushing. She checked her gear one last time, taking a deep breath of the cool, morning air. The lilac skies were burning away, replaced by the bright, demanding magenta sky.