Eighteen #3
And then my first thread appeared. It was no thicker than a string but full of an innate radiance, throbbing with life.
With Rorik’s magic now artfully blended with mine, the thread was a beautiful, gilded shade.
It twirled aimlessly by my cheek, mussing my hair and dancing in the faint breeze that rolled in from the fields. Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes.
“Rorik,” I gasped.
“Try and command it.” Awe colored his words as he inched closer to me.
I poured all my focus into that solitary thread. I filled it with purpose and willed it to reach toward the earth. Slowly, as if I were tugging it through molasses, it slipped toward the ground.
Burrow deep. Siphon magic from the world like you siphoned blight from the earth not that long ago.
Rorik’s magic filled my senses as wafts of pine and florals bloomed from the blades of grass beneath my thread.
The earth seemed to be calling to it. Welcoming it.
When I felt the magic swell to an impossible head, I thrust everything I had down that ribbon, and it went barreling into the earth with ease.
It churned through soil and mulch to bury itself among the roots.
And then it drank in the earth’s magic. I felt it before I saw it.
It was a trickling warmth that barely found its way to me, but the longer I focused on it, the more it flowed.
Eyes wide, I stared as the grass surrounding my thread began to wither away in a small radius, until all that was left was dried, cracked soil.
My thread extracted itself from the ground, and then my power diminished.
No pain. Nothing but a gentle, relaxed sensation, like my muscles had been massaged into butter and my body was yearning for a catnap.
My gaze riveted to Rorik. I barely found the words to speak. “I did it.”
“I know.” His smile, free and clear of anything but joy, was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
I threw myself into him with a wild laugh and wrapped my arms around his neck.
He smelled of fresh rain and oakmoss, of our magic, and gooseflesh ravaged my skin as I burrowed my nose in his neck.
He pulled me in close, his hands deliciously tight on my waist, and I took that moment to grip his face.
And then I kissed him.
My mouth captured his shock, and I slid my hands to the back of his head and threaded my fingers in his hair.
At first, he didn’t move. But when I nipped at his lower lip and pulled it between my teeth, he answered with a growl that sent me reeling.
His mouth parted for me, and suddenly his tongue was sweeping against mine, and his fingers were digging into the flesh of my sides with a pressure that sent pleasure straight through to my core.
He was ravenous in his exploration of my mouth, in the hungry way he devoured my moans.
Lust—sultry and heady and warm—twined down our heartbond and brought a flush to my face.
He abandoned my hip with one hand and snaked up my back to wrench his fingers in my hair.
With a yank, he pulled my head back and exposed my neck.
I whimpered as his teeth scraped against my skin, all the way to the shell of my ear, before he gently pulled my lobe into his mouth.
And our magic.
Lydia was right. Our heartbond was full of wild, unfettered magic that sang of heat and desire. And power. I’d never felt more alive, more in control, and yet somehow out of control at the same time. I needed Rorik with a ferocity that couldn’t be explained.
My hands went to the buttons of his shirt, but he caught them with ease. “No,” he said, voice gravelly and deliciously dark.
“No?” I could barely think straight. My body was screaming, demanding that I keep him exactly where he was. He dragged his lips over my jaw, then placed a painfully gentle kiss on the corner of my mouth.
“This can’t happen again.”
“Why?” My stomach knotted itself, and my fingers went cold. I let my hands fall away and forced him to meet my stare head-on. To see all the potential hurt he was about to cause.
I knew he saw it. Felt it flickering down our tense bond. He searched my face for what felt like an eternity. But that still didn’t change his answer.
“I don’t want you to be involved in this life any more than you already are.
I’ve told you from the beginning, I want you to live.
You can’t do that here.” He let go of my wrists and then gently moved me off his lap.
Tugging at the collar of his shirt, he stood up and looked away.
“Don’t practice anymore today. We’ll pick up again tomorrow. ”
Pain exploded in my chest as he walked away.
After everything I’d been through, I thought I understood all the different ways I could be hurt.
But this was different. There was an undercurrent of rage that I couldn’t deny—nor did I want to.
That emotion was easy to fall into, and it felt good compared with the gnawing ache Rorik had just thrust upon me.
Why kiss me if he didn’t want me? Why did he do anything at all?
Every time I felt like I was one step closer to understanding his motives, he’d do something like this just to keep me away.
I hated him for it. But I hated myself more for thinking that I was enough for him to stay.