CHAPTER THIRTEEN #3
Evylin was alive with adrenaline and desire, fixated wholly on the man before her.
She was so caught up in the rapture of everything he was that she nearly missed the black haze materializing around their clasped hands.
A swirling, slow dance of glittering onyx crystals gathered to create an iridescent shadow.
It grew to an inky mist, undulating like waves.
Deckard’s eyes transformed under her gaze, shifting to a gradient of icy blue, vibrant emerald, and fierce black that faded into the pupils.
His gaze turned severe and wild, powerful and passionate.
The magic surged, rolling down their arms as he dipped his head toward hers.
The onyx twisted and coalesced with rising speed, the unfamiliar fire under her skin spiking with its intensity.
Drifting up, the magic covered their shoulders and heads, running down to their feet.
They were wholly encased in the crystalline shards of Deckard’s power.
She could feel him trembling and realized suddenly that she was too.
The heat of his power seared her flesh, while the cool of her own cut deep to the bone.
A gasp escaped them both as the fury of magic swept through them.
Their foreheads tipped forward to rest against one another.
At the point of contact, a new feeling overtook them.
Tranquility slowed the frantic beat of Evylin’s heart and evened the exhalations of her lungs.
The fight between hot and cold ceased, and a subdued peace now ruled her like a gentle breeze on a summer’s day.
She’d never felt so open and alert, so aware and unlimited. Her mind was calm and her body serene.
Deckard’s cheek pressed against Evylin’s temple, the relaxed cadence of his breath tickling her ear.
His hand was still on her wrist, and she felt the tingle of his touch through her sleeve.
An urge for more goaded her. She wanted to lift her face and kiss him, to release his hand and drop the moonstone so she could enfold him in her embrace.
But she was as marble carved into a statue, locked in time and place.
Her mind crystal clear, Evylin watched the room with an almost omniscient gaze.
She was strangely detached from the sight of her and Deckard resting together in the storm of their intertwined magic.
The moonstones glowed, continuing to shimmer as Ethenn and Brea lifted them away from their upturned palms. In turn, Brea took Deckard’s now-empty hand and turned its palm over to rest on the couple’s clasped hold, and Ethenn did the same for Evylin.
The Warriors stepped between the pillars.
They extended their hands over the boxes and crushed the moonstones in their grasp, twin cracks splitting the air.
Evylin felt a vague twinge constrict in her chest. Two perfect halves dropped from the Warriors’ hands, landing to rest heavily on the velvet pillows.
The Mages came forward then; Fire, Day, Water, Night, Wind, Time, Terrae, and Space circled the pillars.
The Existential Mages lifted their hands first, a halo of color emitting from them: golden yellow, vibrant purple, searing white, and smoky black.
The four shards of moonstone rose, glowing from within.
Guided by magic, white and black fragments of moonstone met their opposite, creating two new stones of contrasting color. They flared brighter as the Mages flexed their hands. The contrasting halves fused into one, their cracks disappearing as though they’d never been.
The Elemental Mages raised their hands then.
Chunks of metal materialized from Jarrad’s palms, hovering in the air.
Ilain sent roaring flames to envelop them, burning them to molten white ore.
Together, they formed the metal into shapes around the moonstones.
With a flourish, Isla sent a gale to cool it as the Water Mage washed over them with a gentle stream.
Still luminous with light, the newly encased moonstones glittered in settings of silver and gold.
A sudden swell of magic surged through the room, strong and overwhelming. Evylin lost her breath as fresh power coursed through her, rattling her bones and sparking in her fingertips. Deckard’s strangled breath told her he’d felt the same power slam into him like a tidal wave.
Profound desire and joy welled up within her, sending her into a delirium.
The sensation rocked through her from head to toe and back up in such a violent ricochet of feeling that she lost all sense of where or who she was.
Involuntarily, her eyes rolled back, and her vision went black, embracing her in a waking sleep.
The feelings raged on—the burgeoning and confounding power filling her to bursting—but her mind had found rest. Oblivion gave her peace, cradling her as the shock of magic reformed her soul around Deckard’s and his around hers.
She fell into a void at the fusion of their beings.
Time became meaningless. A century could have elapsed, and it would have seemed to be the blink of an eye. A second might have gone by, and it would have felt like an eon.