the girl who lost it all [d.m]

fifty: halucinatio

halucinatio: hallucination, illusion, delusion

———

ELARA didn't dream.

For the first time, she was so exhausted that she slept through the whole night in fitful dreamless sleep—but when she woke up, it was still with a knot of panic in her chest.

Because what if it had all been some kind of hallucination? What if she was still trapped in that small room with Koa, what if she was actually dead?

She didn't think she could handle it if it had all been some fever dream. If Draco hadn't told her what he had, his eyes blazing with emotion, if he hadn't kissed her and then ravished her the way she'd always dreamed of being ravished.

But as soon as her eyes fluttered open and that dull ache between her thighs settled in, Elara knew with certainty that last night had been real.

Shafts of sunlight streaked in through the narrow opening of the cave, the vines covering it swaying in the breeze and causing the light to dance over the walls. The fire had died, leaving nothing but charred wood behind and the furs on the other side of fireplace that she'd set up for herself had been pulled over to where she lay on Draco's now, cocooning her in soft warmth.

Not that she needed it. Not when Draco was so warm and firm beside her, her cheek pressed to his bare shoulder.

Immediately, warmth bubbled in her chest as she raised her head to look at him, blinking sleep out of her eyes. He was already awake, staring up at the ceiling of the cave, long fingers tracing deft circles on the back of her shoulder where his arm curved around her.

His eyes slid to her as soon as her head lifted and she felt pink stain her cheeks at the memory of last night. At gazing into those silver eyes as he moved within her, swallowing her moans and gasps, kissing every inch of her until she was squirming underneath him.

He'd looked at her like she was everything he'd been searching for, like she was some goddess and he was adamant on worshipping her.

And he had worshipped her. With his hands trailing over her skin, with his mouth against her own, murmuring words she knew would make her flush red whenever she thought about them.

"Morning," she whispered, feeling his hand flatten and smooth down her back—over his shirt, smelling like peppermint and teakwood. She wanted the scent engraved into her skin.

He only raised his head to press a lingering kiss onto her forehead and then slid his arm out from under her, sitting up and rubbing his hands over his face.

He didn't look like he'd slept much—and Elara's heart sank. Had he been up, tormented by thoughts of Corwin, while she'd been fast asleep in his arms? Had he been tearing himself apart because he hadn't been able to break through the Imperius? Had he been regretting what they'd done while a storm raged outside and firelight danced across the walls of this cave?