𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 | 𝟏𝟖+

xxviii. the fae's goodbye.

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖'𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇. It's all she can see when she looks at him, evidence of last night's activities. It's visible, but not swollen like his witches' runes, but she knows it'll heal into a beautiful scar that'll last for eternity.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He's been unusually calm since the sun rose, his thoughts centred on the girl resting in his embrace rather than his pack. Mate. My mate. Mate. Mine. Mate. She's surprised he held enough resistance to her to not mate in full, even though she thought he would sheath himself into her wide open legs. He spent the night with a raging hard-on with little relief except with the help of her hand. Instead, his mouth left kisses everywhere. Some brandishing, others featherlight. Each kiss brought down an abundance of bliss until the sky changed from dark to light.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's been seven days since their arrival, and now, they take the next step on their journey. Thorn gave them one direction, one that she knows Morrow opposes. Pailon welcomes no one without having ancient's blood. Neither of them have it. Only Morrow and his messy witches' concoction of it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow slings his violin and bag over his broad shoulder, meeting her gaze as he stands upright. He must sense her recollection of the night's events as his ring-clad hand brushes against his mate's mark.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She tiptoes towards him, her own satchel of possessions strapped around her waist. Unlike her usual loose flowing dresses, she opts for baggy trousers and a tunic that drapes over her jagged physique. Her feet remain bare.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She cups his cheeks, but one hand goes astray so she scratches behind his ear.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Do you think it will work?" she whispers. They depart for Pailon, but she leaves the Dreamweaver's Bluff without her magic.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He looks away, but wraps his fingers around her wrist and brings the delicate skin to his lips. His kiss ignites her bones.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I promise I will get you your magic," he vows.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's lips curve. "It's not something you can steal. It's something I have to find on my own."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He smiles, a rare expression from the alpha. "I beg to differ."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He pushes past her and exits the spare room, descending down the stairs. Elowen slips on her own pair of leather boots before doing the same, her satchel of possessions hooked over her wings and shoulder. Morrow and Thorn's voices drift from the front parlour room, mumbles of instructions that fail to bring her excitement. For her, their expedition to Pailon will only spark defeat.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎As she passes the entryway to the dining room, she stops, her gaze attracted to the single burning candle. It still burns just as it always has. She recalls the icy darkness that descended upon her when Thorn snuffed it out, all counter effects to his mischievous fae tricks. The memory leaves her with a hollowed chill that lingers beneath her skin, something so polar to the burn she felt moments later. Her magic. There must be a fire in her, a magic inferno just aching to break free, one tantalised by the symphony of Morrow.