The Weaver's Source

Chapter 77

Grigore found me before I'd even left the crypt. I'd only gone down two long dreary corridors full of cobwebs when his song swamped me and his steps were heard. Then he was there, a light shining in the darkness. Suddenly all I could feel was Filip's hands on my thigh and at my throat, his mouth on mine, his tongue roaming. Shame and terror ripped at me, my throat raw with unshed tears, and I stopped short of running into him, clutching my hands to my chest. I felt like I'd betrayed him somehow. I didn't deserve him.

Grigore however closed the gap with his easy stride, his arms surrounding me securely, caging me into his chest and pressing his face against my hair, his song rumbling about dangerously.

"What happened?" He growled stiffly.

"I found Daryl." I stammered, quietening when Grigore's muscles stiffened around me with rage.

"That's not what I meant." He said, brushing aside my words. "What scared you?" I shivered with dread, ghostly hands still gripping me, and pressed my face into his chest. "Lyra. Look at me." He coaxed, his voice deep and accent purring almost.

I looked at him hesitantly, my gaze locking with his, noticing how his eyes were almost black with protective rage and his jaw was tight. He melted me instantly, warmth and affection bubbling up, strengthening the guilt I felt. My lips burned, reminding me of Filip. I didn't want him there anymore.

"Kiss me."

Instantly the darkness of his gaze shifted, heating swiftly. "Lyra." He warned softly, but it only made me press myself against him, balling my fingers into small fists against his chest. I knew I was being selfish but I wanted Filip gone. I wanted Grigore.

"Please." I murmured softly, desperately.

He hesitated only a second, his expression stony with confusion at my demands, before he dipped his head and kissed me softly. He was gentle, his mouth warm and loving against mine, burning away Filip's cold lips swiftly, but I needed more. I needed his hunger, his song on my tongue. I needed him.

My fingers slipped into his hair, pulling him into me, deepening his kiss and savouring his magic, anchoring myself to him and his taste of honeyed milk. I felt his lust growing, rumbling in his song, how he gripped my hips and pressed me into his frame, in his thickening kisses, his mouth demanding, his teeth nipping at my lower lip; all gentility gone.

Then he parted from me, allowing me to keep him close and press my nose against his cheek, stealing soft reassuring kisses from him.

"Is that better?" He asked huskily.

I nodded gently, the cold grip of Filip gone as I took another kiss, enjoying his wonderful taste, letting my fingers trace his jaw and neck. Then gradually I realised what I was doing, that I was once again treating him as a lover, and quickly withdrew, tucking my hands against my chest and pulling away from him as far as he'd allow.

"Yes." I said nervously, focusing on the jack wrapped around his chest.

"Now, what happened?"

"I found Daryl, Grigore."

"Lyra, I know that's not what scared you." Grigore said stiffly.

"I know but Daryl is important. I found him, Grigore. I know what happened to him." I said, my gaze slipping up to his rough face and stony expression. "I'm safe now. Daryl and the Lord Master's sons aren't."

I could see he wanted to press by how he kept me locked to him and eyes glittered dangerously, but he bowed slowly.

"Then share what you know."