The Weaver's Source

Part Six: Chapter 79

Grigore did exactly as he promised, staying close to me as made our way along wide roads and thin vague woodland paths throughout the afternoon. He was always only a couple of steps ahead of me or looming beside me, my hand in his. His magic was constantly singing to me soothingly and he'd pull me close randomly, kissing me roughly and making me flustered, ensuring I could taste him and feel assured he wasn't leaving. When the first night came, forcing us to camp out in the cold and snow, he set up a fire and gathered me into his arms, settling me between his legs and creating a warming ward when the wind blew bitterly.

"I'll be warm enough." I said in protest. "You shouldn't use magic needlessly."

He laughed deeply, brushing my chin with his thumb and gently pressing a warm kiss against my mouth. "I have you, Lyra. I don't need to worry about going hungry and being careful of my spell use."

I warmed with pleasure, pleased he was finally leaning on me fully and accepting the magic I offered. It felt good, knowing I was supporting him rather than trailing after him uselessly.

"Be careful when you sleep, Lyra." Grigore warned as he pressed my head against his shoulder. "Daryl's influence will be there still."

I stiffened slightly, not liking the idea of having that very real dream of abandonment again, but Grigore tightened his arms around me, keeping me close.

"I'll soothe you when you wake." He vowed.

I nodded, trusting him, and curled up against him; inhaling his scent and song, feeling his powerful body cradle me gently and tasting his magic keeping me safe from the wind. As he warned, Daryl's grip waited for me in my sleep; filling me with loneliness, fear and anger. When I snapped awake in the early dawn, the world wreathed in ice cold mist, my heart pummelled madly, twisted with pain and misery. My mind was full of fog, unable to think of anything but the darkness, until I felt Grigore's fingers slip about my jaw and his mouth claim mine. His kiss grew deeper, rougher, as his arms tightened about me when I tried to mindlessly resist, his song filling me so thickly I couldn't think of any but him. Soon I was submissive, moaning softly under his possessive mouth, his tongue tasting me and his teeth nipping softly.

"Do I have my Source back?" Grigore murmured deeply, his voice rumbling about me.

I nodded nervously, quietly cursing his kisses. It was hard not to enjoy him and get caught up in his embrace when he kissed me like that; full of white fire and passion. "It was a little easier."

"I imagine it'll be over in a couple more nights." He paused, letting his fingers stroke my arm gently as frustration stabbed him. "I'm sorry you had to do it."

"I chose to, Grigore, and it would've taken you hours." I rubbed my head beneath his chin. "It's fine."

He grunted, clearly not too happy I had to deal with Daryl still, and gently nudged me forward, parting from me and setting to work on the fire. I watched the quiet stillness of the trees surrounding me; the snow clumped thicker than the day before and my breath warm in the winter air. Nothing really moved, save the odd birds rustling about the trees.

Soon we were moving again, drifting off back to the road we'd been following, vaguely trailing after Sorin. The days that followed kept to a similar pattern; we'd march through the thickening winter and snow, following roads filled by the odd merchant and traveller or empty pathless tundra gobbled by bracken and bare rock, stopping briefly at the odd roadside inn to bathe and eat, Grigore selling what pelts he'd gathered from hunts and giving me the opportunity to repair any damage done to our clothes, before setting off again. Grigore would stay close to my side, taking me with him to hunt when we needed or sang to me if he went alone, always keeping me aware of where he was. Every night we spent out in the snow, not finding a place to stay close enough to dusk. I didn't mind, not while I slept in Grigore's arms, surrounded by a warming spell and my heavy cloak, keeping me blissfully unaware of the cold and the wind.