The Weaver's Source

Chapter 104

Sleeping was difficult. Huddled away in furs and wards, I tried to sleep. I wrapped myself up in his shirt and scent, trying to soothe myself but the worry gnawed away, fretting about his safety, but leaving the inn when we didn't know what was out there was bad, especially as my magic was numb to everything.

So I tried to sleep. It came in bursts. I would dream of darkness, blood and corpses and wake up in a sweat, instantly seeking out Grigore. Finding him well and still nearby, his reserves strong and his magic responding to my call with a soothing stroke, I tried sleeping again only to be woken by the same horrible dream, of the dead walking around me. This happened over and over again until I was finally woken at dawn by a gentle kiss.

But when I opened my eyes and a warm smile tugged at my mouth, I suddenly felt a stab of panic and whirl of frantic magic. The man who leaned over me in the sunlit room wasn't Grigore. He was smooth skinned, pale eyed and narrow jawed with long curled blond hair tumbling from his head. His thin mouth was crooked from a single scar that stretched to his eye. He smiled at me kindly but his eyes terrified me. They were distant and wild. Mad. The man from the fort. Sorin.

Before I had a chance to wriggle away, a pair of thin pale hands were around my throat, lightly pressing in a threatening manner.

"Whore." He snarled. "Get out of his head. Grigore is my brother. He dies with me, as we vowed. As he wished before. Stop pretending you can offer better than me."

"I'm not in his head, Sorin. He does as he wants." I argued, taking comfort this wasn't real. It was a dream; our magic talking to one another. I was safe. "He doesn't want to die anymore."

His eyes flashed with bloodlust and the light pressure at my throat shifted into something firmer, cutting off the air from my lungs slightly and making my magic hum with anger and fear. "You are nothing but a whore, a woman who spreads her legs for him, that's it. You don't have the bond I have with him. I was raised along side him, fought beside him for a century, kept him alive and safe."

"You abandoned him! Left him to die for your own mistakes!" I hissed out and gasped when his grip grew tighter and cut off my words, my fingers latching at his wrist and trying to pry him free.

"You will die. I'll make sure you of it. I'll kill you for what you've done to him, for taking him from me! He's supposed to die with me!"

My magic squirmed, screaming, a mix of rage and panic swirling as Sorin tightened his grip, his golden eyes scowling and burning like suns. Air was cut from my lungs, making me gasp soundlessly, my chest tightening with pain. I tried to force my fingers between his hands and my neck to wrench them away but I couldn't. Sorin's grip was too strong, unnaturally strong. It tightened and tightened as he smiled down at me with joy in his mad eyes.

Then I was awake, the hands gone but someone was there towering over me. I snatched at Hild, gripped her tightly, and tried to slash but a firm hand caught my wrist, pinning me into the blankets and surging my sense of vulnerability. My ears were deaf from the roar of my blood, my chest heaving and magic crying in fright, but slowly I calmed as my eyes flickered over Grigore leaning over me, his stormy eyes burning with fury and his magic wrapping around me protectively, his taste filling my mouth and his deep voice murmuring.

"It's me, Lyra. Don't fear me." He growled, his accent thick with anger as he gazed at me heatedly, his eyes glittering dangerously as he cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. "Do you see me?"

My breath was still frantic but I drank him in; every scar, his jaw and mouth, everything. He was there. I was awake, I was safe.

"I see you, Grigore." I replied thickly, fright still heavy in my voice.