The Weaver's Source

Chapter 38

I waited quietly and increasingly impatiently for Grigore's return that evening. I felt worried, anxious even. It wasn't that Arthur had declared he wanted my love but it was the elf. Its words and sneaky eyes had left me feeling unsettled and then, quite slowly, my magic began to flutter in fear. It was planning to do something and I had a horrible feeling it intended to keep me here.

I sat alone, curled up by the door just inside the library. I let my fingers fly over my clothes, needle glinting in the hopes I'd keep myself calm. My magic was humming in my head, making it difficult to focus. It was getting worse now, becoming scared, but oddly not for myself. It was for Grigore.

I waited for an hour and leapt to my feet when dusk had nearly turned to night. My magic, which had been droning nervously, stirred abruptly in recognition. Grigore had come back.

I walked hard and fast from the library and headed to the main hall where I was quite pleased to see Grigore wet and irritable. He was shaking out his cloak and I nearly stumbled over my own feet when my magic flooded to my mind, screaming at me to touch him and get him out of here. Grigore obviously felt it too by how he stiffened and avoided looking at my approach.

I smiled hesitantly as I approached, twisting my fingers together. "Welcome back, Grigore."

He grunted and obviously intended to ignore me until his gaze caught my face. Hunger flashed, mixing with concern there.

"Your eyes are grey." He muttered thickly as he planted himself to the spot carefully, clearly fighting to keep himself still as his eyes roamed over my face. "What's wrong?"

I glanced down the hall. There was no tiny flash of blue or faint giggling in the air. I hesitated only briefly. "We need to leave."

His eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Leave? You're the one who wanted to stay until the last moment."

"I know I did." I bit my lip, looking over my shoulder nervously, and pressed my hands against my chest, not noticing the action drew his gaze there. "But my magic is scared. It doesn't feel safe anymore."

Grigore became wary in an instant and, while he glanced down the hall, he pulled me against the wall, shielding me with his body. I had to think hard to keep breathing as my magic swamped me a little; tearing back and forth between wanting me to grab Grigore to run or smother him in kisses. I felt a little dizzy from it.

"Why's it scared? I know there's something off with Arthur, magically speaking, and he irritates me but he's harmless. There's no threat in him." He growled lowly, making me shiver involuntarily at hearing his deep voice rumble about me.

"But the fairy here. It's up to something."

"It's an elf, of course it is, but it won't be after your magic. Fairy kind have no desire for magic, only peace, mischief or blood, and an elf won't want blood."

"The magic isn't scared for me, Grigore." I said a little breathlessly as I shoved the magic aside, hissing at it to leave me be internally. I needed to think if it wanted me to act. "It's scared for you."

Instantly his face darkened. "I'm a Weaver, an immortal. An elf can't harm me." He said a little stiffly.

"I know but my magic is definitely scared for you. Something is wanting to hurt you in this house."

"What on earth happened while I was out?" He asked in bewilderment. "The house was quite happy with me before I left." 

I blushed deeply and my grey eyes turned slightly pink. He frowned in accusation. 

"What did you do?"

"I rejected Arthur." I muttered, not looking at him, aware the magic made him feel strong dislike for Arthur for some reason.