The Weaver's Source

Chapter 48

Grigore came back an hour before dusk. A smile was instantly spread over my face when I felt my magic stir in recognition and opened the door before Grigore had even finished climbing Lillith's wonky steps. But that smile quickly vanished when I saw how weary he looked. Despite him standing as rigidly as ever, I could see the tell-tale signs of tiredness; the slight droop in his wide shoulders and the dimness to his eyes.

"Grigore." I murmured with worry, stumbling out of the hut into the terrible cold only to stop when he stepped towards me swiftly, gripping for the door frame and blocking me in with his imposing frame.

"Back inside. It's cold." He warned me gruffly, his voice rumbling about his chest deeply.

My heart fluttered nervously and I quickly hopped away from him, anxious I was just going to make a fool out of myself again but he was making it difficult when he remained where he was, leaning against the frame, his expression still and his gaze slipping over me. Something soft rippled in him, relief I think, but I couldn't tell for certain nor did I understand why. But Grigore's attention was broken from me when Lillith called, telling him to shut the cold air out.

Heavily, he stepped into Lillith's hut and sat on her straw bed as she had ordered, tugging free his cloak and flexing his large hands. As she fussed over tea and getting some warm food for him, I knelt by his side, peering up at him with worry, listening to his song anxiously. He sounded weaker and my magic stirred softly, twittering curiously and burning my fingers to touch him, but obediently went back to being alert when I shoved it aside.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

I was concerned he might've found the Black Dog and fought it but the were no wounds on him. None visible at least.

He nodded as he worked his shoulder, unintentionally drawing my attention to the play of his muscles beneath his shirt and the masculine line of his throat, making me suddenly nervous.

"Just tired. I've used too much magic." He murmured to me.

Lillith hummed in curiosity as she handed him a plate and gave me an inquisitive glance. "You shouldn't be tired through magic use when you have a Source with you. In fact, I am surprised at how low a level of magic you have in you." She commented.

I instantly stared at Grigore's mud covered boots, suddenly finding them quite interesting, while Grigore ate quietly, not even bothering to respond but his magic curled heavily in warning. Lillith hummed again but said no more despite curiosity etched on her features. She sat on a crooked wooden chair and watched him.

"How was it?"

"Pretty much as you said." Grigore said. "The tracks I found were made by a large creature. The paw prints were as big as my face, maybe bigger."

"It is a rather large Dog." Lillith agreed.

"It's den isn't far from here though; the disused mill to the east. The place was littered with bones and cattle corpses. I've put a few lighting and barrier wards around it. It might keep it at bay for a little while."

Lillith's eyes narrowed. "I hear that's not all."

Grigore was hesitant. "It was awake when I investigated it's den."

I couldn't help the little whimper of terror leave my throat. He had promised he wasn't going to face it or go anywhere near it. Grigore gave me a surprised glance at my sudden stab of fear then warmth touched his tired eyes.

"I was surrounded in sunlight, Lyra. I was safe."

"But?" Lillith pressed.

He looked up at Lillith, his expression wary. "It spoke."