Page 37 of Heart of Shadows

He could afford to wait a day, he decided, against his better judgment, watching how the young woman’s grey eyes filled with warmth and laughter at one of Aedon’s jokes. There was obvious attraction in her body language towards him, the way she angled closer, the way her gaze lingered—Dimitri scoffed and kicked a stone. His mood soured as he looked at how easily, naturally, Aedon managed it. It was outrageously frustrating that even as a criminal, Aedon could still command hearts and minds.

Unable to watch him anymore, Dimitri slipped away, back to the city. The last thing upon his gaze before he faded into the shadows was the young woman and the stone illuminated in the fire, with the Dragonheart shattering iridescent light in her laughing, grey eyes.

31

HARPER

That night, Harper found herself restless, twisting and turning under the folds of her cloak until she was tangled within it and unable to find comfort, still her thoughts, or banish a certain set of violet eyes from her mind. Aedon’s words had unsettled her, though she still refused to believe it would be as difficult as he suggested to approach the king for a way home. If she had a Dragonheart, and he prized them above all, surely that was leverage enough? There was no way other than to focus on that—to admit to anything else would be to fall into the hopeless void on either side of that knife edge.

The next morning, she rose early with the dawn mists around the dell, and went to bathe in the stream. The water was freezing, despite the time of year, but it was just the rough awakening she needed. As she hurriedly dried herself and scrambled to dress, the reeds stirred behind her. She spun around, and a frisson raced across her skin as she found herself face to face with the chest of a shirtless Aedon. Her cheeks heated and her eyes flicked to his muscled and tanned chest before she wrenched back to his gaze. His lazy smile widened.

“Sorry to disturb you. Morning.” Aedon covered a yawn with his hand.

“Morning, Aedon. I was just finishing up. Stream’s all yours.” Her voice was carefully even, and her attention locked on his face, refusing to be drawn to his muscled torso again.

“Actually, I came for some quiet time, to contemplate. Would you care to join me?”

Harper’s eyebrow rose. He did not seem the thoughtful type. “Sure.” It would be a while before anyone else arose or Ragnar needed her help with breakfast. Was this his way of inviting her back into the fold? She had worried they would cut her adrift and she would be left lost in a strange land. Much as it pained her, she needed them.

Aedon grinned, though his eyes were still clouded with sleep, and jerked a thumb over a shoulder. “I think this spot would work best.” He slipped on his shirt to her mingled dismay and relief. She followed him through the mist to a grassy hillock, carefully arranged her cloak on the dew-laden grass, and sat opposite him. She didn’t fancy having a wet behind for the rest of the day.

Aedon took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, the air whooshing from his chest as he gazed around with a sereneness Harper had not seen of him at any other time. “What?” he asked at her cocked head.

“You don’t strike me as the type to sit and think.”

He chuckled. “I’m not, but I do occasionally enjoy sitting and watching the world go by. Though the fog isn’t so great for that.”

Harper’s lip curled. He was irritatingly infectious, curse him.

“I hope I didn’t scare you with the tale last night, Harper. Or what was said afterward.”

“You didn’t scare me,” she said softly. “But I do worry that I don’t know what my place is here—or when I get back home.” The mist had closed around them. They could barely see each other, let alone anything else. It made her feel even more lost.

Aedon sighed, his smile full of sympathy. “Don’t dwell on it for now. Enjoy the present.” He shuffled closer until both sat cross-legged, their knees bumping, and reached out, palms held toward her hands. “May I?”

She slipped hers into his, looking at him with questions bursting upon her tongue. As their skin connected, she inhaled sharply. Her hands tingled—part attraction and part something quite unfamiliar—and she fought back another rush of heat across her cheeks.

“You felt that, yes?” She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He laced his fingers with hers, and his voice dropped, low and alluring. She leaned in. “That’s magic. Right there. I said you would be able to feel it. Mine is strong. I’ve lived here all my life and I’m a pureblood elf. My blood is charged with it. Yours will take a little while to accumulate within you, but soon, you’ll feel it. It’ll be like a stream of water filling up a vessel. Close your eyes. Try to imagine it, feel it.”

Harper did as he asked. Her breathing evened out—hitching for a second as he traced a circle with his thumb on the back of her hand and energy of an entirely different sort cascaded through her. Harper forced her attention inside herself for the source of this energy he spoke of. Deep within her it sat, lurking somewhere in her belly, but she didn’t know if that was what magic felt like, or whether it was the buzz of attraction at their physical contact.

Her bare hands stiffened, even in Aedon’s warm hold, and the frigid damp seeped through her cloak. She felt ridiculous, truth be told, glad to hide behind closed eyes. She still didn’t believe him. Not really. They sat there, motionless, until Aedon squeezed her hands. She opened her eyes to find him smiling at her with an open warmth.

“I know. It seems silly at first.”

She winced. Could he read minds?

“You’ll eventually understand what I speak of. Come. I’ll wager the others will be rousing soon, and I’m starving. I want to wake Ragnar so he’ll make me breakfast.”

She laughed. “You can make it yourself, you know.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Why should I when I have the best cook this side of Keldheim tending my fire?”

Aedon helped her to her feet, then slipped his fingers from hers. Harper slowly pulled back her hands, acutely conscious of the sudden rush of cold the absence of his warm skin created. She was glad when he turned his attention away from her and strolled into the mists, back to camp.

Pull yourself together, she chided herself, pressing her cold fingers against her warm cheeks. There was no denying it. These elven males were attractive—ridiculously so—and utterly outside her reach. To even try would be folly. He didn’t feel bad, however. Would she know for sure if he was? Perhaps she was insanely naïve to think that impressions could not be deceiving. Either way, she had started to develop feelings for the enigmatic thief. Where did that leave her morals?

“Harper?” As if on cue, he called for her through the mists.

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