Page 128 of The Seeker
It was a piercing joy every time he saw her. He wanted her so much it nearly made him resentful. He’d never experienced anything like it. It was far more than lust. Far more than affection. It was need wrapped in adoration with a healthy dose of possessiveness.
She loves me. She is mine.And the aching sweetness of the complementary realization.I am hers.
She ran the last few steps to the cottage, a pale pink nightdress clinging to her ankles, its edges soaked from the grass.
“Meera.” He whispered her name and she put a finger across his lips.
Shhhh.
He didn’t hear her voice in his mind. It was nothing audible. But the hair on his arms stood as he touched the edge of her magic, and her thoughts became his own.
I want to show you. Before we see her, you need to know.
Rhys drew her into the cottage and shut the door. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted Meera up, pressing his mouth to her forehead, her cheek, her lips.
You should know.She kissed him again before she pressed her forehead to his.I think I can show you.
“I’m not imagining it. How do you do that?”
Later.
He closed his eyes as their lips met over and over again. Raw need gripped him, but he tuned every sense to Meera. Her scent. Her touch. The gentle brush of her thoughts against his.
Without thinking, he touched histalesm primand felt his magic come to life. It wasn’t a conscious thought, but he knew she needed him to be open.
I can show you.
Show me,reshon.
Rhys felt his magic wake, like the slow stretch of a sunbeam crawling across the floor. Each spell woke with a hum, the oldest first.
Long life.
Understanding.
Perception.
Concentration.
Thetalesmhe’d inked during his training to help him focus.
Meera slid to the floor in front of him, gently guiding Rhys to the small sofa in the corner. She pressed him back into the seat and straddled him, never letting their lips break apart. His magic grew and grew.
Vision.
Strength.
Speed.
His training as a warrior.
The spells had reached his right shoulder when they became more intricate. More personal.
The rising spell of Chamuel’s blood, the spell his mother taught him, woke in him with a jolt. He spread his palms wide, and Meera pressed their hands together, palm to palm. But instead of the murky sense of knowing and glimpses of memory he usually received from this magic, a door broke open in his mind and Rhys stepped through.
This is what I can show you.
A memory. It was one of Meera’s memories.
