Page 135 of The Seeker
Meera felt Rhys’s magic lock hands with her own, a simple moment of clarity and understanding as the veil of self ripped in two. A surge of power lifted her mind to a new plane.
Complete.
Her magic flexed and flooded spaces previously unseen. She felt full. Redolent with power.
Rhys was whispering to her.“Sha ne’ev reshon. Eos ni danya. Sha nahiya. Ya le disha silaam.”
Meera’s head spun with his fervent demands. “Please,” she whispered.
“Almost, my love.” His teeth sank into her shoulder a second before he started writing on it. Rhys spun her around and captured her lips, his brush never leaving her skin. He pulled back and continued writing, his lips full and flushed red, his green eyes intent, his fingers quick and clever as they held the brush. The spells written in henna trailed down her arms then up, dipping across her breasts and over her heart. He marked her collar, her belly, her pubis and her thighs.
His spells were a delicate bouquet of potent magic, as beautiful as they were powerful. Spells for binding their magic. Spells for health and healing. Strength and longevity. As he wrote, Meera felt his magic wrap around her like an embrace. Tears welled up in Meera’s eyes. The need for him grew with every inch he marked.
“Rhys, please.”
“Breathe, my love.” He kissed her. “I’m writing my vow.”
“Before time was counted,” he whispered.
“Your soul was meant for mine.
Sha ne’ev reshon, anchor your heart in me
And I will be your calm port,
Your steady pillar.
Your truth.
Hide your heart in mine
For I will be your refuge.
I will be the sword guarding you
And the proverb in your ear.
Rest,sha reshon.
Your scribe stands near.”
The ink was still wet on her skin when Rhys finished. Kneeling before her, he curled over her feet and gripped her ankles. Meera could tell he was both exhausted and exhilarated. His spells covered her in glowing goldtalesm. After the henna faded, they would remain within her, bound to Meera through her life.
In that moment she was a living vessel of Rhys’s magic, and he was at his most vulnerable. In this state, loaning power to a ready and willing singer, a scribe bared his soul. It was the ultimate moment of trust.
Meera waited motionless for the last mating spell to dry on her skin. The air smelled of fire, incense, and living magic.
“My love.” She rose and held out her hand. He lifted his head and looked up. Vivid green eyes held hers, and Meera’s heart flipped in her chest.
Even in his weakness, he captured her.
Rhys rose and took her hand. She led him to the bed and he sat. She took her time unbuttoning his tunic and opening it, baring his tattooed skin to her eyes. The intricacy of his familiartalesmwas now echoed on her skin.
“We match,” she whispered.
“We always did.” He watched her, never taking his eyes from her face. “You undo me.”
Meera paused, then pushed the tunic from his shoulders. “And you have captured me. Like a fox tamed to eat from your hand.”
