Page 44 of Blood Weaver
“You infuriate me,” he whispered, his voice husky with desire. He captured my lips in a searing kiss that left me breathless.
I finally pulled back and rested my forehead against his. “The feeling,” I panted, my voice trembling, “is entirely mutual.”
And just like that, amidst the tension and unspoken words, there was a fleeting moment where the world seemed to disappear and all that mattered was the electric connection thrumming between us.
The gurgling river became a muted whisper as the world condensed into this singular moment. Ronan's fingers traced patterns on the small of my back, each touch a promise and a plea. Our noses brushed, breaths mingling, as the distance between our lips became an unbearable chasm.
“You have no idea how much I want you to understand me, Leila,” he murmured, his voice a soft growl filled with yearning.
“And you have no idea how much I fear that understanding,” I whispered back, my fingers curling into his wet shirt, emboldened by the feel of his heartbeat racing against mine.
With a low groan, he claimed my mouth again and deepened the kiss as our bodies swayed with the river's gentle ebb. The water became a cloak around us, a world where past betrayals and looming threats ceased to exist. It was a stolen moment, a treasured respite from the storm of our lives.
Pulling back, Ronan brushed a thumb over my swollen lips. “But I can never forgive what Caelan did to you,” he whispered. “Don’t ever ask that of me.” He studied my face, searching for acceptance I wasn’t ready to give.
“If you hurt him … I’ll never forgive you,” I said carefully.
His face fell. “You would really go that far for him?”
“I would.”
Ronan clenched his jaw, a vein ticking at the side of his head, then stormed out of the river in drenched clothes, disappearing down the winding trail that led back to the cabin.
I quickly trudgedout of the river and got dressed in the clean clothes I brought in my basket. Grabbing the woven handle, I hurried back down the trail, intent on smoothing things over with him. I’d never seen him so angry. While I still didn’t agreewith him, we were forced to share the cabin until Silas returned, which meant we had to find common ground.
Wet hair clinging to my face, I ran through the forest heedless to danger with my heart and mind in turmoil. Was I blind to Caelan’s true nature? Ronan’s reaction suggested a deeper, darker narrative I had yet to comprehend. The tranquility of the forest was lost to me now; every rustling leaf, every whisper of the wind echoed my inner tumult.
Engulfed in my thoughts, I barely registered the change in scenery until I was in a clearing. Before I had a chance to realize the danger in which I’d found myself, they were there. Three Valorian soldiers, unmistakable in their armor, with crescent moons marking their foreheads. I stopped dead in my tracks and the basket in my hand almost slipped.
“Halt!” One of the guards held up a hand to stop me. Snatching two papers from the hand of one of his companions, he stared at it a moment before glancing back up at me. He did it several times before announcing, “It’s her!”
In moments, they swarmed me on all sides. I was trapped.
“What’s going on?” I looked between the three soldiers, unsure how to proceed.
The leader held the papers up so I could see them. One was a hastily drawn portrait of me, and the other was of Ronan. They were wanted posters. My eyes widened in surprise and shock. Caelan was going this far?
The posters said we were wanted by the crown dead or alive, but if dead, he wanted proof of our demise. This wasn’t good.
“Listen, I don’t want any trouble.” I held up my hands. “I have no qualms with Valoria …”
The leader scoffed. “You’ve sided with the Crimson Clan. You’re nothing but a Crimson whore!” he spat.
I flinched, feeling more hurt than offended. These were my people, and now they viewed me as the enemy. There was no wayto get out of this without fighting. I just had to do my best not to hurt them.
The leader unsheathed his sword. When the other two held out their arms and readied their stance, I realized they were mages. As one, they launched their attack. I brought up a magical shield to protect me and they bounced off with shock painted on their faces, surprised to learn I was a mage. A mage from the Central Plains was a rarity, an anomaly. In that fleeting moment, a bitter realization settled in me—there was no middle ground here, no room for peace.
I focused all my energy on maintaining the shield. My arms trembled under the relentless assault of the two mages. Each spell that collided with my protective barrier sent a shockwave of energy that reverberated through my bones. Every hit, every burst of magic, was a reminder of the daunting reality that I was outnumbered and the soldiers were relentlessly focused on killing me.
My muscles ached, strained by the sustained effort of maintaining the barrier. Each impact was a brutal dance of force and resistance. The mages’ spells crashed against my shield with daunting ferocity. Each explosion lit the tranquil forest clearing, casting ominous shadows that danced menacingly amongst the trees.
I dropped to a knee and gasped for air, feeling my stamina wane. I couldn’t hold the defensive shield much longer. My arms trembled and slowly drooped, and my eyes started to close. Before my shield winked out, the wind gusted and a figure swept through in a blur of motion and steel. In seconds, the three soldiers had sliced throats and lay on the ground, twitching.
My eyes widened. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I raised my arms again and was about to attack when the stranger slowly turned around, covered in the soldier’s blood.
Ronan.
“Why did you kill them?” I shouted.
