Page 15 of Enchanting the Elf
His sizable body settles on my legs and I run both my hands through his soft fur, which is warm under my touch like he just left his spot in front of a toasty fire. I didn’t realize how chilled I was until my legs started to thaw under his hefty weight, the warmth seeping through my jeans.
“You’re the goodest boy, making me all toasty. Thank you, purr boy.” At that, the cat looks up at me with what I swear is a judgmental stare, and stops purring.
“Not a fan of the baby talk or the nickname?” I ask the cat in a more neutral tone this time. His answering blink is all I get, so I reword the question while my hands keep up their petting.
“Purr-purr?” I try. Still, I get nothing from him.
“Sir Purr?” At this, a weak vibration starts up under my hands and I decide to try one more.
“Sir Purrington?”
Ladies and gentlemen, we have liftoff.
Sir Purrington preens under this name and a solid purr works through his body and vibrates into my limbs. He curls up in my lap and a sense of rightness settles in me.
Since Alberad Island, I have felt somewhat unmoored. I’m not someone who likes to complain out loud, nor do I enjoy drawing attention to myself. I usually go with the flow and remain in the background, letting others take center stage and make the big decisions.
But, right here, under a lonely oak tree with Sir Purrington curled up on my lap, it feels like I can finally take a deep breath and like something has clicked into place.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply while my fingers stroke Sir Purrington’s soft fur, and an easy smile settles on my lips, basking in this peaceful moment before reality is bound to come crashing in again.
Chapter ten
Adelbert
I hurry down the corridor and push open the hidden door that only a few staff members are aware of, and the library welcomes me like an old friend.
A sense of peace descends on me as I breathe in the scent of paper, ink, and glue—the holy trinity for a bibliophile like myself—and I savor the absolute quiet and complete solitude in my favorite place.
Vastly different from the rest of the stone castle, the large library’s wooden interior is warm and rich, and invites you to get lost between its shelves for hours on end.
An intricately designed wooden barrel ceiling running down the center of the cavernous main room divides the library into two sections: Elvish tomes on the right, other languages on the left. Numerous ladders lean against the tall oak shelves, amplifying their height. Their wood grain is familiar to my hand even from this distance.
Elvish culture reveres intellect, and from a young age we learn to distance ourselves from emotions and focus on facts. Any opinions one might have that are not based on facts, are frowned upon.
And being raised on the grounds of Alberad, this has led me to spend most of my available time in this library, searching for answers to any questions I might have and finding companionship with the books. Sometimes I’d be drawn to the windows, watching other species playing outside, then have to shake myself out of the desire to join them.
Elves do not play. We study. We lead.
I don’t allow myself to linger too long, choosing to heed the call of the clock ticking against me and head toward the Elvish section on the fates, taking care to keep my steps light as I march across the polished wooden floor.
The urgency to dissolve this mystifying bond so that all of us can return to our lives as usual, is hot against the back of my neck, compelling me to work swiftly. A few theories have entered my mind as to what could have caused the markings and the bonds. However, checking for any precedent cases is imperative before I will permit myself to share any of the theories with my friends and their bonded partners.
My most compelling lead is based on the boat that the women chartered that took them to the Alberad Caribbean Estate. It was namedAmarto, which is the Elvish for “the fates.”
“This is early. Even for you.”
My father’s voice startles me and my feet instantly come to a halt, icy nails scraping down my back. Thoughts that he has discovered our predicament rush to the fore, and an image of him calling all my friends and their bonded partners to be examined and interrogated flashes through my brain. I need to protect them.
Thus, like I have done since I was old enough to master my emotions, I take great care to regulate my breathing and not to let a fraction of my concerns show on my face.
I lift my brows and incline my head in greeting. “Vater.”
With his trademark Alberad icy-blonde hair, I can’t believe I didn’t see him lurking between the shelves. Nithard Alberad wipes at the nonexistent dust on the spine of a book and prowls from the shadows.
“You have returned ahead of schedule,” he says in his customary flat voice.
“Yes,” I acknowledge but don’t give him any extra ammunition.
