The Weaver's Source

Chapter 71

I slipped out of the bed and stripped, preparing myself to go with grim determination pushing aside the icy heartache lodged in my chest. I'd feed him later, once I'd helped Ana. I was his Source still and I had to act like it. Swallowing the pain was something I just had to put with if I was going to keep him alive.

I swept through the hall, burying my face in my loaned scarf, and found Milcent cleaning the empty bar with Hill. She waved at me, smiling, and Hill simply grunted at me.

"Grigore seemed to be in a mood." She stated, quietly asking why.

I shrugged my shoulders and smiled nervously. "He is sometimes. We'll be back later."

Milcent nodded, narrowing her eyes at me with worry, and waved me off. I wrenched the door open and almost couldn't breathe when a gust of frozen air barged into my face. The sky was white with cold and frost covered everything. Grigore stood at the bottom of the steps, stiff with his back to me and a dark cloud surrounding him thickly. I felt a stab of guilt and my eyes shifted into a deeper blue.

Grigore looked up at me as I made my way down the slippery wooden steps, clinging onto the wooden handrails tightly.

"The first lot of the snows arrived last night." He stated with clouds of breath streaming from his mouth. "It'll snow every day from now on." His eyes, dark with temper, watched me fixedly. "Will you be warm enough?"

I nodded and smiled, to which he nodded stiffly and strode off. I followed closely, rubbing my hands like mad as the cold seeped inside the rabbit fur gloves. I'd lied about being warm; the cold was turning my bones to ice and the wind shifted through my kirtle without resistance, but I didn't want him wasting more magic on me when I'd already failed to give him more.

I hadn't noticed Grigore had stopped moving, not until I bumped into his back. I looked up at him and saw frustration burning there, worsening his mood and making me a little flustered with guilt. I was about to ask if something was wrong until he ripped free his cloak and whirled it about me.

"When I ask you if you're cold, you tell me." He growled as he yanked the hood up, ignoring the feeble protests of my hands. "And if I do something to upset you, you tell me."

I stiffened, gazing at him as he scowled thunderously with irritation; irritation I realised was aimed at himself. The whole dark cloud surrounding him was. Guilt stabbed me.

"I'm sorry." I stammered, pulling his cloak about me tightly, revelling in his scent quietly. "But you didn't upset me. I upset myself." I said urgently, stepping closer to him and brushing my fingers against his chest. "I'm okay now. I'll feed you later." I blurted out.

"No, you won't." Grigore growled deeply, making my magic warm at his low tones. "I don't need feeding right now. I have enough left in me."

"But you're hungry."

He tightened his jaw with stubbornness. "I'm fine."

"But-"

"I'm fine!" He snapped. "Focus on the task I've given you and help find this myling. I won't need magic for this so it can wait." He paused then continued in a frustrated mutter. "I won't scare you again nor will I force you to do something that hurts you."

Then he started up again, storming ahead with fluid irritable steps. I trailed after him, guilt swirling as it dawned on me he was completely misunderstanding why I'd pulled away, thinking he'd pushed me into something I didn't want to do and now he was furious at himself. I tugged at my hair in miserable frustration, wanting to soothe him, tell him he'd done nothing wrong and that I was just a jumbled emotional mess at the moment, that I was simply wanting him to look at me with that dark need genuinely, but I was too scared to voice it. I couldn't tell him how I felt; rejection only waited for me down that road.