The Weaver's Source

Chapter 71

When we reached the steps, he still made me go first and gripped my hips, giving me support and safety as I climbed, wordlessly protecting me. I could feel him close, smell his scent and my magic stirred whenever his fingers tightened or he pulled me into him when I wobbled dangerously. The top step was particularly icy however and I lost my footing entirely, forcing Grigore to gather me into his chest and lift me into him, placing me safely on the ground as my breathing verged on hyperventilating. He let me curl into him for comfort as my heart ran from the terror of tumbling down all those steps. His hand rested on my shoulder, his thumb brushing gently against the cloaks wrapped tightly about me and his song wrapped about me comfortingly.

"You're safe." Grigore murmured with surprising tenderness.

I nodded in relief, breathing him in and soothing my fear away. I looked up at him, intending to say thank you, but the words died in my throat. He was looking at me oddly softly, his gaze distant and warm, but there was something glittering there; pain, longing, affection. I was about to ask if he was okay when he was called abruptly and in that moment the hardness had come back as his attention was snatched from me.

A guard came running up to us, his skin white and his eyes wide. "The Lord Master demands to see you, Weaver Grigore." He stated as firmly as he dared.

"Demands to?" Grigore echoed then glanced behind him. "Where's your Captain? Doesn't he deal with the Lord Master's requests?"

The guard swallowed thickly. "The Lord Master will explain."

Grigore frowned, clearly not liking it as much as I did, and nodded, taking my hand in his to keep me close. The guard ambled off, only checking once to see if we were following, the rest of the time he was peering down the halls and checking the ceiling once we had entered the manor. He guided us towards the room we had met the Lord Master the first time and it was colder than ever. Not a single hearth was warm with fire and only small candles lit the impressive stone room. It was gloomy in here. Cold.

I kept close to Grigore as we approached the fur covered figure of the Lord Master. He sat upon his large beautifully whittled chair, waiting for us with Filip by his side and rapping his fingers against the armrest. I glanced at Filip, noting how worried he looked. Something had happened.

"You're doing a fine job at hunting, Weaver." The Lord Master snarled as we approached.

I flinched a little from the tone and his savage glare and slipped my fingers between Grigore's, pressing myself against his arm softly. Grigore didn't seem to mind and held onto my hand tightly, squeezing them in comfort.

"Such a fine job, in fact, that one of my sons and my captain are dead." Anastas paused, his nostrils quivering. "Tell me! Why have you failed in keeping my son alive?"

I glanced up at Grigore, wondering how he was going to deal with this. He didn't want to tell the Lord Master about the myling and specifically told me not to breathe a word on what we hunted, not when it could risk everyone clamping up.

"When did they die?"

Anastas leaned back, scowling still. "Edd drowned while he bathed last night. A servant heard splashing but couldn't open the door, no matter how he turned the key or rammed at the door." He said a little calmer. "Harry was meant to get up early, to hunt with his brothers, but never showed up. Filip found him dead in his bed. We believe he was poisoned."

I felt Grigore stiffen with surprise and saw his eyes narrow with suspicion. "I shall look into these deaths but your family is in danger. It may be better to leave until I slay the monster, which is possibly a shifter. Shifters often eat human flesh, take on the guise of its previous prey and will not stop until everyone is dead before it feasts."