The Weaver's Source

Chapter 6

The Weaver gazed at me, his eyes flickering over my features intently, drinking me in and lingering on my mouth. Heat stirred in him, glittering in the stormy shade, then abruptly he let me go and stepped away from me so swiftly it was as if I had burnt him. I pushed my magic aside, urging it to be calm as he rubbed his mouth roughly and turned his attentions to the river.

"Stay put." He ordered irritably.

I did as he asked, watching with a mixture of curiosity and worry as he began to weave. Thin threads of pale red light threaded themselves together swiftly, releasing sweet pulses of his song that stirred a greater reaction from me than it should. My lips tingled and my body warmed sensually, my magic reaching out for his even as I wrestled with it to stay put.

"Nothing's out there. No humans at any rate." The Weaver said firmly, scattering the ward into dust and turning back to me, his gaze guarded and a hand clasping his sword.

I swallowed thickly, panic flowering. 

"She's out there. She is. I don't just have random dreams like that." I stammered frantically, stepping forward to get closer to the water until his arm was about my waist again, preventing me from getting any further.

"I've checked. Nothing living is out there matching a human soul." He reaffirmed, watching me darkly even as I looked at the water with growing fear.

"You must be wrong."

Annoyance slammed into his body, stiffening his muscles and darkening his eyes, and abruptly he took my chin in his gloved hand and tilted me to face him.

"I'm not wrong." He growled darkly. "Don't ask me to do something then disbelieve me."

My cheeks stained pink, partly out of embarrassed at dismissing him so rudely and partly at how strong his fingers felt. 

"I'm sorry. She's just important to me."

The hardness to his features softened, but he didn't release me. Instead a tranquil stillness came over him as his song began to purr, melding softly with mine and swelling his taste over my tongue as he drank me in with a lazy possessive gaze. His arm tightened about me as he drew me closer, oblivious to the deepening shade of pink to my cheeks or my flustered breathing as I desperately tried to ball my magic into my chest. I couldn't. My will was fading with how he looked at me, like I was somehow fascinating him, swallowing his mind as much as he swallowed mine. His focus was on my mouth, his thumb brushing my lower lip softly, unaware of how my magic burned there eagerly.

This time it was Otto who disturbed us, calling my name and another I didn't recognise.

Instantly, the Weaver had detached from me, putting distance between us swiftly with an almost prowl like step. This time though he didn't stubbornly avoid looking at me. Instead he watched me, just not with the deep interest he had before, but with hostility, as if I was threatening him somehow.

"Lyra, you're safe." Otto said with relief, reaching to touch my head affectionately.

I smiled at him, only to hesitate when I felt the Weaver's magic crackle with irritation. I glanced at him, noticing his hostility had worsened, his hard eyes black and fixed pointedly at me.

"Weaver Grigore, thank you for keeping her safe." Otto said and glanced at me, not noticing how I reacting to hearing the Weaver's name. 

I glanced at Grigore nervously, flushing with nervousness at the danger I felt rumbling from him.

"She's going to do as she's promised and stay put in her house from now on, aren't you Lyra?" Otto said pointedly, clearly upset I had been so close to danger.

I flushed, scowling lightly and tilting my chin slightly. "I had a dream, Otto. My magic told me Gabi was in trouble."

"Gabi's in town. She's helping out her father." Otto affirmed.

I smiled, my eyes glimmering gold as relief swamped through me. "She's safe?"

"Very. I saw her only a few moments ago." Otto looked worried though, his mouth drooping. "But I'll keep an eye on her and make sure she reaches you safely."

"Then I'll leave." Grigore announced stiffly. "I need my sleep before I hunt again."

Otto simply bobbed his head in understand and Grigore grunted before he finally tore his gaze away from me and strode away, his steps dangerously fluid and his song heavy. I watched him only for a moment, wondering what I'd done, before Otto took me by the shoulders and wheeled me back towards my home.

I was a little reluctant, casting glances over my shoulder as Grigore vanished further up the riverbanks, taking away that taste of his.

"You worried me there, Lyra. I didn't have a clue what was happening, I was just told by David that Grigore up and left all of a sudden. Then I saw you by the river." He sighed heavily. "You must find me when you have dreams."

"I'm sorry." I said softly, hating I had upset Otto. "I didn't think."

"I know. Whatever dream you had of Gabi, it wouldn't have been pleasant." He said comfortingly, silently brushing aside my apology.

I quietly agreed. It hadn't and it was still a concern that I had had the dream at all. It made my gut twist gently.

Otto pushed me into my house as soon as I opened the door.

"You stay here, Lyra. Don't move under any circumstances."

"But the dream." I asked nervously. "What do you think my dream meant of Gabi still lives?"

He paused. "That she's in trouble." He patted my cheek. "I'll keep an extra eye on her; keep her safe. Don't fret too much."

I smiled weakly and locked the door after it shut behind him. With a heavy sigh I returned to my chair and collapsed gratefully into its arms. Gabi was safe in the town and Otto would most likely escort her home to keep my mind at ease. Everything was fine. For now.

I stared at the wall with a dazed expression as my calming mind began to wander back to Grigore, recalling his song on my tongue and his strength swallowing my small body whole; a real, solid man and not a phantom. Even now I could feel my magic twittering, calling to him softly and quietly urging me to find him. It made me feel so nervous at the mere thought of him, my heart beating with giddiness as my cheeks grew warm and flustered. I could finally do something with my magic and prove myself useful, rather than be this beacon of death and misfortune.

I felt this surge of courage, certain he had reacted to me and my magic. No man would hold me like he had nor would he touch me or look at me with such attentiveness. The roar of his magic and glimmer to his eyes; they weren't the looks previous Weavers had given more nor any man for that matter. Grigore was my Weaver. I was certain of it.

Now I just had to find him and tell him so, something that I knew wasn't as easy as it sounded.