The Weaver's Source

Chapter 7

I didn't touch him, unsure on what to do. All I could do was stare as my magic filled my body with a curling warmth, urging me to notice size of his hands, the masculinity etched into his body, the undeniable strength of his arms.

"Stop it." I hissed with annoyance, shoving the magic aside. "You're not helping."

It twittered irritably but obeyed, ducking away and leaving only a light heat to kiss my skin. Now that I could think clearly, I noticed most of the wounds seemed to have gone. There was a hefty chunk of cloth missing from his thigh and blood stained what was left, but his skin was clear and untouched, and his right arm was the same. Blood was thick about his shoulder though, too thick. His head was turned from me, covering up the wound. Urging my magic to stay calm, I gently reached for his cheek and turned him to face me. His head flopped aside and instantly my whole body cringed with horror. A savage wound was slashed across his neck, almost as if something had torn out a chunk of his neck, and the flesh was moving. All I could do was watch as the fatal gash that yawned at the world slowly stitched itself back together. I swallowed thickly as I felt a little queasy. My mother had told me Weavers were powerful. The magic that fuelled their bodies made them immortal and practically indestructible, but seeing it actually happen in front of me, a deadly wound healing itself, was very different to actually hearing about it. He was alive though and, by the even breathing and rhythmic movement of his broad chest, he was asleep.

"Will he be fine?" I asked the magic anxiously, relaxing when it purred in affirmation.

I sat back and watched as the skin healed, my mind reeling, trying to figure out how I could help him. I gazed at his face, at the blood and earth caked along his features and neck, then looked at the river quietly bubbling away. Ignoring my magic's shudder of fear, I stumbled over to it and shoved my hands into the edge of the water lapping against the bank.

"It's fine. I'm not going in." I murmured to my magic, trying my best to ignore the black depths yawning before me and the monster I knew lurked there, and hurriedly washed away the dirt on my sleeve and soaked it with water.

I returned to his side and, with some hesitation, I began to clean him, careful of the healing wound, smearing away the blood and trying my best not to notice him. It was difficult. The more I cleaned his skin, pushing aside his hair and the stiff collar of his jack, the more of him I could see. The black hair clinging to his skin, the stubble shadowing his jaw cut up by scars, the slope of his strong neck, his mouth. I hesitated as my lips began to heat up with magic, my heart fluttering strangely and my skin tingling with excitement. I itched to touch him, to remove my gloves from my hands and feel him, to taste him. I froze and turned red, flustered and battering my magic away as I realised what I was thinking. As I began to pull back, determined to give myself some space from him to calm the magic down, his strange grey eyes snapped open. Before the expression of horror could even finish forming on my face, I found myself on my back with a knife pressed against my throat.

I stared up at the hard face that scowled down at me, very aware of the hunting knife pressed against my skin. His eyes darted over my face wildly and then, all at once, recognition flashed. He stood up and took a few steps away from me, giving me the opportunity to shuffle away and stumble onto my feet, heart pounding from fright. My wide eyes stared at the mean looking knife he twiddled between his fingers almost irritably before my gaze flickered up to his face. I remained perfectly still, like a terrified rabbit, partly because I slightly feared for my life and partly because I was in awe of him. He couldn't seem to keep still, shifting his weight and pacing slightly, his attention never leaving me once as he prowled. His body was rigid, his muscles taught with wariness, pulling himself to his full height and set his shoulders wide. His presence curled off of him in heavy waves, his magic crackling with heat. It was thick, dark, very dangerous and filled to the brim with a massive amount of strength, warning me to keep away. I had no idea how I had missed it yesterday. Maybe the magic caused me to pay no attention to the ominous aura or maybe it was because I was too flustered to notice anything. Now that I saw him for the dangerous warrior that he was, he scared me a little. But even as I was scared, I couldn't help but appreciate the raw masculinity and danger that flowed from him. The way he moved was so smooth and silent, like that of a predator.