The Weaver's Source

Chapter 98

The danger in him softened when he laughed. "You've not learnt nearly enough to fight a man trained to hunt and use magic for over ninety years, Lyra." He kissed me before I could protest, his velvet mouth swallowing my words swiftly and his song filling me sensually, igniting my body with desire swiftly.

I quickly forgot about my worries of Sorin, of Grigore fighting him and the fort in my dreams, instead enjoying Grigore as he pulled me over him, how his mouth tasted me and how he filled me roughly, his hands at my hips, controlling the pace as I rode him, soft gasps slipping from my parted lips as he listened to me, coaxing hot kisses from me and nipping at my throat, until we were crying out breathlessly, our bodies hot with fire and shivering with ecstasy.

He continued to kiss me softly as I caught my breath and calm my magic's excitement, taking pleasure from the hot satisfied throb between my legs and how he filled me sweetly. He was clearly distracted from Sorin now when he refused to let me slip away and finish cleaning myself, his hands gripping my bottom and pulling me into him when I tried to slip from him, sending an erotic shiver through me when he surged into me. I managed to untangle myself from him eventually, scolding him gently, and finally managed encourage him to shave and clean himself. It was only when I was dressed that I noticed no new wards amongst the warmth and the light.

"Did you not weave a silence ward?"

Grigore glanced at me darkly, a sly smile coming to his mouth as he pulled his shirt on. "I didn't have time, Lyra."

Instantly my face was red, recalling how loud I had been when just beyond that door people worked and ate. Shyness burned through me as I stared at the door, not noticing Grigore was approaching me until his arm slipped about my waist. I turned to him, giving him the opportunity to kiss me deeply.

"No one would've noticed. Most of them are drunk or asleep." He reassured, his voice purring over my ears. "And those that did should've found those moans of yours a treat."

My cheeks flared and I glared at him. "I know you like hearing me, Grigore-"

"I do." He growled hotly against my mouth.

"But that doesn't mean anyone else does."

He smiled and his dark eyes glittered, clearly finding my embarrassment amusing. "I'll remember in future, Lyra." He vowed softly. "Besides, I prefer keeping you to myself."

I bobbed my head and Grigore took that as a cue to bundle me out into the bar. I let my gaze flicker about the gloom nervously, glad to see he was right; mostly everyone was too busy being drunk or asleep to even look at us. At least, nearly everyone. The hawk-eyed waitress stood by the entrance, her gaze fixed on me with such dislike I felt my cheeks flare with renewed embarrassment and found myself ducking into our room.

The room we had rented was barely a room, more a cupboard. There was room for the door to swing inwards but every other inch of floor space was taken up by a thin mattress, pillows and blankets. Still, it was better than sleeping out in the snow and on rocks and stones.

Grigore locked the door behind us, checking it a couple of times and placing a burning and lock ward on the handle. By the time I had stripped and buried myself under the thin blanket and my fur cloak, Grigore had only just started stripping. He always slept naked with me now, something I figured he had always done and only refrained from when I found him, and I always took the chance to observe the hundreds of scars that littered his masculine frame. Grigore did tell me how he gained a couple, one scar I knew he had gained from a troll when he was still young and the was the one from the asrai slicing over his neck, but some he couldn't remember or chose not to say. Still I believed what the black dog had left behind was the worst. His arm was still horribly mottled with white lines and awkwardly healed skin. The memory of how it happened, how bloodied and weak Grigore had been, made me shiver.

As Grigore tossed aside his breeches, he suddenly froze; his muscles locked into place and his attention snapping to the door sharply. His magic curled, shifting to arm him and curl over me protectively, melding my song with his. I glanced at the door, finding my magic shivering a little. Something was beyond. Something dangerous.

Then it vanished. Just like that, it was gone and threat that had seeped beneath the gaps faded, making me doubt it had been there at all. Grigore didn't though. He remained where he was, weaving a powerful defensive ward that flowed into every crevice of the tiny room, and he didn't make to return to me when he finished. He was like a statue.

"Grigore?" I called softly, encouraging my magic to sing when he ignored me stubbornly.

Sharply, his dark eyes slipped to me, watching as I pulled the blankets back and gestured for him to come.

"You've set up defences, so let me keep you strong."

The danger I felt throbbing from him shifted into something lustful and he finally moved, striding to me and my welcoming arms with a fluid stride.

I snuggled up to Grigore's chest when he surrounded me, enjoying the warmth and security his powerful body brought. A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest and he brought me close, keeping me warm and safe, and buried his face in my mad hair and let a hand explore my back and bottom with lazy strokes. It sent a wave of warmth and dull lust through me, making me want him but I was too tired and comfortable to move. So instead I rested in Grigore's arms, content to feel him so close to me, warm and firm, his song on my tongue and his scent surrounding me.

I had thought that with the sense of uneasiness I got from the town I would've struggled to sleep but I didn't. With the door locked and trapped and held tightly by Grigore I found sleep came for me swiftly.

I was content and happy, dreaming sweetly, utterly unaware of the horrors that had happened here.