Stories to Keep You Awake at Night

Darkstar part 3

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He​ ​was​ ​sitting​ ​in​ ​the​ ​chair,​ ​perfectly​ ​still,​ ​with​ ​the​ ​exception​ ​of​ ​the​ ​hand​ ​that​ ​moved​ ​across​ ​the​ ​page,​ ​a  color​ ​pencil​ ​gripped​ ​tightly​ ​within​ ​it.​ ​His​ ​hair​ ​was​ ​still​ ​wet​ ​but​ ​he​ ​felt​ ​much​ ​better.​ ​He​ ​had​ ​changed  into​ ​soft​ ​flannel​ ​the​ ​moment​ ​he​ ​stepped​ ​from​ ​his​ ​bath​ ​and​ ​had​ ​a​ ​blanket​ ​wrapped​ ​about​ ​his​ ​shoulders.  Now,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​just​ ​waiting​ ​for​ ​dinner​ ​to​ ​be​ ​ready​ ​and​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​unwind.
His​ ​eyes​ ​slipped​ ​closed​ ​as​ ​his​ ​pencil​ ​moved​ ​over​ ​the​ ​page.​ ​His​ ​expression​ ​changed​ ​to​ ​one​ ​of​ ​contentment​ ​as he​ ​called​ ​and​ ​heard​ ​the​ ​unmistakable​ ​answer,​ ​the​ ​rich​ ​whispered​ ​male​ ​voice​ ​who​ ​responded​ ​to​ ​him​ ​more than​ ​the​ ​others.​ ​He​ ​knew​ ​that​ ​they​ ​would​ ​be​ ​bound​ ​to​ ​each​ ​other,​ ​guardian​ ​and​ ​wolf.​ ​He​ ​wanted​ ​to meet​ ​the​ ​one​ ​who​ ​owned​ ​the​ ​voice​ ​that​ ​whispered​ ​to​ ​his​ ​mind.​ ​He​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know​ ​his​ ​name​ ​so​ ​that​ ​they could​ ​share​ ​in​ ​the​ ​joy​ ​of​ ​their​ ​bond​ ​and​ ​walk​ ​the​ ​many​ ​planes​ ​together.​ ​Elia​ ​began​ ​to​ ​gather​ ​himself within​ ​his​ ​own​ ​mind.​ ​All​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​do​ ​was​ ​ask.​ ​If​ ​he​ ​asked,​ ​he​ ​knew​ ​the​ ​voice​ ​would​ ​tell​ ​him.​ ​He​ ​would know​ ​the​ ​name​ ​he​ ​should​ ​call​ ​so​ ​that​ ​he​ ​would​ ​never​ ​be​ ​alone.​ ​All​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​do​ ​was​ ​put​ ​his​ ​intentions forward.​ ​He​ ​would​ ​be​ ​accepted​ ​so​ ​long​ ​as​ ​he​ ​didn’t​ ​falter.​ ​He​ ​couldn’t​ ​doubt…
The​ ​crash​ ​from​ ​beside​ ​him​ ​nearly​ ​made​ ​him​ ​jump​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​skin.​ ​He​ ​blinked​ ​and​ ​took​ ​a​ ​sharp​ ​breath​ ​as  his​ ​mother’s​ ​arm​ ​folded​ ​around​ ​him.​ ​What​ ​had​ ​happened?​ ​His​ ​eyes​ ​found​ ​what​ ​had​ ​broken;​ ​a​ ​glass​ ​of  milk​ ​upon​ ​the​ ​floor​ ​smashed​ ​into​ ​a​ ​thousand​ ​pieces.
“Mom?”​ ​Elia’s​ ​eyes​ ​darted​ ​about​ ​his​ ​room,​ ​uncertain​ ​why​ ​his​ ​mom​ ​may​ ​have​ ​had​ ​such​ ​a​ ​response.​ ​He  nuzzled​ ​into​ ​her​ ​arm​ ​in​ ​an​ ​effort​ ​to​ ​comfort​ ​her.
“Where​ ​did​ ​you​ ​see​ ​that​ ​Elia?​ ​Where​ ​did​ ​you​ ​see​ ​this​ ​person?”​ ​She​ ​was​ ​crying​ ​into​ ​his​ ​hair.​ ​Elia​ ​didn’t  understand​ ​what​ ​she​ ​was​ ​talking​ ​about.​ ​Who​ ​was​ ​she​ ​talking​ ​about?​ ​Then​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​strayed​ ​down​ ​to​ ​the drawing.​ ​His​ ​fingers​ ​released​ ​the​ ​pencil​ ​and​ ​touched​ ​the​ ​features​ ​he​ ​had​ ​clearly​ ​drawn​ ​upon​ ​the​ ​page.​ ​Is that​ ​what​ ​he​ ​looked​ ​like?​ ​Had​ ​he​ ​drawn​ ​the​ ​face​ ​that​ ​matched​ ​that​ ​gentle​ ​voice​ ​that​ ​soothed​ ​the​ ​rough edges​ ​of​ ​his​ ​mind​ ​like​ ​the​ ​sound​ ​of​ ​a​ ​breeze​ ​through​ ​leaves?​ ​He​ ​knew​ ​the​ ​answer​ ​and​ ​traced​ ​over​ ​his rough​ ​work​ ​another​ ​time,​ ​pursing​ ​his​ ​lips​ ​as​ ​he​ ​did​ ​so.​ ​His​ ​mom​ ​shouldn’t​ ​know​ ​who​ ​that​ ​was.​ ​It​ ​had  been​ ​his​ ​father​ ​who​ ​had​ ​the​ ​fae​ ​blood,​ ​so​ ​how​ ​did​ ​she​ ​know?