I gasped as I woke, trying to inhale desperately, thinking smoke still surrounded me but found only clear and very icy air. I very slowly opened my eyes as I felt gloved fingers gently stroke my cheek. It was dim but bright enough to see Grigore beside me, grim faced and more than usual. His eyes were dark, his brow furrowed and his mouth firmly set, his magic crackling dangerously. He wasn't happy at all.
"Oh, thank gods you've woken up." Milcent said, grabbing my attention as she came to stand beside Grigore. "Do you hurt anywhere?"
"My heard hurt and my lungs burn." I said in a thick voice. It was hard to talk. I found myself coughing rapidly.
"The incense should help that, it'll help clear the smoke from your lungs. You inhaled a lot of the stuff." Milcent said soothingly.
The memory of the fireball and Ana burning right before me flashed in my sight, making me flinch a little. I turned my gaze to Grigore. "Is Ana alive?"
"No." He replied bluntly. "Her body had been blackened and hollowed by the time the fires were put out."
I swallowed thickly. I could've ended up like her. I should've ended up like her. Why was I still alive?
"I need to return to the bar, Grigore." Grigore nodded but his eyes remained on me, his fingers flexing irritably. He hadn't stopped gazing at me since I woke up. "Lyra, let him know if you feel pain anywhere or feel too hot. Your skin has been burned in places so you must keep putting the salve on to keep the skin cool. No fires on either." She warned. "There's food for you there, cold stew and sugared apples. I'll bring you more when you have your strength back."
She left when I smiled and thanked her, closing the door firmly. I said nothing to Grigore, just closed my eyes and inhaled the icy mist in the air, hoping it would do as Milcent said and clean my lungs. They burned as I breathed and my head throbbed but my skin was the worst. I felt the warmth of the burns, the tingling of sensitivity and pain as the blanket rubbed against it.
I flinched when I felt something horribly cold touch my neck. I opened my eyes slightly to see Grigore holding a clay jar that held a strange pale green gel in it.
"It's the salve. You must have it regularly." He said firmly and continued to gently rub it in and ignore my squirms.
"It's cold." I murmured unhappily.
Grigore ignored me, making me huff a little, something I regretted as it set off a coughing fit. Grigore took the chance to get some of the salve on my back when I rolled over, tugging the blanket down to my waist and gently soothing the coughing away. I lay there, staring at the wooden wall, letting him continue to put the horrible stuff on and trying my best not to shiver at the gentle contact.
"Why am I still alive?" I asked softly.
"I came to you. While your magic may not be alarmed by fire, you were. I felt your fear." He muttered darkly behind me. "I managed to get you out but you would be dead if you weren't a Source."
My clenched my hands into fists, gazing at the raw skin. "How?"
"You're a Source who has found her Weaver. Your body will live for a long time but, unlike mine, isn't entirely immortal. You can still die easily if wounded but your body is more resilient from diseases, infections and fire. Your magic will also be trying to fix the damages, not as fast as my own but you'll heal faster than usual."
I blushed with joy and my heart thudded hard at his easy admittance of being my Weaver, until I realised how low Grigore was on magic when I felt his reserves, how they were almost depleted. If he went into that room with those angry fires burning everything, he would've been burned and suffered. He had to have been.
"Did you get hurt?" I asked worriedly.
When Grigore didn't answer, I rolled over as well as I could while trying not to wince with pain. He seemed annoyed and held his hands out as if he wanted to hold me still but didn't, knowing he would only cause me discomfort. I tried to manage both keeping myself covered and sitting up so I could see him clearly. He wore only a tattered grey shirt and breeches, the rest of his usual attire were strewn all over the place. It seemed he was in a hurry. But the shirt worried me. It was blackened by soot and burnt.
I reached out to his arm and, while he didn't pull away, he didn't exactly go out of his way to keep himself from me either. I reached out and tugged the sleeve back, trying my best not to make skin contact, revealing the mottled scarred flesh from the black dog attack, but a small area was horribly burned. I knew it had been worse, far worse.
"How bad was it?" I asked as I frowned at the wound.
"Does it matter?" Grigore asked tersely. "It's healing so its fine."
To me it wasn't fine. If he had any less magic in him he could be dead or scarred again. The arm gave him enough discomfort as it was.
"You shouldn't have put yourself at risk when you have so little magic." I said as he rolled down the sleeve.
His eyes snapped to my face, glaring hotly. "Says you. What were you doing in the middle of that blaze? I told you to run if you felt any dangers."
"I was talking to Ana and I was trying to get her out but the fireball came before I could." I stared at my fingers as I fumbled with the blanket. "The myling didn't want me to die though. He pushed me out of the way first."
"And cracked your head and trapped you." Grigore snarled, clenching his hands in irritation as his eyes wandered over my the raw skin of my arms and neck and the singed locks of my hair. His silence became broodier with every second and his expression grew increasingly infuriated, gathering like a storm. "What did Ana have to say?" He asked stiffly.
"She was rambling mostly but she tried to save Daryl. She kept giving him food and water and was threatened when she tried to get him out and was caught." I said sadly. "She was forced to abandon him."
"That would explain the myling's choice to her to hate. In his eyes, she abandoned him without reason. She left him after giving him hope. He would've slowly grown to loathe her by the time he died. Did Ana say where the boy had been?"
"She just said something about a crypt."
Grigore nodded firmly. "I'll look into to it tomorrow. You will stay here from now on."
My heart shuddered and my face fell. "Is it because I'm wounded? It's not as bad as it looks. The salve helps too."
His muscles tightened and his magic growled about him, thick with anger. "I'm not putting you in that kind of danger again."
"I told you, Daryl didn't want me hurt. He tried to avoid it." I said firmly. I didn't want him to mollycoddle me again, not when I could help him and not get eaten. "Let me finish this with you."
Grigore's scowl had grown deeper, his grey eyes darkening dangerously, glittering with steeled fear. He'd given me a similar expression before, after I had braved the black dog alone and nearly been devoured by it.
"No, Lyra." He growled firmly, his voice firm and deep. "I've nearly lost you too many times. I'm not doing it again."
My heart skipped a beat at hearing that and my face flushed red as I tightened my hold on the blanket. "You're not going to lose me. I'll be fine. Daryl doesn't want to hurt me and you said you would keep an eye on the family."
Grigore didn't say a word, just watched me darkly as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes never left my face. They roamed lazily, dark with growing lust but also wariness. His gloved fingers rapped against the chair's arm until something in him clicked.
"I'm leaving you here when I go."
I froze and my chest tightened painfully but a weak painful smile came to my mouth. "What?"
"When I head north, I'm leaving you here. Milcent will be willing to take you on, she's fond of you."
"But I want to stay with you." I said thickly with confusion.
Grigore watched me, his expression becoming stony. "You can't go north with me. I never intended to take you from your home but it was the only way to stop you from getting yourself killed."
"Why can't I go?"
"Because you'll be left in the far north and you're making it very difficult to stick with my plans." Grigore said firmly and, for once, honestly.
I set my jaw as determination grew and hurt burned through me, refusing to believe what he was saying. I sat up sharply, clutching the blanket to my naked chest. "I'm going with you."
"No, you're staying." He said irritably.
"I can't! There's no way I'm letting you go off on your own, not after those dreams!" I stammered as dread filled me. "That man will kill you. I won't let that happen, Grigore!"
"Lyra, that doesn't matter, but I must know you're safe before I go on."
"Once you find who?" I asked, puzzled and growing increasingly panicked.
His mouth suddenly shut and his lips became a thin line as he scowled at his knees. For a while, he didn't breathe a word and I didn't dare in fear he would bottle up again. Very slowly he looked up at me with a gaze that said he was torn, confused. Cautiously, he spoke.
"I need to find Sorin, my partner." He said quietly in a hardened tone. "I need to find him and I need to kill him."
I was stunned. I had thought Grigore's partner had been lost long before I met him, but I was more shocked that Grigore was hunting him down to slay him. Weaver partners were inseparable, brothers in arms and bond. Two hunters who would fight tooth and nail for each other. They didn't kill each other.
"Why?" I asked softly.
Again, Grigore paused, his gaze flitting all over the place with uncertainty, but he settled slowly, watching me cautiously with trust in his eyes.
"Sorin is my brother by bond and is also my responsibility. When he went rogue, it was up to me to find him and kill him."
"Your partner went rogue?"
Grigore nodded sharply and rubbed the back of his neck with irritation. "A hunt went wrong months ago. We were hunting a skin-walker for a high lord further south. He was a powerful man and had a single daughter from his only wife." He paused. "Sorin was always proud and over confident, never cautious in his hunts. I balanced him though, it was why we worked so well together. But Sorin made a huge mistake in this hunt. He slew the lord's daughter, confident she was the skin-walker."
I frowned, saddened but confused. "I didn't think that kind of mistake would brand a Weaver rogue."
"It doesn't." He said sharply with spite in his words. "It's what he did after. Slaying such an important and powerful man's only and treasured child is pretty much a death-sentence, Weaver or not. Sorin knew this mistake had killed him. He panicked and he turned on me. He framed me, declaring I had killed the girl."
A felt anger bubble in my stomach at hearing that Grigore had been betrayed and my fingers clench about the blanket. I felt my eyes burn with it and my mouth became thin as I held my tongue. Grigore noticed, letting reluctant warmth flicker over his eyes, before he returned to telling me the story I had waited so long to hear.
"Sorin destroyed my flask, made sure it no longer worked, and took my sword from me while I slept. He spoke to the lord, working his silver tongue as best as he could to ensure he wouldn't believe a word I said. I was thrown in jail, declared to be burned alive, while Sorin fled and abandoned me." His expression become stony, angry and pained. "The moment he turned on me, the moment he refused to take responsibility for what he had done and run from his hunt is when he turned rogue. Our laws dictate that our partner is our family and must always be fought for and no Weaver may abandon his post until his task complete. He disobeyed both and he knows it. It's why he runs. He knows a Weaver out there will be sent to hunt him down. He just doesn't realise it's me."
I didn't know what to say. I hadn't realised this had happened to Grigore, suddenly understanding his hostility when we first met. He must've been in so much pain, his mind full of such anger. So I said nothing and waited.
"My teacher came to me and sorted out the mess as best he could; slew the true skin-walker and proved me innocent, but Sorin had to be found and slain. My teacher gave the task to me." He stopped speaking for a moment and continued to gaze at me, absorbing my features and tiniest of expressions. "Lyra. When I told you I was doing my final hunt, do you know what I meant?"
"I assumed you meant you were going to retire and accept mortality. I thought that's why you couldn't accept me as I'd only keep feeding you."
"That's true, but only if a final hunt is accepted by a Weaver's commander. My own refused. Told me I had to keep on after Sorin was slain and find a replacement." He paused. "But a final hunt is often a way for Weavers to find their end. We hunt something hard, something that would drain our magic, something would put a stop to our endless hunting when a commander refuses it. That's my final hunt. Sorin and I never intended to carry on without each other, we'd seen too many Weavers fall hard and far from grace when striking out alone. Neither of us want that. I still don't."
Hearing this made my heart shatter and the dream flood into my mind. The fort. The bloody snow. It had been warning me about Grigore's decision, his intentions. My eyes burned with tears and my throat closed as I stared at him, numb he intended to find a monster that would kill him and struggling to process it all.
"But you fight to stay alive, you always do. Against Arthur and the black dog." I stammered, trying my best not to let my voice crack with pain and knowing I was failing.
"To ensure I slay Sorin. After that, I can rest." He muttered sternly. "I've done this for a century now, Lyra, always with Sorin by my side. I was raised alongside him, first met him when I was eight when my teacher chose me to be paired with him. I never wanted to continue alone and since he left it only confirmed it for me."
I felt his lie. It rumbled about him, clear as day. "Then why are you now alive in my dream?" He was silent as he clasped his flexing hands together and gazed at them with a thunderous expression. "Why are you lying to me?" He continued to say nothing and the tears I desperately tried to hold back began to fall. "Do I really mean nothing to you? You're that happy to just leave me?"
He stiffened and rage surged through him. "I leave you because I don't think you deserve the life I've been following nor the life I've so far provided for you. You don't deserve the road, to be frozen or have rocks for a bed. You don't deserve to have a chunk of your hip ripped out by asrai, to be threatened to be torn apart by a demonic black dog, burned alive, cut up to be eaten nor have your friends or children be slain in front of you. If I keep you by my side, you'll only experience worse." He snarled savagely, his stormy eyes flashing hotly as they flickered over my face. "You're young, Lyra. You're not like Lillith. When your magic dies, you'll continue living out the rest of your mortal life like any other woman; a stable home, a husband and children. No more burden of that magic nor any constant threat of being eaten. That's all I can meaningfully give you." He muttered tersely and swung his gaze back to his large hands.
"But I don't mind the road, Grigore. I don't mind being cold and I don't mind the hunts and I fully accept I can get hurt." I said soothingly, watching him frantically through shimmering tears. "My magic isn't an issue, I've lived with it inside me for twenty-six years. I don't want it to go. I don't want you to go either, Grigore. What's the point in settling down and having children with a man I don't want, when, for the last two months, I've actually felt at home and happy?" I stammered softly. "I still want to be with you. You're where I belong."
"Lyra." He growled in warning, his voice strained as he rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. "I can't keep you safe, I can't provide for you and I can't let you stand beside me as my partner. I refuse to let you get hurt again nor risk your life. That fire could've killed you; it would've if you weren't a Source."
"My life is not yours to risk, it's mine."
"I'm the one who'd have to deal with your death, Lyra, and it's not something I'm willing to do." He snapped, his body stiffening as his jaw tightened, his eyes flaring dangerously.
"Then your life isn't yours to risk or take from me either." I said firmly, anger burning with my fear and pain at his hypocrisy. "So, I stay with you."
Impatience now filled him. "I have just explained to you why you can't."
"No, I come with you. I'm your Source. My place is by your side." Grigore's brow furrowed in fury, blackening his stormy eyes, but I continued. "All you've done is given me more reason to keep following you."
"I am not taking you." He snarled with his hands tightening into fists. "One day, I'll fail. One day, I'll get to you too late and I'll find you dead. Eaten." His dark eyes stared at me, thick with fear and pain. "I can't deal with that, Lyra."
I don't know what came over me, maybe it was the panic that he was so determined to go on without me and complete his final hunt, maybe it was the sadness I felt that he had been betrayed by his own brother and had been nursing that pain on his own, maybe it was the swell of affection I felt that he was so worried about keeping me safe and provided for, but I ignored the pains of my body and slipped out of bed, allowing the blankets to fall away from my naked body, revealing my feminine curves to him, my soft breasts budding in the cold air. I stepped towards him, my gaze locked with his as he watched me intently, hunger glittering like embers in his furiously stormy eyes, his body unmoving as I slipped between his legs and pressed myself lightly against him. I felt him stiffen around me, his muscles locking into place, his jaw tightening with resistance as my soft body brushed his, naked and pliant. I gently let my fingers brush his chin and mouth as his gaze remained on my face, my heart swelling with need as I observed him; his roughness, his scars, his grey eyes watching me with such longing. I let my lips brush his softly, burning with a desire to protect him.
"I can't deal with you dying either." I whispered softly and kissed him deeply.
I quietly expected him to push me away, to reject me, but he didn't, he ripped free his gloves and pulled me into him. His magic whispered around me, his song seductive and strong, his mouth responding to mine roughly; hot velvet and urgent. I pressed myself into him, deepening the kiss lovingly and slipping my fingers along his rough jaw and down along his neck, revelling in his masculinity and strength. My body warmed swiftly, desire licking at my skin and pooling hotly between my legs as my lust for him awoke, stoked by his naked hands stroking my thighs, roaming upwards slowly, possessively, exploring the curve of my waist, the lines of my hips and the arch of my lower back, his fingers leaving lines of fire in their wake.
Then I felt my magic stir, pulling itself away from its task of healing my raw skin and cleaning my lungs. It swamped me, burning through my blood, crying out for Grigore to be fed. I parted from him reluctantly, recalling how much he didn't want to feed and desperate not to trap him, but his hands gripped the back of my thighs, fingers splayed and his thumbs brushing the curve of my bottom, refusing to let me go.
"You shouldn't have done that." Grigore growled thickly, his deep voice rough and song dangerous, lust darkening his starved gaze.
My magic flooded through me, burning where he touched and slipping eagerly to him, my body singing for him pleadingly as he turned his attention to my breast. I couldn't breathe as his mouth brushed the pale swell of my breast, nipping softly, his breath warm against my skin. A little voice in my head told me to get him to stop, that I was going to regret all this, he was just hungry that was all. But I couldn't. Every inch of me wanted him, burned for him, and my fingers tangled in his hair, gently encouraging him. I gasped softly as Grigore's mouth found the pink bud of my breast, sending a pleasurable shiver surging through me and melting away whatever doubts I had in a wave of bliss. My magic swelled, making me sensitive as his mouth devoured me; his tongue caressing with slow hot strokes, coaxing out soft reluctant moans as he fed. His rough hands roamed upwards, slipping over my bottom and following the dip of my waist, stroking my sensitive skin greedily, stoking my song lust for him like a storm and joining with his.
Abruptly he gripped my hips and parted from my breast as he lifted me into his lap, spreading my legs to straddle him, pressing me into his frame and ensuring I could feel him; the strength bundled beneath his shirt, his warmth and his thickening need for me pressing into the wet heat gathered between my legs. Whatever control I had left me, swallowed up by the hot ache that burned away my will. All I could feel was him, all I could hear and taste was his song, all I could feel was the deep hunger ruling him, carnal and savage.
Grigore's hands roughly slipped into my hair and along my naked thigh, locking me to him as he kissed me deeply, devouring a mouthful of magic before he broke away, his breath ragged.
"I could never get tired of your taste, Lyra." He growled huskily, nipping at my lower lip greedily, his rough words melting my mind further. "Sweet." He kissed me again. "Addictive." He kissed me deeper, lingering hungrily. "Erotic." He murmured roughly against my lips, making me whimper quietly against the white hot fire that was licking over my skin, burning brighter at how low his voice was, thick with raw need.
Grigore smiled softly against my mouth as I kissed him fleetingly, quick hot kisses that grew increasingly frantic and eager, drinking in his heady song hungrily, until his hands slipped beneath my thighs and he abruptly stood. I wrapped my arms about his neck, flushing with need as I felt his muscles play against me beneath his shirt, powerful and fluid. He lowered me onto the bed, letting me drop softly into the blankets, his dark eyes flashing as he towered over me, kneeling between legs, drinking in my vulnerable nakedness and my yearning gaze, his mind being swallowed up by need and my soft song.
My pulse quickened when Grigore deftly removed his shirt and tossed it aside, my breath catching at the sight of him looming over me; his masculine frame broad, scars cutting through the hair of his chest, quiet power rippling through him seductively. There was something intimidating about him that made me melt with need; dangerous, assertive, predatory.
I gasped softly when his hand brushed between my legs, his knuckles stroking against the velvet heat playfully, his hungry gaze fixed on me intently as I bit back the soft moan trying to escape my lips. A dark wolfish smile played at his mouth when his fingers caressed me, slipping against silken heat with purposeful strokes and sending a jolts of pleasurable electricity through my hot body, coaxing out unwilling cries as he swept a pad over my sensitive bud, wet with need.
My breath was quick as he moved his hand, pressing it against the blankets as he came to lean over me, his gaze roaming possessively. I welcomed him hungrily when he kissed me, his mouth demanding, his tongue hot, his song filling me. I sighed with longing when he pressed his frame against mine, ensuring I could feel him, his strength and masculinity, my magic slipping over my skin. His hand slipped beneath my bottom to lift my hips to meet his, pressing his thick lust for me against me hard. I shivered with pleasure at the feel him, heavy with need, and frustration began to grip me, burning with a terrible ache to have him inside me, to be his. I gently tugged at his jerkins, wanting them gone, but he ignored me and parted from me, his mouth blazing down my neck, sucking at my skin gently. I squirmed lightly as his head dipped lower, kissing and nipping my skin tenderly as he devoured mouthfuls of magic, my body wonderfully sensitive to his feeding, shivering when his tongue swirled over the pink bud of my breast. My muscles clenched softly, my mind too swallowed up by fire to be nervous or shy as his lips drifted lower, burning a line towards the tangle of hair between my legs. He tucked my leg over his shoulder, keeping me quite still as his mouth pressed against my inner thigh, drifting lower and lower until his lips were brushing me teasingly, his hands gripping under my thighs and keeping me bared to him, refusing to let me hide from him even if I wanted to. I shivered, my fingers tangling in his hair as my breath came quick, my body begging for him, aching for him. Before I could think to regret anything or to stop him, he complied.
I couldn't help the shameless cry that escaped my mouth, how my back arched, my fingers snatching at the blanket, moaning Grigore's name as his tongue slipped into me, a slow hot stroke that made my body shudder with aching pleasure. He was unhurried at first, tasting me, teasing me, his tongue caressing me, coaxing out soft mindless keens from my parted lips, then he grew hungrier as my magic stirred, burning through me, pooling beneath his mouth. His hands gripped my thighs, keeping me from squirming beneath him as his mouth began to ravage me greedily. I cried out for him, moaning his name as my body jolted with electricity from every sensual swirl of his tongue and suck of his demanding mouth, turning my mind numb and my magic into a sensitive frenzy. I clenched my fingers into fists, my lips parted as keens cries mindlessly left them, closing my eyes as I tried to keep my mind against the white hot flames and merciless aching heat threating to swallow me whole.
But then pain suddenly swamped me. My skin suddenly ached, dry and cracking, as if flames were swallowing me, and my lungs felt clogged, preventing me from breathing well. I whimpered at the sudden pain swallowing me, snatching my hands to my chest as I tried to curl away from it.
Grigore, snapped from his hunger, was suddenly surrounding me, protective anger curling in his magic heavily. He cupped my face, whispering my name roughly as his thumb brushed my cheek.
"Breathe, Lyra." He said firmly. When I struggled to drag in the cool air of the room into my smoke infested lungs, he wove a ward, letting it swamp me soothingly, his song swelling inside me comfortingly as he encouraged my magic to return to healing me.
Finally my chest stopped heavily frantically and the pain settled, air filling me with every breath. My body felt exhausted however, leaden and tired, and I gazed at Grigore as he watched me, his expression dark with worry, only faintly aware of what I'd just done.
"You're healing still." He said as I touched his mouth, wanting to feel him again. He kissed the pads of my fingers, drinking a sliver of magic lazily. "Sleep for now. I've fed enough."
Even as he removed himself from my side, pulling a blanket over me gently and planting one last kiss on my mouth, I drifted off, dimly aware I still didn't know if he was going to stay by my side or leave me for Sorin.