Page 22 of Crown of Flame
Closing my eyes, I nod firmly. “Yes. Thank you so much.”
He keeps the flame in front of me as he continues work on the dwelling. I sit down on the ground with my back against the stone wall, watching him silently.
I don’t know what it is about him, but his presence is both calming and magnificent. I can’t keep my eyes off of him.
Well, to an extent, that must be normal. He’s a monster. He’s abnormal. He may not even be from this world.
All of this should pull me away, but instead, it draws me closer.
He’s a bizarre creature, something that shouldn’t exist in this realm. But maybe that’s what makes him beautiful to me.
Despite his brutal nature and his desire to consume souls, he has shown me kindness. He has protected me from the dark elves.
Without him, I would be dead.
This is nothing more than simple gratitude. I feel indebted to him. That’s all.
At least, that’s what I’m desperately trying to convince myself. There’s nothing more to these feelings, I’m sure. Just gratitude. Appreciation. Respect.
But there’s another emotion brewing inside of me, one that I don’t understand and can’t acknowledge.
8
CINIS
The human woman – because that is what she has told me she is – shudders slightly. By now, I realize that it means she is still cold.
I feel myself frowning.
Is this dwelling not warm enough? My inner voice is quiet and slightly frustrated.
Not at her but at my apparent inability to keep her warm.
I find myself placing my arm, which I know is warm, around her waist. I drag her close to me, and she does not object.
Instead, she huddles against me.
Eventually, the shuddering of her body subsides, and I watch as her skin, pale as the snow, becomes smooth again, her hair laying down flat.
When she seems to become more comfortable, she sits up and moves away from me.
There is a sudden emptiness in my chest that shakes me to my core. The feeling takes me back to before I met her, when I knew I was lacking something but didn’t know what.
“What is it?” I ask her as she looks around her excitedly. Her back is slightly arched, and her lips, glistening and plump, are parted.
Her forehead is furrowed and her eyes are slitted as she seemingly examines the dwelling I made.
A streak of insecurity crashes briefly into me and passes just as quickly, like a lava column that rises from the pits to the ceiling and then subsides.
Is something wrong with what I created? I created it for her. At her insistence.
“What is it?” I ask her again.
She shakes her head before she answers. When she turns to look at me again, her face is flushed, her eyes wide and slightly glassy, dazed.
“It’s… it’s magnificent. How did you do this?” Her voice is a breathless gasp, and the wispiness of it, the silveriness of it, sends a burst of something dark and growling through my chest.
“I don’t understand?” I ask her. Because while her voice, small and gasping like that, makes me want to rip things apart, I do not actually understand the question.