A-N: Sorry for the long wait and this poor excuse of a chapter. All I can say in my defense is: Writer's block. :(
Darnassian:
Elune-Adore: "Elune be with you."
Quel'dorei: Children of noble birth (Slang for "Highborne")
Stormrage
Where once it stood that beautiful sensation of her—that too beautiful woman rising on her tiptoes to reach him, his arms full of her, her entrancing aura silencing every dark and troubled thought on his head—another voice reached him and Mylenne, striking them both like a sudden thunder.
"So, are you going to stay up there, Mylie? Because I really should get going!" The voice yelled from below, breaking the spell that surrounded them.
The perfect fantasy that his mind had created for him suddenly shatters, exploding into a thousand pieces when the female in his arms opens her eyes wide and retaliates, a wild blush creeping up to her cheeks—a blush that not even a perfect disguise can cover.
Illidan's jaw tightens, his conscience barely holding a desperate cry when the feeling of her starts to abandon his body, like sand slipping through his fingers.
No… no! I want this, I… I need this. I need this like I need air! Don't hold back, you can't hold back after—
But Mylenne straightens once more, awkwardly clearing her throat and looking anywhere but him. "Uhm, we should probably get going," She murmurs, nimble hands traveling to her arms as if she's cold—or perhaps with the need of doing something else instead of touching him, he may never know.
She may feel like it's time for them to go, but Illidan certainly doesn't want to, doesn't even have the strength to. Why would he? Why should he let her go with her uncle and to the streets once more, after the moment they had previously shared?
No, he shouldn't. Not after he had touched her. Not after he had previously pried through the curtains and glanced at her naked figure behind them. Not after he had already tasted a drop of her magic—a hard swallow runs through Illidan's throat at the bare thought, the delightful feeling of her pure arcane energy slipping through his skin.
He shouldn't. Not when his very soul is now hungry for it, craving and needing for more—for he didn't know that he was starving until he tasted her.
"Illidan?" Her voice sounds like music to his ears, yet his muscles tense when her soft breath reaches him, hands closing into fists in a silly attempt to maintain some composure. "Illidan, your eyes… your eyes are glowing."
It takes only two heartbeats for him to process that information, blinking thrice and trying to snap out of his reverie. His gaze travels to his arms, trepidation clinging onto him after glancing at the electric sparks running through his skin—the evident sign of his magic attempting to escape his own body.
When a small hand climbs to rest above one of his fists, his breath hitches. "Are you alright?" Mylenne asks, looking terribly concerned, although her voice gets muffled with the loud alarms running on his head.
Of courseI'm not. Don't you see? How can you even think of touching me when it's so evident that I am running out of control? How can you—
"Illidan…" The female insists once more, her silver eyes—the only thing of her that he could not disguise—entering on his line of sight. Beautiful, bright silver eyes in which he suddenly gets all the answers.
Somehow, for reasons unknown, she's not realizing what she provokes in him, doesn't get to see his magic slipping out of his skin in violent shockwaves.
She feels it, but can't see it. Can that be even possible?
However, it's another voice—deeper and laced with suspicion—what strikes Illidan this time. "Lad…" A violet-haired male calls for him, standing in the middle of the stairs, the single word coming out of his mouth as the only warning he's seemingly going to give him.
Illidan's neck moves to the side, golden eyes traveling to meet Silgryn's dark-silver gaze, fists slowly opening with the threatening glare that the male is directing at him. A low growl escapes Illidan's mouth, yet he obeys to Silgryn's silent command, the shockwaves on his skin slowly fading and his aura returning to its previous resting state.
Illidan knows as much that he needs to be in control; he is the master of it, after all—the control over his magic is what always got him to be so skilled in the arcane in the first place. And—at the very least—he feels glad that someone else can be able to make him snap before doing something stupid.
After taking one long breath his gaze returns to the female, which is only observing the scene displayed in front of her, curiosity narrowed on her bright silver eyes. One side of his mouth curves up, trying his best to keep Mylenne from worrying.
It's a whistle coming from her uncle what makes the woman startle and break her gaze from Illidan's face. "Well, well, good job, you two," Silgryn declares from the stairs, taking an appreciative look at Illidan's handiwork. "Nice touch with the hairstyle! You now look like a complete unknown to me, little Mylie."
A proud smile reaches Illidan's lips, accepting the compliment and glad for the abrupt change in the conversation. "Yeah, I barely recognized myself in the mirror," The female admits, moving her cerulean mane past her shoulders. It doesn't take long for her to drop the previous subject, a dear smile crossing her lips as she returns her eyes to him. "It really was a clever idea. Thank you, Illidan…"
His smile widens in response, something warm and delightful blooming inside his chest when he has Mylenne's complete attention. "Always a pleasure," Illidan says when he can find his voice, though it comes out deeper than usual and a little bit rasped.
However, it doesn't take long for Silgryn to guide his niece to the main floor. "So, you know I would offer you to stay in here, little Mylie, but unfortunately this isn't my home to make such suggestion," The kaldorei admits with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders while they walk down the stairs, "Besides, I have another friend who needs my assistance. He's waiting for me as we speak."
Illidan takes two deep breaths to return to his usual façade, unwilling to be left behind as he walks down to the main floor after Mylenne and Silgryn. Though—and only judging by the male before him protectively placing an arm around the shoulders of his niece—he concedes Silgryn's silent request, placing some distance between him and the couple.
Once Illidan finds his self-control he leans his back on a counter, watching the conversation between the relatives. He can't help with the longing smile clinging to his lips as he listens to Mylenne's heartwarming laugh next to her uncle, a comforting aura of familiarity surrounding the pair.
A tang of nostalgia washes over him at the sight. How long it's been since he shared a nice moment with Malfurion? Somehow, he can't even remember the last time he and his brother laughed at something together—and yet, his mind can point the precise moment when their relationship started to get tumultuous, dangerously close to the point of no return between them.
It had been since his brother decided to pursue a relationship with Tyrande Whisperwind; the female which Illidan had been pining for millennia.
However—and when another happy laughter from the female before him reaches his ears—the sharp tang that tugs at Illidan's chest shifts into something more hurtful, like pure heat dripping down his throat. Plain guilt strikes through him this time, barely suppressing a groan coming out of his lips.
You are a complete ingrate, Illidan, his conscience scolds him. You should be embarrassed, thinking about Tyrande while having this beautiful woman right before you. How many times do you need to remind yourself that she's a lost cause?
It's after two blinks when his ears shut close, the sudden fight inside his mind getting too loud for Illidan to be focusing on something else.
Despite that his feelings for Tyrande may have changed in time, when did finding some distraction with another woman had become something… dishonest for him? He hadn't ever felt guilty for courting or bedding whoever unknown female had crossed his way—not even Syrana, even when he considered her a good friend. What's the difference with Mylenne?
The voice of another male suddenly enters his mind, echoing the very first words he directed at him, barely an hour ago: "… I am glad that Mylie has some people to watch over her as you seem to do."
With that reminder, something snaps inside him, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together. Well, well, Stormrage, this is new. It seems that you care about her…
It's after his conscience gets into a fight with all his crossed and tangled thoughts, that Illidan gets unaware of the couple before him walking outside the store, too entrenched in his self-discoveries to even hear Mylenne and Silgryn calling for him.
"Hey, lad!" A big calloused hand which can only belong to Silgryn slaps his shoulder, taking him out of his reverie. "It seems that we lost you for a moment…"
Illidan shakes his head in his best attempt to clear his mind, running a hand through the back of his neck to ease his sudden tension. However, his body allows any of it after his golden eyes find Mylenne—who had crossed the street without him noticing—her cerulean hair waving as she talks with a new male he doesn't recognize.
His hands close into fists, a purplish-blue mist coming out of his skin, unknowingly preparing to face the new threat before him. He wouldn't let anyone hurt Mylenne, nor even dare to touch her—not on his watch, and absolutely not after realizing that he cares about her.
Because that's the difference between her and all the unknown females he once courted or took into his bed. This time, and with that woman, he cares. And all the gods be damned if he wouldn't do something about it.
However, Illidan doesn't get to step forward before the hand that previously slapped him now suddenly holds the same shoulder, keeping him in place. "That's Vanthir, lad, and a good friend of mine. He means no harm," Silgryn explains to him, his voice firm.
His comments get Illidan to—if reluctantly—break his gaze from the pair on the street, nodding to Mylenne's uncle in both acknowledgment and apology. Yet he doesn't feel to voice his opinion, his throat too tight and mind too clouded to even come up with words.
With his silence, Silgryn eases his hold on Illidan's shoulder. "You know, lad, I'm not aware of what do you really know about Mylie and, to be honest, it is not my place to tell you so," Silgryn admits, not bothering to look at his face. "But I will be damned if I don't warn you against using your magic when you're close to her."
Illidan's jaw tightens, noticing the small threat in his voice. "Yet, I believe I know what happened upstairs," The violet-haired male continues, gently pushing him forward and to the street. "Like my sister, her daughter is just as special. However, little Mylie never had the chance to embrace her skills for the arcane—that is why her eyes can't see what we see."
"That is the reason of why she… shines so much?" Illidan can't help but ask when curiosity gets the better of him, although he also winces when he doesn't find the right word to explain himself.
Silgryn winces next to him, "What? Shining, you say?" He wonders, taking a glance at the couple before them. "I wasn't being literal when I said that she shines like a beacon, lad. She looks… fine. Definitely not shining…"
"But—" Illidan's words get caught in his throat when he follows Silgryn's gaze.
He certainly can't explain it but, right there, a few meters before him and with the reflection of the Moon upon her skin, her inner beauty evidently stands out from the rest—and not even her disguise can cover that godlike, perfect aura that surrounds her.
Perhaps he was right after all and, actually, he is the only kaldorei in the world that can see her for what she truly is. That line of thought certainly would explain a lot; why his brother can't see it, or the Sisters, or why not even her uncle can notice it, with that grace and beauty showing up right before his eyes.
Illidan's lips unconsciously curve up in a dear smile when her silver eyes find him. "Oh, Illidan!" Mylenne calls him from the other side of the street, a wide grin spread on her face as she outstretches an arm in his direction. "Are we going?"
He eagerly nods to her, but can't help with glancing to Silgryn—still placed beside him—before daring to move forward. Silgryn's face is calm and neutral as he returns his gaze, just as his voice when he asks, "Should I trust that you'll watch over my niece, sorcerer?"
Once more, he notices the small warning in his voice, but this time Illidan doesn't feel threatened. "About what happened upstairs… it will not happen again, sir," He says, chin held up high, "I can assure you of that."
That gets a cackle out of Silgryn, slapping his shoulder once more and lightly pushing him to the other side of the street. "That's what I like to hear!" The male says happily, waving a hand to the couple before him.
Mylenne crosses the street, her hand still outstretched to him and her dear smile widening when he decides to capture her arm in his. "Guess who took his sweet time now…" She teases in a low voice, for only Illidan to hear.
As they walk away from Silgryn and his friend, they both turn around and wave to the kaldorei in farewell. "Elune-adore, little Lily! Don't have too much fun without me!" Her uncle yells and winks at them from the other side of the street.
Their walk to the Evermoon Bazaar is slow and serene, the exact thing Illidan had been looking forward to having with her the entire night. Still, he can't help but glance at his companion every now and then through the corner of his eye, awe adorning his face when he finds Mylenne below him, looking more relaxed and at ease than ever before.
He doesn't really know when the woman had started to get so comfortable in his presence, but he's certainly not going to complain about the sudden change in her behavior.
While they walk, her cerulean mane comes to rest on one of his arms, a peaceful sigh escaping her lips when he slightly tightens his hold on her. "So… Lily, huh?" Illidan wonders in a low tone, trying to keep her from startling. "What was that for?"
"Oh, well," Mylenne shrugs below him, "Uncle came up with that name. He thought that I would need it after… uhm, now that I look like another woman."
A pleased smile reaches Illidan's lips when the delicate, magical flower resting on top of her ear starts gleaming, the reflection of the Moon upon it almost demanding his attention. "A clever idea. I like it," He finds himself in the need of clearing his throat when Mylenne's eyes travel to his face. "I mean—the name. I like the name."
"Yeah, me too… the name," It's the only answer he gets from Mylenne while she sends him a knowing look from behind her long eyelashes.
Still, the female's eyes never falter, her disguised face softening when Illidan returns her small smile with one of his own, his free hand coming to rest atop of hers—right on that spot when his gloves end and his dark skin starts to show.
Illidan certainly can't explain it, yet he finds her silver eyes absolutely entrancing, the act of looking at them too powerful to ignore. It's almost as if a slow time spell is cast at him every time he gets to lock his gaze on them; the whole world blurring and stopping, leaving only that woman for him to see—her silver gaze, two bright beacons soothing his mind and body with its light.
He finds it so terribly easy to forget about the Goddess when those bright silver orbs are looking at him—for Illidan would prefer to worship that light, her light, without even thinking twice about it.
A sound dangerously close to a painful keen threatens to escape Illidan's mouth when the woman breaks her gaze, abruptly returning him to the world of the living—and just in time for his senses to adjust once more.
In the fraction of a second, Illidan swiftly pulls Mylenne's arm and holds her in place, keeping them from crashing on a palanquin that suddenly appeared from nowhere. "Hey! Watch your steps, lowborns!" The only occupant—a noble dark-bearded kaldorei—growls at them, making Illidan's lips curl into a disgusted sneer, protectively tightening his hold on the female.
Yet, she doesn't waste a single second by looking at the noble Highborne—or his four bearers below the extravagant litter—using their joined arms to pull Illidan to the side, conveniently ignoring the obstacle before them and turning around the corner.
"Pay no mind to that poor excuse of a kaldorei," Mylenne grumbles between clenched teeth as she chooses to take another route to get to their destination. "Those quel'dorei believe to be above everything and everyone. It is utterly disgusting…"
A deep frown crosses Illidan's forehead while he allows her to lead the way, not really agreeing with her statements about the Highborne, yet doubting to retort something at her—for it looks quite evident that he seems to be missing something.
So, he opts for neutrality. "I believe that to be natural," Illidan shrugs in his best attempt for nonchalance. "At the very least, it is how I believe that social classes work."
"Natural, you say?" Mylenne returns his frown with one of her own, a tint of annoyance adorning her silver gaze. "Do you seriously believe it to be natural for a group of people to have control and power over the rest of the population?"
Her angry glare strikes him hard, making him realize that it's the first time he gets to see the woman in that state—and fortunately not because of something he'd done, yet close enough to be the next reason for her ire if he keeps insisting on contradicting her.
However, he can't really help with doing so, although he tries to maintain a neutral tone in his voice. "I actually do. It has been always like that and it is how our society works," Illidan admits with a small sneer, "Kaldorei who were born with the right name, or those who bonded or married another noble, get to rule among the others. Those who are not that lucky have to either marry the right one or work harder to earn their place."
With their gazes locked, Illidan can see how her brain seems to process his words, mulling over them as the air around them grows oddly thick with a tint of tension, her silence becoming unbearable within each second passing. Sheer confusion adorns his face as he tries to think the possible reasons for the woman's evident despise towards the Highborne, dark lips parting in an attempt to voice his thoughts to her.
Yet Mylenne is the first to break the thick silence as she says, "So, it is that easy, huh? I cannot help but wonder about where do you stand on this. Do you look forward to marrying a noble Lady, then?"
A cobalt eyebrow rises in curiosity when he notices a very small tint of jealousy in Mylenne's voice. Well, that is interesting, he thinks, savoring what he can get while a sly smirk starts to show over his dark lips.
"Mmh, I actually never saw myself settling down with someone, much less a noble Lady," His answer comes in a half-joke, the rest of it sounding more of a confession, a small gleaming in his eyes that reveals—for the briefest of moments—the real Illidan Stormrage who lies beneath that charming façade he'd been building over the centuries.
In his mind, he thinks that the small piece of knowledge he so blatantly gives to the woman would please her. At the very least, it would help for turning the conversation into another more secure ground for him; that being of returning to the usual road of shameless teasing—and something dangerously close to a courting in between—they'd been having through the course of that night.
However, and once more, Mylenne's reaction is not what he expects. For when he'd been waiting for her face to blush and her silver eyes to dart away in embarrassment—although with a little gleam of amusement in between—what he really gets in the next blink of her eyes is… disillusionment.
When the only answer he gets from her lips is a low hum, silence grows thick on them once more, an awkward feeling tugging at his chest as they keep walking with their arms intertwined—so close yet so far from each other.
Illidan would pay a lot of gold only to get a grasp of Mylenne's thoughts over his words, for he can't possibly understand what did he said for her to react in that way, the bright aura that surrounds her dulling, darkening, not so soothing anymore. And with each step they take, it starts to feel as if she's unconsciously creating a wall around herself—almost as if she's protecting herself from him.
The sensation grows as they turn around the corner of the street, their closeness eventually shifting into something oddly uncomfortable, the air around them like a stormy dark cloud. So, when he can't handle it anymore, he decides to—if reluctantly—slowly release her arm latched with his.
Surprisingly, it turns out to be a very easy thing to do after she stops in her tracks, her gaze locked on a silver-haired male dressed in Black Rook leather robes a couple of meters ahead of them.
In some part, he feels relieved when Mylenne gets distracted—mostly when her aura slowly returns to its previous usual state, almost as if her energies attempt to replicate her state of mind.
But then, annoyance narrows Illidan's face when the woman starts to walk away from him, her feet going in the direction of the man that captured her attention. "Hey!" The male protests, certainly unwilling to be left apart, following her with quick strides and cobalt brows furrowing in irritation.
But Mylenne doesn't turn around and either wait for him, reaching the end of the street and entering the Evermoon Bazaar, going straight for the male's shoulder and making him turn around.
His irritation grows to dangerous levels when the silver-haired man reveals his face, a groan escaping Illidan's mouth and unconsciously lowering his speed at recognizing the kaldorei which had been with Mylenne before his arrival.
He doesn't really hold any grudge against the man, for Illidan doesn't even know his name. But he can recognize that look in his eyes from miles away—that small spark in their gaze, the ever so slight lingering, the lack of a blink, or even the little creases around the corners when the sight gets to be too much.
"Ishnu-alah. May I help you, milady?" The man says to Mylenne—no, Lily—the corners of his lips curving up in a practiced, yet forced smile.
"Jarod, it's me, Myl!" Illidan gets the words more by watching the female's lips moving rather than hearing them.
That's when he notices the shift in the male's eyes; first, there's an astonished blink—a natural reaction one would get when recognizing someone's voice. Then the male's frown deepens as well as the creasing around the corners of his eyes; until that part, Illidan still understands.
Yet the spark in those eyes never waver, nor the lingering—if anything, it intensifies; his dull silver gaze barely roaming over the female's small waist and her chest for the briefest of moments.
Illidan's jaw tightens, teeth pressed together in an attempt to keep the deep growl that threatens to escape his throat, his best effort for caging and containing the beast within.
He can recognize that look in those dull eyes from miles away, and he doesn't like it—even worse; he loathes it.
"What!? Mylen—!" The man barely exclaims, only to be silenced with a brief smack on his silver head. "Ow!"
Illidan's feet guide him to stand beside her, his shadow looming over the smaller man. "Keep quiet!" The female hisses before quickly glancing at her surroundings, yet she doesn't flinch away when he gets close to her personal space.
A concealed smirk creeps to his lips, savoring the very small victory at hand—for he couldn't be sure if her silent admittance it's caused by her recent distraction or because he had unconsciously earned her trust already.
But then again, he knows he'd take anything he can get from Mylenne.
Illidan's chest swells in satisfaction when the female steps away from her silver-haired acquaintance, taking shelter behind one of his bare elbows, held up high with his arms crossed over his chest. A small part of him is aware that he's not being polite—and certainly not making a good first impression to the man before him—but Illidan can't help it in tasting the sweet tang of triumph when the disguised woman unconsciously chooses to stand by his side.
And triumph couldn't taste sweeter on his tongue when he pins the silver-haired male before him with a death glare, successfully wiping his—barely concealed—lascivious stare off the woman to look him back.
"Uhm, yeah, I forgot," The voice of Mylenne—not Lily, not this time, for her voice is not disguised—comes out from behind his elbow, "This is Jarod Shadowsong, my best friend and 1st Lieutenant of the Black Rook Guard."
A pale slender arm enters to his periphery and points at the male before him, yet he doesn't nod nor salute, as Illidan being too busy pinning the man under his threatening gaze. "You remember him, Jarod? He is Illidan Stormrage, from the Moon Guard. I believe you saw him a month ago when we—"
But her apparent friend turns out to show his rudeness when he interrupts her. "A sorcerer? Really?" Jarod growls to the female, not making a single effort of hiding his displeasure. "So, he's the one to blame for this… thing he did to you." He spits, lips curved in a disgusted sneer.
"I beg your pardon?" Illidan snarls with a rich deep tone, his baritone voice succeeding in sounding menacing—and he savors another victory on his lips when the silver-haired male tries his best not to recoil, yet his body can't help it in doing so.
But then, Mylenne's friend remains silent as another woman rushes to his side in a haste. Holding herself with an elegant hand on his shoulder, she leans onto the male for a moment, breathing heavily. "Brother, I believe we are good…" The woman speaks, her chest moving with her panting, adjusting her long silver ponytail away from her shoulder with her free hand.
Her breath hitches when her eyes find him. "Oh, you," She mutters, a deep frown crossing her forehead. "What do you want, sorcerer?"
