This is yet another smut/lemons heavy chapter.
Hello, readers! Apologies for the forever delay. I've been writing some non-fanfiction novels this year that have taken all of my creative focus, but I keep finding myself coming back to this story. I still have a lot planned for Ava, and I do intend to carry this story to its conclusion. :)
Thanks again everyone for your support and patience. I've really enjoyed the reviews and messages I've received regarding this story and am grateful for the love it's received.
Hot vapors swirl lazily upward in front of me as I take a deep, slow breath and let it out.
My eyelids flutter shut while I rest my head back against the edge of the porcelain bathtub in our suite. The scented oils in the water help to calm my physical nerves, and I breathe deeply and with intention.
Swirling my fingers in the water slowly, I'm close to begging my thoughts to ease their thundering. No matter how hard I focus on relaxing my body, my thoughts won't follow.
Back in that library, Khadgar explained to me briefly who Medivh was and what he thinks happened with my mom, and it's a pretty big pill to swallow. He claims my mother came to Azeroth by an accident of his own doing, back when he was just an eighteen-year-old apprentice fiddling with magic beyond his skill. I'd be inclined not to believe him, if not for the perfect portrait of her in his books, and the fact that he freaking knows her by name.
So, he claims she had a brief affair with his mentor, Medivh, who was apparently a (secretly) demon-god-possessed wizard. He is also certain she was pregnant when Medivh finally figured out how to teleport her back.
It's crazy. Absolutely nuts.
I just… I can't figure out what to think. Why wouldn't she ever tell me about it? Did she intend to keep it a secret forever? To never tell me the truth? Did she do it because she didn't expect me to ever find out, or was it somehow to protect me?
Or, maybe the guy isn't my dad. Maybe Khadgar is mistaken, and she wasn't pregnant with me yet when Medivh sent her home.
But, the timeline is weird, too. I've been running through the math, trying to find a flaw in it, but I can't. If she really did spend eight months in Azeroth during the time they say she did, and I was born only six months after the time she would have been sent back to Earth, that argument on its own is pretty solid.
Khadgar claims it explains a lot, from my overwhelming magic to the amount of attention I got from Fyr's demon, to the reason I was able to randomly port myself here to Azeroth in the first place. Technically, half my DNA is from here.
…If all of this is true.
I sigh in frustration and rub my eyes with my wet hands, then lean back and submerge my hair under the water to saturate it.
When I sit back up and open my eyes, Fyr is standing in the doorway, imposingly tall and devastatingly handsome. He doesn't say anything, just stands there watching me, leaning against the frame with his arms easily folded. His expression is difficult for me to read, as usual. His eyes and lips look like they could be giving a bit of mischief, but a line in his brow gives away a hint of concern.
I run my fingers through my wet curls, detangling as his eyes cling to my every movement, lingering on my body. I can tell it's affecting him to watch me bathing, and a random giggle threatens to erupt, but I stamp it down. He told me our mating bond affects him always, regardless of whether we're touching; it's both flattering and amusing to think that he's drooling over me in the doorway.
"Hi," I greet him, doing my best to ignore my bashfulness at being naked in a bath in front of him. This is all so new, but considering the things we've done to one another in the last couple days, I should not be feeling self conscious.
"How are you doing?" His tone is benign.
I offer him a pacifying smile.
"I'm fine. I don't know how much I believe, though."
"I'm sure it's a lot to take in. Are you close with your parents?"
"With my mom, yeah. Not so much with my dad. They're actually divorced now, anyway, and I don't see him much, so… I don't know why this is so weird for me."
"Well," Fyr shrugs, "I'm sure it's a bit of a mindfuck to learn your biological father is an alien."
I snort at his bluntness, and his lips tug at an attractive smile. I swirl my hands in the hot water for a moment.
"I think the weird part is that my mom…she never said anything about it. She never told me. She never really even hinted–" I stop a moment to think. "But then, why would she? I guess I can see why she would keep it to herself. She didn't have any way of coming back here, so…maybe she thought it was for the best. She was probably keeping it from me for my own sake."
Fyr nods in understanding, still studying me.
"It could have been to keep you safe," he adds.
"Yeah, I wondered that, too," I shrug. Wanting to take advantage of the bath while it's still hot, I grab a bar of soap and begin lathering it into my long hair, and then begin to rub the bar over my skin, thinking hard.
I sigh. "Khadgar wanted to speak again about what to do next, once I've had a chance to think."
Stepping into the room, Fyr wordlessly rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, and gently takes the soap from my hands. I didn't even realize how violently I was scrubbing, and how my fingernails had left divots in the bar. I force my shoulders to relax from where I'd been keeping them tense, and he kneels behind me by the bathtub.
"You know," he murmurs behind my right ear as he takes my hair into his hand and delicately laces his fingers into it, "Something tells me he can wait until tomorrow."
Little tingles of enjoyment rush down my neck and along my nerves at his rich voice so close to my ear. I think if that voice were the last sound I ever heard, at least I would die happy.
He begins calmly massaging my soapy scalp and hair in gentle, deep circles, and my eyes flutter shut. It's all I can do not to make an embarrassing sound of pleasure as his fingers come in contact with my skin, and that mating bond of ours ripples and tightens through me. Without meaning to, I whimper and arch my back a bit, leaning my head into his broad hands as he massages my scalp. His touch sets me ablaze. My nipples peak, aching for his touch as my chest arches out of the water.
His warm chuckle is rich behind me. I swear I can feel all the vibrations of his voice run straight down between my legs, and I squeeze my thighs together for even a merest smidgen of relief that evades me.
He cups water into his hands and lets it trickle through my hair as he works, and then he begins to sweep the soap bar over the skin of my neck and shoulders. His big hands glide over my soapy, slippery skin and begin to knead my tight muscles, and I whimper in relief.
"Oh my god, Fyr, thank you," I groan, eyes closing as my body can't decide whether to be aroused or melt into a relaxed puddle. I notice something about the way his fingers dig into my skin. "What happened to your claws?"
He extends his fingers on one hand by my face to show me that the tips of his claws have been filed down to rounded ends, and it's odd seeing them look so…human. Huge, sure, and purple, but human-esque.
"I figured, seeing as I'm mated to a human, I should make some adjustments. For your sake, of course."
"For my sake?" I feel a sly grin slide onto my face. "Sounds like this visit here was premeditated. What else have you got planned for those fingers?"
He laughs quietly through his nose but doesn't answer. He massages those newly-smoothed but still rough and calloused fingers deep into the muscle to make his point, occasionally dipping his hands in the hot water and running it over my skin. All I can offer is an indulgent smile in response as he works every knot out of my muscles. At times, I forget to breathe due to how overwhelming it is to feel our bond and feel him so clearly.
Eventually, he nudges me to lie back and rinse my hair, and I do so, letting his hands do all the work. Then he pulls me back up into a sitting position and begins rubbing more of that scented bath oil into my skin. His hands work over my upper back and shoulders, then finally begin to slip forward along my neck and collarbone. I keep arching my back a bit, hoping his fingers will slip lower onto my breasts and ease the distracting need that's been tightening inside me under his touch this entire time.
The third time I arch up toward his touch, he lets out another chuckle.
"It's pretty fun watching you squirm for my hands, Princess."
I can't resist my own smile. I'm about to bite back a retort, but just then his giant hand glides down and caresses around the side of my right breast, his thumb finally grazing over the nipple. At the same time, he cranes his head in under my ear to suckle at my neck. Anything I was going to say is lost in a gasp and shudder that courses down my body.
His free hand glides up and firmly grips into my jaw and chin, tilting my head back against the lip of the tub as he leaves searing kisses along my neck. Then he turns my chin toward his and slants his lips over mine. His hair falls over our faces and sticks to the moisture on my skin as he kisses me deeply, his tongue coaxing my lips to part for him. A soft sound pulls from my throat as his hot tongue glides against mine, its movements ardent and intense.
His right hand slips down my abdomen and begins to tease between my legs under the hot water, and I whimper again into his kiss. He smiles against my lips and kisses me deeper as he starts to massage his thumb in broad circles around my center, not yet touching the bundle of sensitive nerves, but teasing me enough that I begin to grind my hips against his hand.
His hand at my jaw slips into the back of my hair and grips tightly, forcing me to expose my neck to him as he breaks the kiss and begins nuzzling along the sensitive skin under my jaw. At the same time, he's teasing me with a delirious massage, and finally I feel him test my entrance and find me wanting.
"Perhaps there was some premeditation," he murmurs, teeth grazing against my neck just as he slides a finger inside me, and I can't help but moan out loud, already quivering.
I'm lost in the sensations of his lips and tongue and teeth on my neck, his skilled fingers gradually coaxing me toward release, patient and consistent. I can't even tell if the moisture on my forehead and neck is from the bath anymore.
His mouth returns to mine — not quite kissing, not pulling my attention away from the expert work of his hand — just brushing over my hypersensitive lips with his own, somehow the action more stimulating and intimate than if he had actually connected them. Then his tongue drags over my bottom lip just as he increases the speed of his massage, and I come undone.
My release rises, blooms, and then peaks higher through me, rippling out in waves as I arch against him and finally let out a breathy moan against his lips, to which he purrs and gently bites my lip as he continues his attention for a few more seconds. I capture his mouth in a kiss then, once I start to regain my mind, and he returns it fiercely.
Then he pulls back and reaches behind himself for a large towel off the rack, and pulls the stopper out of the tub.
I attempt to stand on my own, but my legs are shaky, and it doesn't matter anyway. He scoops me up out of the bath easily, and I yelp at the sudden change in gravity as he wraps me in the towel and carries me through the suite and into his bedroom. His elf-sized bed is huge, and giggles peal out of me as he easily tosses me down into the massive field of blankets.
I'm fully expecting him to just climb on top of me now and continue where we left off in the bathroom, but instead, he goes to his bedside table and retrieves a small vial. He drizzles its contents onto his hands and then comes to sit down on the bed by my legs, and I catch the scent of lavender and chamomile oil. He starts sweeping the oil along my thigh above the knee, resting it on top of his own legs, and my eyes flutter shut as he begins to massage the muscles with his massive hands.
He moves down my calf and then rubs his fingers hard into the tired arch of my foot, and I let out a broken groan.
"Oh my god," I whimper. "You have magic hands."
"Not for a long time," he teases. "This is all me, baby."
I don't even have the energy to respond to his bad joke. I just give another groan as he keeps gliding those strong hands up to the top of my thigh and back down to my foot, turning me to jelly. I am just wearing the towel he'd wrapped me in, but it's riding up my hips, giving him a clear view of my naked lower half every time he lifts my leg. I honestly don't understand how he has this much composure; as he touches me, it's like my nerves are simultaneously hypersensitive and understimulated, and even a brush of his skin on mine feels like ecstasy.
I finally make a little noise of gratitude. "Yeah, Khadgar can wait."
"Mhmm," I can hear the smile in his hum even though my eyes are closed.
He moves to my other leg and starts at my sore foot, and I sigh, letting myself relax as I think back on today. A few quiet moments pass. As I start to become accustomed to his touch again through our bond, my thoughts are more my own.
"So, is teleportation the same as a portal spell?" I wonder aloud.
Fyr pauses to think, then resumes, moving up my ankle to my calf.
"No. They utilize different branches of displacement magic."
"How so?"
"Teleportation involves something called entanglement, where the magic that surrounds your body is given a new signature that matches that of another location. Creating a portal involves actually producing an aperture that you can interact with, a doorway that folds two planes of existence on top of each other."
"Khadgar said that Medivh sent my mom home with a teleportation spell. Is that what he was going to use for me?"
"I would assume so," Fyr sounds thoughtful. His hands have now begun massaging both thighs together up and down the outsides by my hips, and it's like a drug.
"Is it easier to teleport someone?"
"Yes, much easier. You can usually just identify the signature of the location you want to send them to, and the magic is straightforward from there. You can also assign the spell to an object, such as a summoning stone or hearthstone, and complete it even without your own magic."
"But, I've been able to make portals."
Fyr laughs. "Yes, you have. And I'm not the only one who has told you how bizarre it is that you can do that instinctively. For most mages, those require coordinates for the destination that are usually obtained mathematically. We use a system of leylines — essentially, magical veins through the ground — to triangulate and power portal spells. Being able to innately produce a doorway between two spaces, successfully and without preparation, is astonishing."
I can kind of hear the unsaid addition to his words—that Medivh was considered one of the most powerful wizards of all time. I try not to think about that.
"I tried to make a portal once, when we were on the ship. To my home world, I mean. I tried making a portal to my apartment. And it didn't work."
Fyr slows his massage a little bit, not fully stopping, but hesitating. I open my eyes, finally, and peer over at him, but he's just focusing intently on his own hands, a slight frown in place as he's lost in thought.
"What's something you miss most about your world, aside from your family?" he asks curiously.
I inhale thoughtfully, not having expected the question. Well, there are a lot of things I could answer here. A laundry machine would be great, although I do know there are cleansing spells that can fix that issue. Internet, I definitely miss now and then, and a TV, and texting. Azeroth isn't straight-on medieval; it's actually got quite a few modern amenities thanks to magic, but there are some things I miss more than others. Then I tilt my head.
"Honestly? Music. I used to listen to music every single day. I didn't really realize how much I missed it, but music in general is so hard to come by now. I'd sometimes hear someone playing an instrument in the Legerdemain lounge, but that was so rare."
Fyr sends me a thoughtful smile as he works. Then, without saying anything, he slips his hands up underneath the towel and around my abdomen. His firm touch makes my body erupt in goosebumps, and a shudder of excitement ripples through me at the sudden change of pace. Whatever he's doing, my engine is ready to rev.
He effortlessly turns me over, unraveling and tossing aside the towel as he does so, so that I'm lying on my stomach. He climbs over me, straddling his legs and sitting on the backs of my thighs, and retrieves more oil, and then begins gliding it over my back and shoulders.
Looks like I'm getting a full body treatment. While I might have been hoping his pants would suddenly fall off, I will admit I've never felt anything so relaxing in my life. It makes it easier for me to think about what I learned today when my entire body feels like it's melting into the bed and I have my mate's ginormous, hot hands all over me.
A strange excitement dances through me as I realize what I've just called him.
Fyr is mine. My mate.
We are blood-mated, claimed by one another. He's all mine. I can feel it in the emotions that carry through our touch, his possessiveness and protectiveness that ripple off of him when he's touching me. On top of that, through our bond, I can feel his need and arousal for me layering over and weaving into my own with his every caress on my body, and it is making me feel dizzy.
He runs his strong hands down my lower back and over the swell of my bottom, and I arch my back into his touch, lifting my hips to try to give him a peek between my thighs. I think it works, because he inhales, his grip tightening into my flesh, and I smile and lift my hips even higher, doing my best to grind against his inner thighs behind me.
He lets out a hiss and says something in Darnassian. It sounds like some sort of expletive, but I don't feel like night elves even have swear words.
He clears his throat.
"Ava—," he starts hoarsely, right before I grind my ass back against his groin. Laughter bubbles up in me at his reaction. I could tell him what I want, but this is much more fun.
A growl rumbles out of his chest, an actual growl like a freaking bear, and he grabs my ass with both of his hands and grips me hard enough to bruise. His arousal presses against me through his trousers, and I giggle and grind harder.
"Cruel woman," he groans, gradually loosening his death grip. I feel that craving need of his through our bond.
I tilt my head playfully to the side to try to look at him behind me. "Take off your pants."
"You know, this was supposed to help you relax, Ava, not to give myself a happy ending," he grunts, still roughly massaging my curves. I can tell his restraint is slowly snapping cord by cord, and this only turns me on more. He inhales again and then lets out another restrained growl low in his chest, but still doesn't move.
"Who's saying you'll be the only one benefiting?" I tease back. Then I snap my fingers at him. "Chop chop. Pants off, Aerefyr. Now."
He laughs, the sound light and easy. It makes affection explode in my chest, and I giggle back at him. I can tell he is still intent on keeping all the focus on my massage, and as his hands glide up the insides of both my thighs, I quiver with need.
"Fyr, if you don't fucking ditch your clothes and join me like I know you want to, I am going to—ah!"
The mischievous little shit has just slapped my ass, and the amount of desire it sent rocketing through me is almost as embarrassing as the wanton little high-pitched sound I made in response. He leans over me. All I can think as he presses against me is that there is too much fabric separating him from me.
"Are you ordering me, my mate?" he teases, his tone almost a taunt.
"Yes," I grit back simply.
With his chuckle, the bed jostles for a moment, the sound of him shedding clothing only lasting a matter of a few seconds before he's on top of me again, all hot, thick, bare muscle pressed against every naked inch of me. He rests down over my body, letting his warm stomach rest against my back, and I'm reminded of how huge he is as his entire frame engulfs me. The heat from his body feels like a radiator against my oiled skin, and I let out a pleasurable groan.
"M–much better," I gasp as his erection pushes between my thighs, teasing at my entrance but then just grinding against my wetness.
"Is this what you wanted?" he asks me in a playful tone, and I shiver at the warmth of his breath on my neck and the gentle brush of his finger as he tucks my hair behind my ear.
Almost, I think, feeling a flash of frustration as I try to arch against him to take him inside me. All it would take is one single movement, but then he angles back just enough to where I can't quite manage it. I let out a whimper of frustration, entirely under his mercy.
"What I want," I retort through gritted teeth, just knowing that he can feel how much I want him through our bond, "is for you to fuck me already, you teasing ass."
"Hm, I don't know," he leans in and tantalizingly nips at my earlobe, speaking slowly, "I've already fucked you twice in under twenty-four hours. A good mate would let you recover."
I grind up against him again, but he's too quick for me still. His chuckle is deep and ignites a shiver inside me.
"Like a little soreness ever killed anyone," I whine back, the empty ache in me so powerful I might cry.
He nuzzles against the crook of my neck, and then ever so gently drags his sharp teeth along the skin. His voice is so deep and sensual, and I can feel his mischief and desire drip from every word when he purrs against my ear. "Mm, my mate is sore? Shall I be gentle with her?" He replaces his fangs with a soft, delicate kiss, angling his hips again as I try and fail a third time to slide him into place.
He needs to stop teasing, or I might actually burn up to a crisp.
"I don't want gentle," I bite out each word slowly with my own growl now, since apparently he's wearing off on me.
He chuckles, his voice dropping even deeper to where it feels like the vibration of a cello rippling straight from his chest. "You haven't even had 'not gentle' yet, Princess. Are you certain you can even take all of me?"
Those filthy freaking words of his run straight to my core, and I swear my legs actually begin to shake. I feel the playful smile in his lips as they press on my throat again, and he grinds down to slide his length along my folds and between my thighs, still not letting me have him.
I feel like I actually might light on fire, for real. The electricity in me is starting to crackle between us, and I can tell Fyr thinks it's funny. The smug brute.
My voice rips out huskily, even bolder than I intended, "You're my fucking mate, Fyr. I am going to take everything you can give me."
At my words, he growls and bites my neck.
An electric current of need rockets through me as his sharp teeth sink into my skin, stinging as he bites down only inches from his first mating bite. I grind myself back against him right as he thrusts down to meet me, and we both groan in unison as he stretches me and fills me completely in one single, deep stroke. I gasp, feeling our bond somehow surge so intensely when he absorbs my excess magic through the bite that I feel momentarily lightheaded with pleasure. I don't know what exactly he is doing, but oh god, I hope he never stops.
I savor the fullness, taking a moment to suck in a breath and adjust to the feeling. Fyr peels my still-damp mess of curls off of my shoulder and runs his tongue along the tender spot where he'd just bitten me.
"Good girl," he murmurs by my ear, a mixture of ragged arousal and approval, and then with a slight dose of concern as he brushes his nose against my ear and whispers again, "Are you okay?" before pressing a kiss to my temple.
Affection blooms inside my chest, and a smile ghosts my mouth as I peer sideways at him. "Don't you dare stop now."
He gives me the most irresistible wicked grin that makes me clench involuntarily, and he fluidly slides his hips back and rolls into me again. And again, and again.
I'm doing my best to raise my hips in time with him, but his raw strength and the size of him is so intense and unyielding that I end up melting into a quivering mess on the bed as he rocks into me. The sounds of his breathy, masculine groans as he lets his forehead press against the back of my head have me falling apart beneath him, and I let out a whimper of need when his fire is overwhelming.
"Are you certain you don't want me to be gentle?" he purrs as he continues to thrust his hips into me. "Gentle feels pretty good right now, doesn't it?"
This is still gentle? I would snort if I could right now. Has he still been holding back?
I try to catch a breath of air and give him a needy nod.
He slows his thrusts to a languid, tortuously-slow rhythm and curls down to press a kiss to the edge of my jaw, "I need you to say it for me, Ava."
"I don't want gentle. I want all of you, Fyr," I gasp out. If I weren't so aroused, I might actually be nervous right now.
He shudders above me, and one of his hands slides up to grip the base of my hair, somehow both gentle and firm, craning my head to the side slightly so he can growl in my ear more easily.
"Such a needy little mate," he purrs, and licks my neck below my ear, before trailing his tongue up and biting the lobe. "Alright. I won't hold back, but I want you to tell me if you need me to stop."
"Please, Fyr," I start to beg shamelessly, going so far as to buck my hips for him.
"My beautiful mate," he grins, pressing kisses all along my neck, praising me as he goes. "My sweet…needy…wet—little—thing."
He says the last three words on separate thrusts as he resumes, and on the final word, he surges deeper into me than I have ever felt in my life. His body pins me down against the bed as he starts to rut into me with long, endless strokes, and I curl my fingers hard into the blankets, gripping on for dear life.
Holy fuck.
This depth he's achieving hits something inside of me I didn't know could be hit. Ribbons of pain and bone-deep pleasure dance and whirl around each other inside me for a few more of his long, intense strokes before the two finally merge into one, and I give a sob of pleasure as my body finally accepts him.
His hands slip up over the backs of mine and weave into my fingers, his lips claiming every part of me he can access. He murmurs bits of praise in my ear, words I can hear but can't process much beyond what he's doing. The smacking of his hips against me fills my ears, the near punishing pace he's reaching becoming all-consuming.
He slows for a moment, craning down from behind, turning my head and taking my lips with his in a sensual, loving kiss. Then he breaks it, each stroke of his so deep I only start to recover from one before another takes its place.
"Gods, you drive me fucking wild, wrapped around me like this, Ava," he groans into my lips, his words alone enough to coax me higher in the pleasure that thrums through me. "You're fucking perfect."
I'm pretty certain my magic actually does peak again in that moment at his words, in a series of static sparks that snap between my fingertips. I just try to focus on remembering how to breathe, sending him a lazy grin as I gasp for air. He returns his lips to where he'd bitten me and kisses the skin gently, then drags his tongue along the skin, and in response, my magic evens out again.
He keeps this angle, impossible depth, and rhythm, and it's mere minutes before he's built me up to the edge of pleasure, teetering there, gasping for release, but held by a single thread that doesn't want to snap without the right kind of friction. I'm sweating and shaking for him, thighs quivering with weakness despite how I've barely managed to do a thing beyond receive him.
But, it's like he planned it this way, building up to this moment and hovering for a while on purpose. In a single fluid movement, he snakes his powerful arm under me and between my legs. His fingers glide along my slippery folds, not touching the apex, just teasing around my oversensitive clit. He speeds up, slowly spiraling closer and closer to the center, until he is rubbing perfect gentle circles on me in a manner that has my entire body rigid as pleasure surges through me. With a hoarse moan, I shudder and come apart underneath him, ripples and ripples of my release constricting and then echoing through me.
He makes a strangled sound as my walls clench around him, but he keeps going, rubbing his expert fingers against me as he moves. He lasts just a few more seconds as I quiver and shudder, and then with a broken groan he finally hilts himself completely, and his heat bursts inside me. He throbs as he spends his release, and I breathlessly close my eyes, savoring the feeling.
After a moment, he goes limp on top of me, like a giant weighted blanket, his breath heaving. His head falls sort of above where mine does into the bed, and I curl my fingers up into his hair, massaging through his thick locks of vibrant purple.
Our breathing gradually begins to return to normal as Fyr caresses my arms and loops his fingers into mine, and I wish I could just pause this moment in time and stretch it for eternity. I feel so safe and far away from all my problems here.
"This…" Fyr's sated voice is husky as he speaks up, "This is where you belong, Ava."
"Mmhmm. In Azeroth?" I ask lazily, eyes half shut as I'm still trying to come down from the aftershocks.
He runs the backs of his knuckles along my neck and shoulder. "Well, I was going to say, in my bed, stretched around my cock, and dripping with me. But sure, let's go with that."
Caught off guard, I sputter with laughter, my mind still reeling from minutes earlier. Even my own lax filter would have had me chickening out to say something like that. He gives a quiet laugh through his nose, enjoying my blush.
"Y-yeah, I definitely wouldn't mind that, too," I agree.
"Oh, good. I was hoping you'd be up for making it a daily routine. I mean, you could also belong in my shower, or on the couch, the floor, the kitchen counter... Inn rooms, alleyways, rooftops… the possibilities are endless, really."
I laugh aloud. "Rooftops?!"
He snickers. "Hey, I'm a flexible guy; I can work with just about anything. We could even try it upside down, hanging from the edge of the roof like a pair of bats."
"Oh, great," I just laugh and roll my eyes.
He kisses the back of my neck, his body still relaxed over my own. Too soon, he withdraws from me slowly, leaving my bare skin along my back tingling with goosebumps in the brisk air. But, just as quickly, he rolls aside, pulls me up close and wraps blankets over us both, his giant arms encircling me. His fingertips trace soft lines along my arms and the backs of my hands, and my skin drinks in as much of him through the bond as it can as we bask in the moment together.
My mind is appropriately empty right now, finally having slowed the racing thoughts to nothing but blissful calm. Fyr has officially, completely consumed me, and the constant surge of affection and love in my chest is immense. He seems to sense my overwhelm, or maybe he is feeling the same, and he gently rotates me to face him and kisses me in a way that already feels like home.
His sweet and satisfied kiss is comforting, as if he's completely present in the moment—fully absorbed in this experience with me, and there's nowhere else he'd rather be.
I snuggle my head to his chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart against my ear. Wrapped in his tranquil embrace, I slowly surrender to the stillness and comfort of the moment and drift to sleep.
By the time I wake up from our impromptu nap, the light glowing through the windows paints everything in our room a deep, warm shade of gold, a stark change from the veil of rain this morning. I'm still wrapped in a pair of strong arms, and peering up, I'm met with Fyr's serene sleeping face.
I admire his long eyelashes for a moment, and then stretch up and kiss his cheek.
His hands tighten on my waist before his eyes slowly open. He looks incredibly cute right now with his hair disheveled slightly and falling loosely on his pillow.
My stomach growls before either of us can really enjoy the silent stillness of the moment, and Fyr offers me a smirk and, as if he hadn't been asleep twenty seconds prior, slides out of bed.
"Wait there." He throws on a loose pair of pants and slips out of the room.
I shiver slightly without his body heat, wrapping tighter into the comforter for a few moments, and then decide I need more layers. While Fyr is off doing whatever he's up to, I crawl out of bed and retrieve the soft linen shirt he had been wearing earlier today and slip it on. It fits me like a dress, and I wrap myself in its scent as I quickly tiptoe back to the bed and slip into the warm blankets.
Fyr only takes a few more minutes before he's back with a large platter, which he sets onto the open expanse of the bed for me to inspect. He has snagged a few different kinds of berries, cured meats, and cheeses from the suite pantry, as well as a small loaf of honey bread and a carafe of nectarwine.
He pours me a glass and hands it to me as I sit forward. I sip it a bit, and we both wordlessly dig into the meal. I didn't realize how hungry I actually was until I started eating. Fyr seems to be the same, and we pretty quickly finish off the loaf of bread and a good portion of the cheese and salami. Fyr's eyes barely drift from me the entire time, lingering on the way I tear the bread in my hands, to the bites I take of the fruit, to the way my bare legs are relaxed out in front of me.
Normally, I would probably feel self conscious under scrutiny this unrelenting, but just like earlier today in the bath, I don't. I understand exactly where it's coming from. If I permanently felt the way that I do when his fingers touch my skin, I would lose the ability to function. In fact, I actually feel a bit jealous of him. I want to be able to feel him from here, to sense his feelings and feel that all-consuming desire just with a single look. Even barely three feet apart, facing each other over this charcuterie board, I need to be closer, need to feel the bond like it's some kind of drug.
But, I know that my stomach's needs come first, so I eat my fill.
I gradually slow down and take a sip of my wine before setting it aside on an end table. My eyes hold Fyr's for a few moments; the faded orange glow of the sunset shimmers on his hair and outlines the perfect dips and swells of his bare chest and abdomen, and my eyes drink in the sight.
I fiddle with a grape between my fingers as my mind wanders back to what I'd considered this morning.
What comes next? Are we going to settle down somewhere? Am I going to get some kind of job or something? How is this going to work? The only life I've known with him has been driven with a distinct goal in mind; what happens when that goal is over, and I suddenly have the rest of my life stretching out as a blank slate in front of me? And as for Fyr, what about his occupation? It takes him all over the place, and I would be a hindrance if I went with him, and what if he realizes it would be easier if we just–
Mid-thought, his warm voice yanks me out of my spiral. "I take it the nervous uncertainty stirring inside you right now isn't about whether you're going to eat that poor grape?"
A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, and I meet his gaze.
"No, just…thinking."
"Oh, I can tell," he smirks. "You know, one of the best perks of this bond thing is that you don't have to shoulder everything yourself if you don't want to. You can share with me. I don't bite."
My eyebrows shoot upward at that last phrase, and he rolls his eyes.
"—Unless you want me to, of course," he concedes.
I just grin at him, and then pop the grape into my mouth and chew as I gather my thoughts.
"It's just…Do you ever think about what you would do if you weren't bounty hunting? It seems like something that would take years of training to be good at, and…" I trail off, refusing to finish the 'and I don't know if I'll ever be good at it myself, and what if I can't adjust to your life' thought whirling in my brain. I try to keep the vulnerability out of my voice, but it's a bit futile considering he can sense my feelings.
Something seems to click in his expression, an affectionate understanding washing over him as he leans forward and rests an elbow on one knee. He studies me thoughtfully for a long time before speaking up.
"I remember the very moment I first caught your scent. You'd just come through that portal on your motorbike, and you were drenched and furious and injured and painfully beautiful, cursing your head off in that odd language," he smiles, eyes holding a far-off look. "And when you turned and looked into my eyes, and your scent hit me with the movement of your hair…" he trails off, and shakes his head with a chuckle. "To be honest, I thought I'd lost my mind."
He speaks as if he's had forever to consider what he's saying to me, as if it's something he has been waiting for the right time to finally share. I sip my wine as I listen quietly, waiting to see where he's going with this.
"For us elves, if we're lucky, we can on rare occasions scent out our mates. I'm not talking about being able to sense fertility, either; this runs a little bit deeper. It's like a pheromone, something in our biology that tells us the person we're near is a potential mate. The stronger the scent, the more powerful the genetic compatibility, and the more intensely that the scent affects us. Sometimes, it's for physical qualities like strength and immune health; sometimes it's similarities in brain chemistry. Sometimes, it's an indicator of powerful magical compatibility. And sometimes, even more rarely, it's all three.
"And when I caught your scent for the first time, Ava, it was like nothing I'd ever experienced. I have scented elves in the past, and it had been nothing like this. I remember the feeling of something in me shifting. It was like a steel cord was binding itself around my soul, tethering me to you. And in that moment, I knew that in some way or form, and in whatever way you would accept me, I was yours."
I cling to every word he says, my wine now sitting forgotten on the table beside the bed.
Fyr tilts his head, his long strands of hair sliding down a shoulder silkily with the movement. Then he laughs.
"It pissed me off, honestly."
My mouth falls open in mock appall, and I reach out and smack his arm playfully. Even the half-second touch feels like a pulse of heat through my hand and up my arm.
"What? It did!" he laughs, shrugging. "I was so annoyed. I mean, here you were, this rude, loud, arrogant human with the strongest magic I'd ever felt come from anyone—the exact same magic, mind you, that I'd been running from my entire life. I swear, I was mad about it for weeks."
I send him a joking glare. "Is this supposed to make me feel better?"
"It has a point, I promise," He grins, and then sobers a bit as he thinks a bit more. "I had spent years in a sort of self-exile after the deaths of the humans who had practically raised me, thinking that was what I deserved. I'd left my family and my community, severed ties with my magic, and lost the people I cared about. I turned to bounty hunting because I discovered I was good at it, and it was a useful distraction.
"I remember that very night, right before you appeared, I was consumed in my own thoughts. I felt stuck, lost, and angry. Sure, I had a purpose, I had a job, and yet it brought me no joy or satisfaction. Not to mention, the demon that had destroyed my life was still bound to me, following me everywhere I went, tormenting the people around me and eliciting fear from them without them knowing why. It's hard to connect with anyone with something like that in the way. But I'd convinced myself it was what I preferred."
I lean on one arm, feeling a surge of sympathy as I listen.
He sighs, almost as if in relief. "And then I saw you, and I felt that powerful, aching yearning. Not just because of the scent, but because being confronted with your existence — with someone so perfectly matched to me in every way — forcibly reminded me of everything I have deprived myself of all these decades.
"Meeting you compelled me to face what I really needed, and forced me to imagine what I might have with you if I just let myself open my heart to possibility. And as I got to know you, it was both terrifying and liberating to be forced to acknowledge that I was—and had always been—the only thing between myself and real happiness."
Fyr reaches out and gently rests his fingertips over the back of my hand, and our mating bond flares into action within me. I'm plunged headlong into his whirlwind of gratefulness, admiration, and affection.
"You were my awakening, Ava. You were my glimpse of joy in a world that had gone dark. And ever since that moment, every time I pictured what I wanted out of this life, or what my future might be, there was one common, central pillar. I knew I wanted you, in whatever capacity I could have you, for as long as you would allow. And I know that no matter what I do or where I find myself, as long as I am with you, then it is the life I choose."
At this point, I can't help the tears welling up in my eyes, and I wipe them away with the hand Fyr isn't holding.
"So, to answer your question, yes. I think about leaving that life behind every single day." Fyr's hand tightens around mine, and he moves aside the platter between us and draws closer in toward me. He kisses me softly, and then presses his forehead to mine.
Truth ripples across our bond with every single word as he speaks in a gentle tone.
"I love you, Ava Warner. No matter what we do or where we go, no matter where your next steps take you, I choose to spend my days beside you for as long as you will have me."
Tears actually do escape my eyes now, and I crane in and kiss him again deeply. His touch feels like it was made for me alone.
"I love you, too," I whisper back to him, curling my fingers into his hair. "Thank you, Fyr."
We kiss and fall into a stretch of tender silence until I finally pull back and peer into his eyes. He holds a look of effortless, confident affection, and I grin at him, rubbing the tears away from my cheeks.
"So, I guess now that you're stuck with me, we should get all the other couple questions out of the way," I tease.
He gives me a look of playful curiosity. "Such as?"
"Such as… Do we move in together? Do we split expenses? Do you want kids?"
His eyes flicker with amusement, and he lifts a brow. "Why, want me to ditch the preventative potions I stocked up on? We might want to find a more permanent place to live first, but I'm game."
I snort. "I mean, do you want them eventually?"
He just grins. "Honestly, I hadn't thought about it much. Children are very rare for elves, not usually an inherent expectation in mating bonds, but…it does sound nice."
"Yeah, same," I feel a kind of warm fuzziness at his words. "Not now, but maybe in like ten years or something. How many do you want?"
His brows shoot upward, and he laughs in surprise. "Sometimes I forget you humans can multiply like rabbits," he teases, snaking an arm out and wrapping it around my waist to tickle me, and I fall apart in helpless giggles at his relentless hands. He hovers over me, still tickling me as I fight against his iron strength in squeals of laughter, and then he finally pauses to crane his head down and murmur by my ear, "We can make as many as you want, Princess."
Good lord.
He grins smugly at the way my body instantly responds to his words, and then he sits up and pulls me upright as well.
"But, right now, we have somewhere to be," he announces. I'm still trying to recover from the tickle attack as he grabs a bunch of grapes and slides out of bed. "Might want to wear more than just my shirt, though."
"What, right now?" I laugh, noting the sun has almost completely set.
"Up you go," he nudges me, and I laugh in confusion and head to my room, change out of his giant tunic into some more appropriately-fitting clothing, and do my best to make my now-dry hair not look like I just spent my whole day screwing and/or sleeping.
When I tug on my boots and come out of my room, he's waiting for me by the front entry, and he takes my hand and leads me down the many tower stairs and out into the open air.
There are still people filling the streets, especially near the markets, and Fyr leads me across multiple blocks of the city until we arrive at a tall ornate stone building with a label above the door that says Silver Enclave Inn. Torch light glows from within, and to my surprise, faint tunes carry out into the evening air. It sounds like it might be a small band, and the melody immediately fills me with a unique energy I haven't felt in ages.
Fyr's hand tightens on mine as he senses my little burst of joy there, and he leads me inside. It is absolutely packed with patrons, most of them standing and drinking and tapping their feet as they watch a band in the back corner perform a light, lively tune with a combination of instruments. The music fills my ears and lifts my mood further, and I'm not surprised to feel a grin planting its way onto my face. He leads me over to a small empty table near one wall and lets me claim it while he heads to grab us something to drink. While it's a simple tune, it's far from dull. I'm entranced as I watch the band play, losing myself in the rhythm and allowing its energy to fill me.
Fyr returns as they finish their song, and I cheer along with the crowd as they bow. People are shouting out song requests as Fyr tugs a chair around to sit next to me so he can see the band too, and he hands me a large mug of dark ale.
I feel an urge to dance, but for now I express it by just bobbing one of my feet in time with the beat. I think I'd have to have a few drinks in me before I run out and start showing off my moves.
Fyr sends me an easy smile.
"What do you think?" he leans closer so I can hear him easier.
"I love it," I smile back gratefully. "How'd you know they were here?"
"They play here every Friday night. This tavern nearly always has some form of music in the evening, though."
"I'll have to remember that."
We both enjoy the music and the energy as the band plays on, and I find that anytime I start to feel my anxiety about my unknown future slipping in, it's whisked away before it can form a full thought. I scoot my chair over so that I'm elbow-to-elbow with Fyr and then rest my head on his upper arm, considering I'm too short to actually reach his shoulder, and close my eyes as I allow myself to get lost in the moment, fully present and savoring every second. Fyr wraps his arm around me and hugs me close, which just makes me feel even cozier.
As time passes, I slowly finish off my drink as the band cycles through a few different songs.
The band then begins playing a softer tune, not quite so loud, and I'm still totally absorbed in it when Fyr's arm tenses around me, and a moment later some shouted argument begins to pick up across the tavern by the bar. I open my eyes and look over in that direction, but I'm too short to see past the small crowd around us.
Then the raised voices turn to all-out yelling, and a glass breaks. The musicians still play, but a lot of people's attention is starting to turn toward the noises. Fyr just lets out an annoyed growl and stands.
"Be right back," he grumbles and pushes through the crowd with ease, and finally as the group parts, I can see what's going on. Two human men who are obviously hammered are arguing about who knows what, and one of them shoves the other into a couple of dwarven patrons, who hiss out their disapproval and push him away. The guy turns on the dwarves instead and starts shouting out strange slurs I've never even heard before but I know are offensive, and then half a second later, Fyr has both human men by the scruff.
Without a word, he drags them toward the front doors while they scramble to fight him off.
"Ooh, look at him go," sounds a familiar voice behind me, and I glance around to see James Reid leaning against the wall near my table, watching Fyr with his arms crossed. "Saving the day one drunken idiot at a time."
"Oh, why am I not surprised that my own personal stalker is here?" I squint at him. "What are you doing here?"
"Don't flatter yourself, my dear," James cocks his head at me, "Seems you forgot I told you I would be staying here."
Then he steals Fyr's chair from beside me, spinning it so that he straddles it and leans his forearms on the back rest. We both watch Fyr easily toss the men out the door, and James fake-swoons. "A true hero! If it wasn't for him, we might have had to face the terrifying consequences of two drunk guys fighting over who gets the last piece of bread."
"Oh my god, do you have anyone else to annoy?" I gripe and try to drink some more ale, but my mug is empty. I grab Fyr's instead and take a few deep swigs.
James is entirely unfazed by my attitude. He rests his well-groomed chin on his arms as he continues to watch Fyr, who is now conversing with a city guard who came into the bar to investigate.
"Man. Look at that expression on his face. I heard Fyr once had a staring contest with a wall and won. Not surprised, he's got the same charm as one."
I rub a hand over my eyes. "James, I came here to enjoy the music."
James just grins and nods. "They are quite good, aren't they?" He's quiet for about five seconds, and I just start to believe he's actually going to let me relax, when he pipes up again. "Y'know, I bet the poor sod has never even heard anything like this before. Probably thinks the only good music is the sound of bones breaking."
"I'm gonna break your bones if you don't shut up," I retort, unable to hide the laugh in my words.
"Do you think he ever gets tired of brooding all the time? Like, do you think his face is stuck that way?" James soldiers on, "I'm surprised he hasn't started writing poetry. Then again, his idea of expressing his feelings is probably just grunting and hitting things."
"Is this you thirsting over him or something?" I lift a brow. "You seem a bit obsessed."
"Hey, any fool can see his temper isn't the only thing hot about him," he retorts lightning-fast. I can't help but laugh, and I can't tell if my annoyance is stronger toward him, or toward myself for encouraging him.
He watches Fyr for a couple more seconds and sighs dreamily. "I heard that Fyr once punched a murloc so hard, it flew clear across the entire ocean."
"First off, I don't know what that is," I take another big swig of ale. "Second, are you just trying to get all your insults out of your system now so that he doesn't murder you the second he gets back to the table?"
"I was actually saving my best ones for when he returns. You know, to really impress him."
He finally shifts and turns his chair forward like a normal person. I just sigh, still drinking from Fyr's mug and watching across the tavern. Fyr, as he talks, glances over in my direction. His eyes fall on James, then flick back to mine with a split-second air of curiosity, then back to the guard he's talking to.
James crosses his legs. "So then, how are you two lovebirds doing? About how many times did you have to throw yourself at him before he gave in, would you estimate?"
"What did I tell you about breaking bones, again?" I challenge him, an annoyed smirk pulling at my lips.
James just grins at me, and his hazel eyes flick from mine down to a spot on my neck. The smile falters. His gaze lingers for a little too long before I realize what he's staring at, and I casually move my long hair forward over my shoulder to cover it. But, it's too late, and realization flickers over his face.
"Hold on, what was that?" he leans forward in curiosity, resting his elbows on the table.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I shrug, watching as Fyr bids farewell to the guard and then heads over to talk to the bartender.
Sarcasm drips from his every word, "Oh sure, and I'm just hallucinating a brand new set of puncture marks on your neck that look suspiciously like your bounty hunter's fangs—and in not just one, but two places."
I just roll my eyes and look at him, biting back my smile. His imploring stare tells me he's reading me like a book.
"It's nothing."
"Really? Because it looks like blood-mating."
My cheeks turn pink. Great. James not only noticed the bites, but he also knows what they mean.
He lets out a whoosh of breath. "How does that work, exactly?" he asks, incredulous. "Have you got some elf ancestry I don't know about or something? Because I've never heard of that happening with a human."
I don't respond, because I'm not really sure what to even say. I take two large gulps of my drink, then realize I've finished it off as well. James is now staring at Fyr with an odd expression on his face. It's like he's seeing the guy in a new light, and his gears are turning. Then he looks over at me, studying me in the same way.
"So he, like, really loves you, then," he laughs. It's not a question, just more of a conclusion.
I don't understand how he reached that conclusion, not fully. I lean an elbow forward on the table and turn entirely toward James, suddenly interested, and speak in a hushed tone. "Okay, he had a conversation with his friend Edoril about it in the lounge this morning that I overheard, and Edoril was treating it like a huge deal, too. Why is it so crazy for him to do it?"
James lifts his brows, and then makes a face, like the topic is uncomfortable. "Well…"
"Is it bad?"
He lets out a breath in a whoosh. "It's…" James begins, but then his eyes flick behind me, and he lifts his chin in greeting.
Fyr is approaching us, holding three full mugs of ale. He sets them down and to my surprise slides one across to James before snagging a new chair on my other side to sit.
James catches the mug, and sends Fyr a hesitant nod of appreciation. Fyr just peers down at me.
"Everything alright?"
I'm certain he can feel my confusion right now, but I just shake it off and smile at him.
"Yeah. Thanks for the drink," I take one and sip it.
Fyr rests one arm over the back of my chair casually and looks across at James.
James returns the stare, looking a bit uncomfortable under Fyr's scrutiny, which is entertaining for me.
"Thanks," James says after a moment, lifting it up in a toast before taking a long swig. "So, Fyr, I was just telling Ava here about some of your feats of strength."
Fyr arches a suspicious eyebrow. "Oh?"
I sigh. "He was actually just being an idiot."
James puts a hand to his heart. "You wound me, my dear. Here I thought we were bonding."
"Over you insulting my mate?" I snort. Fyr's relaxed fingers angle down to caress my shoulder from where he'd rested his arm on my chair. I know he does it so I can feel our bond and sense the affection he's feeling toward me for calling him that. I also feel a trickle of pleasure run through me at his touch, and I reach my fingers up and intertwine them with his, relaxing my hand at my shoulder.
Fyr picks up his mug with his free hand and takes a drink, still relaxed. "Would you like me to share some of your feats of strength, Mr. Reid?"
I can tell from his tone and the humor and aggression through our bond that that's a clear as day threat. James just sends Fyr a grin, but there's also a challenge in his eyes, and he holds his arms out wide.
"I have nothing to hide at this table, my bounty-hunting friend. By all means."
"Well let's see," Fyr finally answers. "How about the time you swindled an entire merchants' guild in Lakeshire? Or the time you forged an invitation into a party and stole all the silver from the High King's hall?"
James makes a bored half-shrug and sips his ale. "Yeah, but see, those sound way worse than they actually were. The merchants' guild, I was just getting revenge for a friend. And the party was just to impress a girl I was seeing at that time."
"I'm sure she was very impressed when you made off with about fifty thousand gold's worth of royal wares," Fyr narrows his eyes.
James just smirks. "You know, I still can't figure out how they found out that was me."
"Because it didn't take a genius to figure it out," Fyr replies drily. "How many idiots do you know who have the balls to pull off a heist like that?"
"Oh, you'd be surprised at what desperation makes a person do," James laughs and glances over at me subtly, shifting his hips a bit in his seat in a way that almost seems suggestive. I'm pretty sure he's alluding to the first night he and I met, and I smirk and bite down the urge to throw my drink on him.
Fyr's eyes narrow further, and he tilts his head a bit, causing his neck to pop audibly. "How about the time you stole a warhorse out of the royal stables?" he tries, but James just leans back in his chair more.
"To be fair, the horse was bored and wanted to see the world," he says flippantly. "What else can you do when you have a horse that's smarter than most people? It's not technically theft, if you're liberating the animal from captivity."
"Well then, how about the time you stole all the gold from the Light's Temple donation box?" Fyr challenges. "Did that gold want to see the world, too?"
"No, but the priest was greedy and corrupt," James counters right back, leaning forward again and pointing his finger at Fyr. "Everyone in that town knew he spent most of the funds for himself, so I was really just doing a public service."
Fyr lifts another eyebrow and smirks. "So now you're morally justified in theft, and you're liberating oppressed animals from the shackles of captivity? Do I need to start calling you Saint James?"
Now, James is laughing outright and taking another glug of his ale. "I could start a religion and call it 'The Way of the Thief.'"
Fyr sighs, leaning his arm against the top of my chair and still resting his hand on my shoulder. "A cult, is more like it. You'd make an excellent priest." His voice drips with sarcasm.
James chortles. "Nah. The biggest difference between me and priests is that I know I'm a liar."
I'm amused to feel a hint of grudging admiration in Fyr's demeanor as he shakes his head. "So, what about the coin face molds you were caught and finally jailed for?"
"Total misunderstanding. I was merely transporting them to a safe location," James very obviously lies.
"Mmhmm," Fyr nods, pretending to agree. "And these are only the crimes the bounty hunters were informed of."
"'Tis all in the past," James swishes a hand through the air dismissively. "I'm a changed man these days."
"Oh, really?" Fyr and I both ask at the same time, and more amusement ripples back and forth between us. I can't tamp down the gratified smile that splays on my face at how in-tune I am with Fyr. It's an incredible feeling.
James just leans back in his chair and gives us both a disgruntled expression. "Oh, this is going to be just great, both of you clicking together like a pair of Tushui-tongs."
I try to make an educated guess of what he's talking about, but he gets there first.
"That's chopsticks, for our foreigner," James interjects, giving me a nod.
Fyr tilts his head at this, but doesn't say anything.
I lean forward. "So, James, care to finally tell me what you're actually doing here in Dalaran?"
"I'm just here to admire the architecture."
I keep staring at him. He laughs.
"What, a man can't have secrets? And here, you called me obsessed."
Fyr speaks up before I can retort. "I'm told you and Ava had a run-in this morning as well. If you insist on making a habit of inserting yourself, you could do the courtesy of giving her some context."
"A run-in indeed," James arches his brows. "And did she tell you about the street urchin who tried robbing her of her garments? Emphasis on tried. Remind me to never cross you," he winks at me.
Fyr gives a small nod. "Don't think I didn't notice you changing the subject, but yes, she is quite capable."
"She iced and then kicked a man in the face," James twirls a coin through his fingers that I didn't even see him retrieve. "I think 'ruthless' has a better ring to it."
"I'm pretty sure I kicked his chest," I correct him.
"Semantics. Looked like his face from where I was watching." James leans forward. "Not that you even needed to; the simple sight of your magic alone had him quaking." He takes a sip of his drink and cocks his head. "You know, I do find it quite curious you're from a world without magic and yet possess and wield it so easily. I'm envious, honestly. The things I would do with some spells up my sleeve…"
Fyr cocks his head. "You know you're in the magic capital of the world, right? You could just, I don't know, go out and learn it."
James shakes his head. "I don't have a magical bone in my body. Believe me, I've bloody tried. I can perform a few shadow tricks, stealthing and shrouding, but that's about it."
I can tell he doesn't believe him. "No magic at all?"
"Nope."
"...Are you sure you did it correctly?" Fyr smirks.
"Yes, I'm sure," James grunts. "I'm just magically muted."
Fyr chews the inside of his lip for a few moments. "Why?"
James holds his hands out to the sides with a hopeless shrug, but the glance he sends toward me in that split second makes me think he's not being entirely honest.
Fyr drops the interrogation. "Well, I suppose that's for the best. Wouldn't want you having even more capability to defraud people."
James just laughs, looking almost wistful. "Aye, but it would be glorious."
Just then, the band picks up with a faster-paced tune, with almost a latin-style rhythm. I feel a rush of enjoyment and an urge to get up and move to the music, and this time, I've had a lot more ale, and my urge is quite a bit stronger. Fyr senses it and tugs me up to stand, and twirls me out onto the floor with him as I laugh openly. With the music, the energy, the drink, and the incredible bond that flows between me and my mate, I know this night could not be any better.
Before sunrise, I'm awoken by a loud, irritating knock at the door of our suite. Stumbling over my own shoes and clothes that I'd drunkenly thrown onto the floor late last night, I receive a hand-delivered note from a messenger summoning me to Khadgar's library, and I go to rouse Fyr. He's already awake thanks to how non-graceful I'd been in answering the door, and he sends me a smirk and takes the note from my hands to read it.
When we arrive at the library, it's mid-morning, and the scent of green tea hits my nose as we push through the heavy doors. Khadgar is there, tea in hand, as well as a few other humans I don't recognize: there's a middle-aged woman, and two men who look to be in their thirties. Khadgar welcomes us in with a smile and pours both of us a cup of tea, which I accept gratefully. The air this morning was cold, and the warmth feels heavenly on my creaky fingers. I also haven't had any coffee, and I keep yawning, so hopefully this caffeine will jumpstart my mildly hungover brain.
"So, Ava," Khadgar begins. "I'm assuming our goal today will be to discuss how you plan to connect your two worlds together for long enough to be able to speak with your family, yes?"
"Um, yeah I suppose," I nod, speaking through a yawn and glancing at the three other people sitting in armchairs curiously, but Khadgar doesn't introduce them yet.
"I wanted to let you know I have an idea for how to achieve this." He walks over to a nearby table and picks up two small round red orbs, one in each hand. "These are scrying stones. They are connected by magic, and can be used for communication over vast distances. Observe." He tosses one of the stones, and I startle and catch it.
He holds his in his palm for a few seconds, mutters something, and then a full slightly-faded hologram of him holding the stone appears right in front of me, projected out of my own stone. I yelp in surprise and nearly drop it, but Fyr steadies my shoulder with one hand, and I blink. Peering past it, I can see that Khadgar's stone is now projecting me out of it too, in real time.
"Holy shit," I blurt. I hear my own voice come out of the hologram by Khadgar. One of the men in the armchairs smirks at my language.
"I believe," Khadgar says, "that if we can get one of these to your mother, it would be a permanent means of communication."
"So…how?"
"Well," he sets down his stone, causing the hologram to vanish, "We need to locate her, which is where things get a bit tricky. Our first step will be to create a portal that opens into Earth and is stable before we can do anything else."
"And then what? Use like, a locator spell or something?"
Khadgar shakes his head. "Unless you have something that belongs to her, I doubt we will be able to do that."
I sigh. "It would all be a whole hell of a lot easier if I could just freaking call her, honestly."
Khadgar doesn't understand what I mean by this, but I'm not paying attention to that. I've frozen in place, eyes wide with realization.
"I…maybe I could call her."
"Call?" He lifts a brow.
"With my phone. I don't have it with me, it's back in my purse. It's useless here. But maybe it won't be if we have a portal open?"
I've completely lost Khadgar at this point, and I laugh. "Sorry. It's basically like your scrying stones, but using our technology from Earth and a series of towers that put out a signal. If it has access to Earth, it might get enough signal service to call her so I can speak with her."
Khadgar looks perplexed, but he catches on quickly, thinking about it more. Then he's nodding in agreement with his own reasoning. "The only question then is if we can get the portal open in the first place. That is where I believe my guests here will be of some use." He gestures to the three people sitting in the armchairs, who stand and introduce themselves to me while Khadgar speaks. "They are from your world. From Earth. A fourth is on the way as well this morning, just running late."
My brows arch in surprise as I realize these are the contacts Khadgar had taken the time to gather.
The middle-aged woman steps forward. "I am Dr. Angela Green," she says in a pleasant voice, extending her hand out to shake mine. "And you must be Ava." I squeeze her hand and nod back, a bit dazed.
"That's right."
The other two men introduce themselves as Mosi, a tall man with broad features, and Daniel, who is closer to my height with pale skin and freckles. Dr. Green gives me a slight smile. "Mosi is originally from New Brunswick. Daniel, Chicago. I am from Vermont."
I blink twice, then again. "Right. Holy shit." It's been ages since I've spoken to anyone who knows a thing about my world, and to converse with this person who just flat out says she's from the same country as me is bizarre. Mentions of Canada and Chicago, like it's not the first time I've heard reference to anything from Earth in months and months. It forces everything to suddenly be ten times more real here.
Dr. Green seems to sense my struggle and offers me a sympathetic look before Khadgar steps in again before any of us can respond.
"I'd like to thank you all for coming. Your magical signatures will be crucial in taking our first steps in pinpointing how to open a portal to Earth for Ava. While teleportation has been used between the two worlds, portals have never been done before, so this will be a bit of an adventure."
Mosi nods, smiling. "We're happy to be of assistance."
The other two nod, too. Khadgar smiles back at them.
"Right. Well, the first thing that we need to try and accomplish is identifying your specific magical signatures. They're like fingerprints, sort of. Part of your identities. I can take some readings from each of you and overlay them, and try to find a common denominator that will help me track your world's identifying signature."
Khadgar disappears behind some shelves for a few moments, then returns with a small device that fits in the palm of his hand, as well as a few sheets of paper and an ink quill that levitates beside him, following him through the air. The device whirs and hums softly, and he hands it to Daniel first and sets the papers on the table, letting the quill begin to start inscribing onto one of the papers at a furious pace. No one else bats an eye at this, and I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to give away how ignorant I feel.
Khadgar opens his mouth to speak, but just then, the library doors behind us open with a muffled creak, and a familiar voice sounds playfully behind me.
"So sorry I'm late. Had some business to wrap up at the counting house."
I whip around in my seat to see James Reid striding in, dressed in his leathers, and my brain short circuits in confusion.
"Oh, there you are!" He smiles at me playfully and plops down on the far side of the space on an open couch, leaning back as if he owns the place. I stare at him quietly for a moment, and then let my breath out. He stares back at me, a slight grin playing on his face.
"You look confused," he says with amusement, and I nod, and then glance over at Fyr, who's also staring blankly at the man.
"What are you doing here?" I ask slowly.
Khadgar lifts a brow as he shuffles some papers. "You two know each other?"
I stare at Khadgar now. "You two know each other?"
"Young James here is one of the four I summoned," Khadgar answers simply. I turn and stare at the mischievous expression on the rogue's face as Khadgar clarifies, "One of the four from Earth."