And at the end of the cycling memories, he was wrenched from one nightmare to another when his mind centered and settled on one thing.
The Sorcerit, Lunara.
A heavy sigh escaped and he let his arms flop to the mattress, his stare fixing on the stars twinkling above through the glass dome of his tower chamber.
Without the strangling blindness of urgency, or the distraction of drama and duty…
In full light and with the blessed, knee-buckling knowledge that Baldrir would be fine…
That mysterious, luminous creature had utterly leveled him.
When they’d found her fast asleep in the great hall, face hidden in the arms cradling her head, it had merely been charming. Brand had chuckled along with everyone else—right before he’d noticed the moonlight mixing with the glow of the stones to gild a chestnut riot of teeming waves and curls in liquid gold and silver. It had spilled over the chair, the table, the curves of her body.
He’d become transfixed, dumbfounded by the seemingly infinite lengths as it cascaded down and nearly kissed the floor.
That is, until she’d popped up in a breathless rush, curtseyed like a drunken dockhand, and lifted her face to greet them. Then, he’d discovered that her spectacular mane crowned a visage that was every wondrous dream he’d ever had come true.
A single, harried glimpse of her eyes had already been haunting too many of his waking moments. Finally beholding all of her?
Shite. He’d be lucky if he could think of anything else with more than half his attention ever again.
He could almost convince himself that she’d been just as enthralled, but Lyriat had cleared his throat and the connection in one, fell swoop. His questions afterwards had only given Brand more time to sink further and further within.
Now, Brand couldn’t be sure if he’d imagined the small hitch in her breath, or whether her body had actually leaned towards his in that suspended moment.
It had been decades since he’d frozen up so badly, incapable of a single sentence for hours on end. And it never reallybothered him when potential lovers walked away, nothing said or gained. They didn’t pull at him or consume his thoughts. They were gone, and it was done.
Brand dealt with people all day long, for fucks’ sake. He didn’t necessarily enjoy it, but he was able to handle whatever he needed to. Something abouther,in particular, had him tied in knots.
Oh, he’d tried. Countless questions and comments had been perched right on the tip of his tongue. But, as soon as the air was in his lungs to speak them, the words got stuck in his throat, refusing to leave.
Instead, he’d sat there mesmerized as she’d quietly bloomed, revealing a sharp wit and sly mouth. He’d heard the Nachthellian accent all his life—a cousin, of sorts, to those in Thodelebor—but never once had it sounded like a lilting lullaby, magic and music in every syllable.
Who was he kidding? Her husky voice was bloody temptation incarnate, and it was his own damned fault it had never beendirected at him, because he’d practically sprinted from the great hall at the earliest possible moment.
His name, that’s all he wanted. Just to hear it one time, uttered in those dulcet tones, so he could finally focus on all the rest of the shite piling up.
Weak, pre-dawn light was already filtering through the dome and windows to suck every color from the room, transforming his furniture into eerie grey sentinels, watching him from their deep grooves of shadow.
Damn it.
Brand groaned and gave up on sleep entirely. Dragging himself out of bed, he crossed the wooden floorboards straight to the balcony doors and flung them open, drawing the salty air into himself with deep pulls.
Leaning against the balustrade, he forced his mind to calm while the land came to life in time with the rising sunstar—birds twittering from their tree branch homes, the sienna mountains glowing with dawn’s fire, fishing boats dotting the sea in the distance one by one—until raucous voices reached up from the castle grounds to steal his peace.
With no idea what the day ahead would hold, it was almost impossible to focus. But, if he hurried, he might at least be able to catch Lunara for a moment alone before anyone else claimed her attention.
The hold she had on his thoughts…
There was a possible explanation for why he was responding to her so strongly. For why she—unlike any before her—would suddenly inspire him to attempt pushing past his usual reserve for a single chance to speak with her.
A cosmic, intangible calling that was almost too wonderful to consider.
Brand swore under his breath. Aldiat and Frida’s mating was addling his thoughts, and he was getting ahead of himself.
Still…
It wouldn’t be too difficult to find out for sure. Then again, it would require actually speaking to Lunara, and then getting to know her in order toknow.
