How disturbing.
“We don’t have life magic, I’m afraid. We have to resort to other...more barbaric methods.” He says barbaric in its Elvish form, and Elowyn looks sheepishly up at him as a trickle of blood seeps from her wound.
Whistling wind. It’s still bleeding.
“I’m sorry Tharios isn’t here to heal you,” Rominy says softly as he runs a knuckle along her jaw. “Our methods probably do seem primitive compared to what you’re used to. But it’s going to be all right. I promise.”
Thoughts of Tharios twist something in her heart, and she leans into Rominy as he pulls her close. The press of his solid chest and muscled arms floods her with memories of their shared kisses, and heat fills her.
She barely harnessed her fire magic when he pulled her into that second kiss. Could he taste the fire and water warring within her? Viala says she can taste Tharios’s magic.
Viala is Lothlesi, though. Not human. Can humans taste elven magic?
“You still smell like smoke and waterfalls,” Rominy murmurs against her hair.
“You can smell my magic?”
When he nuzzles the tip of her ear, her knees almost betray her, but he holds her steady so she doesn’t fall.
“I can definitely smell it.”
“And...can you taste it?” She hazards a glance at his face and almost catches fire at the intensity of his gaze.
“You taste like sparks and waterfalls. I can’t even begin to understand it. But I love it.”
Unbidden, her eyes dart to his lips, and his heart speeds up. Dried blood mars the hint of facial hair on his jaw, and she lifts a finger to trace the crimson path from his lip to his chin.
He threw himself in front of that bigoted man the way he did with the dragon.
Just as he did with that madman of a doctor.
No thinking. Just...reacting. To protect her. With no care for himself.
Her finger finds its way to his lips, tracing the fullness of his lower lip. The dip of his upper one. He doesn’t move. He’s barely breathing. What little air he exhales is cool against her tingling hand.
“You’re so warm,” he whispers.
Whistling wind. She floods the heat filling her with traces of her water magic, and liquid beads on her palm.
“What did you just do?” he asks. “I felt it. You’re cooler now.”
Gazing into his eyes, she traces the line between his brows, followed by his left brow and his right one. “You ignite my fire magic, Rominy. I have to keep dousing the flame so I don’t catch us both on fire.”
His throat bobs at her words, and she twirls a tendril of his golden-brown hair around her finger.
“You burn hot...because of me?” he breathes.
“Does that surprise you?”
It shouldn’t. He’d be a catch for any woman. The way he set aside every thought for himself to bind with her and protect their kingdoms and her mother just adds to the wonder of who he is.
“I’ve never thought of myself as heat-inducing,” he murmurs as he leans into her touch.
Her fingers slide through the hair at his temple, and she trails her thumb along the curve of his ear. So round. And clearly far less sensitive than an elf ear.
“Then you’ve never truly seen yourself,” she says.
His eyes are so beautiful. Such a light brown—almost golden.
