AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I tell him of my own life, my losses. Of my mother's death, my father's decline into drink and despair. Of the rage, the restlessness, that drove me to pick up a blade, to throw myself into a cause not my own...just to feel something, anything, beyond the howling void inside.
We speak of the war, the ancient enmities that have riven our peoples for generations beyond counting. Of how, in each other, we've found a bridge across that bitter divide. A way forward, towards peace, that we scarcely dared dream possible before.
But now...now, with every touch, every whispered word, every shared breath...that dream feels achingly near. Inevitable, inexorable, as the turning of the seasons, the wheeling of the stars.
As this fledgling, unfurling thing between us, mighty and miraculous. This love, vast as oceans, that could reshape the very world in its wake...if only we're strong enough, brave enough, to grip it tight.
To fight for it, come what may.
And oh, but I am ready for that fight. Ready and raring, a wildfire raging in my breast, my blood. Because he is mine now, this savage, soulful male.
And I'll raze cities, rend the very heavens to keep him. To hold him, and be held, just like this. Battered and bruised, broken open and remade in each other's arms.
Forever.
Late one night, as Grok sleeps and I drowse in a hard chair beside the bed...a noise jolts me to instant, adrenaline-fueled alertness. A rustling, a snapping twig, just outside the cottage walls.
I'm on my feet in a heartbeat, reaching for my sword with a hand that barely trembles. At my back, I hear Grok stir, a low rumble of alarm in his chest. But I hiss at him to be still, stay silent.
Cracked or not, I'll be thrice-damned if I let anything or anyone threaten him, harm him. Not now. Not ever again.
On silent feet, I stalk to the door, blade at the ready. With a deep, steadying breath, I set my shoulders...and wrench the door open in one violent motion.
A familiar figure stumbles back with a startled oath, hands flying up in instinctive surrender. I blink, not quite trusting my sleep-deprived eyes. Surely it can't be...
"Thane?"
My brother—for it is him, unmistakably—looks haggard, careworn, but his smile is true as he slowly lowers his hands. "Hello, little sister," he says softly. "You're a damn hard woman to track down, you know that?"
I stare at him in mute, frozen shock for a long, slow heartbeat. Then, with a low, wild sound, I fling myself into his arms, sword falling forgotten from my suddenly numb fingers.
He catches me tight, crushing me to his chest as I shake and shake, great gulping sobs wrenching up from some deep, dark place inside me. "Thane," I rasp brokenly into the familiar scratch of his jerkin. "Thane, gods and ancestors, is it really you? How, why are you here, how did you find me?"
"Shh," he soothes, big hands rubbing circles on my back, gentle as when we were children and he comforted me after skinned knees and schoolyard squabbles. "Shh, Lily-bud, it's alright. I'm here. I'm here and I've got you."
I don't know how long I weep, a lifetime's worth of tears and terrors pouring out in great, gasping waves. All the fear, the pain, the desperate, clawing need...that I've held tight inside, refused to release, refused to feel...for Grok's sake, my own.
But Thane takes it, accepts it, his arms an unshakable bulwark. My blood, my bedrock. As my sobs slowly subside, Thane guides me back into the cottage, one arm still firm around my shoulders. I stiffen as his gaze lands on Grok, a low growl rumbling instinctively in my raw throat.
But to my shock, Thane merely inclines his head respectfully, his expression grave but kind. "Warlord Grok," he says softly. "I'm glad to see you alive, if not entirely well. My sister has been..." He clears his throat, a shadow passing over his face. "Well. It's been a hard road for you both, I know."
Grok struggles to sit up straighter, wincing but facing my brother with unbowed pride. "Thane Hawthorne," he rumbles, his deep voice rusty with disuse. "Well met, for all the strangeness of the circumstances." His eyes cut to me, warm with concern. "Lily...are you alright?"
I disengage gently from Thane's hold to cross to Grok, taking his big hand in both of mine. "I'm fine," I assure him, managing a wavery smile. "Better than, now." I glance over my shoulder at my brother, a question in my eyes. "Thane...how? Why? Not that I'm not thrilled, overjoyed to see you, but..."
He sighs, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. "It's a long story," he says wryly. "And one perhaps best told over a hot meal. You look half-starved, sister. Both of you."
He unslings a bulging pack from his shoulder, pulling out parcels of travel bread, hard cheese, dried meat. My stomach rumbles eagerly at the sight, my mouth flooding with sudden saliva.
When was the last time I ate? I can barelu remember, every waking thought consumed by Grok, his needs, his care.
As if reading my mind, my love squeezes my hand, his gaze soft with gentle reproach. "Eat, Lily," he urges quietly. "Please. You've been wearing yourself to the bone tending me. Let me—let us—return the favor now, just a little."
Thane hums agreement as he sets out the food, pours ale from a skin into dented tankards. "Grok has the right of it," he says, not unkindly. "You'll be no good to anyone if you run yourself into the ground, Lily-bud. Least of all him."
I huff and grumble, but allow the two males to bully me into stuffing myself with bread and cheese, gulping down great fortifying swallows of ale. And I have to admit...it helps, the food sitting warm and heavy in my hollow belly, the alcohol buzzing through my blood.
Thane tells his tale as we eat, Grok and I listening intently. He speaks of the battle's aftermath, the retreat to Thornhall. Of taking command in my absence, rallying our battered forces. Of the debates, the dissent that followed—some calling for retaliation, others for parlay in the wake of this uneasy truce, this shaky cease-fire.
