Veins of Magic

by Emma Hamm

  He leaned back and arched a brow. “I forgot how demanding you were.”

  Sorcha yanked his braid so hard that his head jerked backwards. “I’m insulted you forgot anything at all.”

  “I didn’t forget your taste.” He leaned forward and licked her lips. “Sunshine and strawberries.”

  He fumbled with the clasp of his belt to free himself. Sorcha braced, knowing it had been a long time and that he was a considerably large man. But then, he hesitated.

  Eamonn brushed her curls from her forehead and pressed a kiss against her temple. “Are you sure? There’s plenty of soft moss to cushion your back, and time before the others find us.”

  This was why she adored him. Sorcha’s eyes drifted and a smile burst free. “Yes, yes this is what I want.”

  “Thank the gods.”

  Her thighs clenched hard around his hips as he plunged inside her with one swift stroke. She had dreamed of this moment so many times but no dream could replicate the feeling of his hands so gentle on her hips. The crystals slashing across his abdomen rubbed against her belly with each grind of his hips against hers. He whispered endearments in her ears with each flex of his muscles.

  “My sunshine,” he groaned. “My light.”

  She framed his face and brought his lips to hers in a kiss so delicate it was painful. “Yours.”

  There was no way to get closer to him, and yet she wanted to. She dug her nails into his back, catching on new wounds. So much pain laced across his skin, but she could provide him a haven.

  Her toes pointed, her head tilted back to brace against the tree.

  “Eamonn,” she gasped.

  He traced his palm up the arch of her spine. Cupping the back of her neck, he pressed his lips to hers again. “I can't lose myself in you.”

  “Who says you can’t?”

  The groaned response was little more than noise, and he quickened his strokes. Each time, he came closer and closer to touching her very soul.

  Unexpectedly, light exploded behind her eyes. The orgasm happened so fast she hadn’t felt it building. Stars fell from the sky and burst free from her skin in one clenching moment that had her holding her breath.

  He growled and buried his face in her shoulder as he found his own release.

  Panting, she tightened her hold on him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tight she could barely breathe. As she stared up into the dappled green leaves above them, she wondered how she would ever let him go again.

  Her thighs clenched hard around his hips, drawing him ever closer. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment she let go, he would disappear again. Tears pricked her eyes.

  “Please let this be real.” She pressed the words against the crown of his head. “Please tell me this isn’t a dream and you won't disappear the moment I look at you again.”

  “Let us both hope this is not a dream for I would surely not survive the waking.”

  “Don’t say that. Not so soon after you almost died.”

  “I cannot die.”

  “You aren’t invincible, Eamonn.”

  “I am with you at my side.”

  He pulled back, and she looked upon his beloved face with fearful love. She traced his wounded brow.

  “Your eye,” she gasped.

  “It is nothing.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No more than the others.”

  Sorcha could see the pain in his eyes. He was afraid she would reject him for his differences. And she had forgotten how much his past influenced his future.

  She leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss against his brow. She hoped the butterfly touch would heal the scars on his heart.

  “I am sorry for your pain.”

  His fingers flexed against her sides. “Mo chroí.”

  “Eamonn, don’t get mad at me for what I’m about to do.”

  “How could I grow angry with you now?”

  She drew back just enough to cock her arm back and slap him across the face so hard that the crystals on his cheek sliced through her palm.

  He flinched and lifted a hand to his cheek. “What was that for, you mad woman?”

  “Don’t you ever force me to leave your side again!”

  “There was a battle! You would have died if you stayed!”

  “And that is not your choice!” Her shout echoed through the glen. “If you get to risk your life for me, then I get to do the same. And if you try to do that again I will find a way to put a sword through your heart.”

  He blinked at her in shock. “Did you just threaten me?”

  “Never take away a woman’s choice to stand by her man. Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you.”

  “Say it again.”

  “I hear you, my fierce druid priestess.” He traced the outline of her lips with his thumb.

  “I mean it, Eamonn. Never again.”

  “I will always put myself as your shield. I have to protect those I cherish. And you are my heart, Sunshine.”

  His words dug into her ribs, wiggling their way through the icy exterior she had erected. “Then let me walk beside you and heal every wound.”

  Their lips clung together, breath mingling until all her tongue stung with mint.

  “I am so glad to have you back.”

  “As am I.”

  He pressed his forehead against hers, rolling back and forth until the crystals made her wince. Only then did he step back, lowering her legs to the ground gently and holding on as her balance reset.

  Moss sank between her toes. When had her shoes fallen off? She glanced around, looking for the worn slippers that had kept her feet warm all winter.

  “Looking for these?”

  Eamonn held them dangling from his fingertips.

  “Yes,” Sorcha said while holding out her hand.

  “They’re so tiny.”

  “I imagine they would be to you, I’m a lot smaller than most Fae.” She hopped, trying to grab them out of his hand.

  He let the slippers drop into her waiting hands. Sorcha marveled at how easy it was to slide back into this life. She had thought it would be harder, more difficult to connect with him.

  It was as if she had never left.

  Hopping on one foot, she pulled her shoes on. “What’s happened while I’ve been gone?”

  “I could ask you the same question.” He waited until she was standing again before pulling her into his arms and carrying her to the stump.

  Eamonn settled with her in his lap, his hands playing with the dip of her waist. She couldn’t stop touching him either. Every new cut needed exploring, and she couldn’t see all of him.

  She sank her fingers into his hair and pulled hard. “What happened on the isle?”

  “Fionn overran the castle. His men cut through most of ours, beloved people fell because they didn’t have sword or weapon.”

  “How did you get out?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head, dislodging her fingers from the crown of his head. “I don’t remember it. Oona says I drew Ocras and took care of the problem, but will not tell me any more.”

  “Blood lust?” She had heard of such a thing in the legends, but hadn’t thought it was real. Worry knotted her stomach as if a fist closed around it.

  “Far worse than that, little sunshine. He retreated to the edge of the isle, but was obviously gathering his forces for another attack. There were so few left we fled into the Otherworld. There were many hard months as we struggled to find a new home.”

  “I thought our people couldn’t return to the Otherworld? You said banishment is forever.”

  “It is, until the High King of the Seelie Fae decrees they are absolved.”

  Sorcha stopped breathing. She hadn’t thought it possible such a thing was possible, although she was ashamed she hadn’t thought of it herself. He was the eldest son, the rightful heir to the throne.

  “You took a great risk,” she said while shaking her head.

  “I kne
w I was meant to be king from the moment I first took breath.”

  “You chose to forsake that life.”

  “That doesn’t mean I cannot take it back.”

  His palms smoothed down her spine to calm her. But her brows furrowed all the same, and her gut twisted. “Eamonn, it will not be easy to take this path. Your brother won’t give up, your people will be confused. You’re suggesting splitting your people in two.”

  “I know that very well. I’ve spent the last five years fighting to regain independence and my throne.”

  “How has that worked for you?”

  “I’m still in a forest, without throne or crown.”

  Sorcha had thought as much. She wracked her mind for an idea, something she could say to help. But she was thoroughly out of her element. A peasant girl from Ui Neill knew little to help a faerie king.

  She cleared her throat. “What steps have you taken thus far?”

  “I have an army of dwarves, and the few gnomes who have come to help the cause.” He shook his head, lips twisting to the side in disappointment. “It is a very small army with little ability to fight Tuatha dé Danann and elves. Luck is not on our side.”

  “You’re meeting them head on?”

  “How else would you have me fight?”

  She toyed with his braid, pulling it over his shoulder and rubbing the silken strands between her fingertips. “I wouldn’t have you fight at all. You’re a king, should this not be solved through the courts?”

  “This is not something my brother and I can talk about.”

  “Why not?”

  “He will not give up the throne.”

  She rubbed the fine strands between her fingers again, trying to remember all the legends and myths of the Fae. Sorcha had never been the storyteller. She much preferred using her hands to listening, and tended to doze off when the ballads were sung.

  Sorcha wracked her mind for any story which might fit, settling on a legend she’d heard long ago. Cormac Ulfada, a wise High King of the human race, and his many intelligent decisions to keep his throne.

  Her eyes glinted as an idea formed. “He doesn’t have to.”

  Eamonn tilted his head to the side and regarded her with a curious expression. “What do you have brewing in that mind of yours?”

  “These are your people, Eamonn. You have proven yourself to be the high king. Fionn has no real claim to the throne. Why should you have to fight for what is yours?”

  "That is what we do. We fight for what is ours."

  "But what if you didn't have to fight? What if your people made the choice for you? They will follow you without a war, without blood, without death. All you have to do, is give them the option to follow a more worthy leader."

  He blinked at her in shock. “Just how much did you learn while you were gone?”

  “Learn? I have been home with my father and my sisters.”

  “Are they well?” Eamonn stroked her chin, worry painting fine lines across his forehead.

  “They live.”

  “You cured the plague, didn't you?”

  The proud expression on his face filled her heart near to bursting. He believed in her when her own family hadn’t thought she could make miracles happen.

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  “I always knew you would.”

  “With no help from you.”

  “Did you need my help?”

  Sorcha shook her head. “No, apparently not.”

  He traced a finger down her forehead to the tip of her nose. “You have never needed me to cure the plague. You’re perfectly capable of saving your own people.”

  “Am I supposed to say the same thing to you?”

  “It would be appreciated.”

  “I don’t agree with you, Eamonn. All this death seems unnecessary. How many people have to die before you trade thrones?”

  He sighed and buried his face in her neck. She felt the hard press of his lips against her collarbone. “This is not something a human could comprehend. Tuatha dé Danann do not give up, and Fionn has desired the throne his entire life. He’s not going to welcome me into his castle with a smile.”

  “Have you tried speaking to him?”

  “Enough, Sorcha. Let me enjoy having you back in my arms for a few moments before you try to heal all my wounds.”

  She hugged him closer, her mind whirling with thoughts. Fionn had obviously been concerned about Eamonn’s whereabouts. If he was invading her dreams, then he had an inkling his twin was closer than he wished. But just how close was Eamonn?

  “Are we near the Castle of Light?”

  He heaved a sigh. “Right above it, mo chroí. So close to my family home I can feel its magic in the air.”

  “What are you planning, Eamonn?” Her heart beat hard in her chest, so rapidly that he tapped his finger on her skin in time to the beats.

  “Another battle to end all battles. I cannot keep fighting him like this. He has an endless amount of soldiers and they continue to draw closer and closer to our location.”

  “Then you need to find a stronghold.”

  “A stronghold?” He leaned back and stared into her eyes. “First you declare I must speak with him, and then you suggest a stronghold?”

  “What about the Castle of Light makes it so special?” she asked. “Is it powerful? Are there people there who would aid you? Or is it merely the familial ties?”

  “There is nothing special about the castle.”

  “Then let us find a new castle. A new place where those who have been wronged may flee.” She scooted up in his lap, plans already forming. “If you refuse to speak with him, then build your army out of those who willingly fight for the cause. Spread word that you exist. That the high king wants to return to the throne.”

  “You are suggesting a coup.”

  “I’m suggesting much more than that,” she said, excited as the idea formed. “I’m suggesting you create a second throne. A higher throne.”

  “I like the way you think.”

  “Not every man would listen to a woman.”

  “I know better than to ignore the wisdom of women. Though I do not always agree with you, mo chroí, I will never dismiss your opinions.”

  Her heart swelled with happiness.

  Eamonn smiled, wolfish and full of mischief. “Now, why don’t we stop thinking for a while?”

  He tilted her back until her spine hit the soft moss. Prowling after her, he settled between her legs and smiled.

  She grinned back, happiness bubbling in her chest. “The moss is comfortable.”

  “I wouldn’t put you anywhere else.”

  “The sun is warm.”

  “It sees you and smiles.”

  “You feel so familiar,” she said in wonderment and lifted a hand to touch the new crystals near his eye. “And yet, so different as well.”

  “No more talking, mo chroí.”

  She didn’t for a while as she found each new wound and left her mark on his body once again.

  “Here you are, dearie.”

  “Thank you, Oona.” Sorcha took the offered bowl filled with rabbit stew. The mere scent of it made her stomach rumble. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten, but that was what came with the job of healing.

  They all sat around a small fire. Boggart sat in her lap, Cian and Oona bickering over the right way to cook rabbit. Sorcha had grieved with them when she first arrived. They had lost so many. Now, they all gathered to eat and forge their bonds all over again.

  Small fires crackled in the shadow of the mountain range around them. Clusters of dwarves formed around each flame, little mingling occurring this late at night. Family groups, Sorcha guessed. The dwarves were silent folk and weren’t interested in speaking with her.

  Although, they were far more intuitive than the other faeries she had met.

  A small female dwarf stumbled into Sorcha as she arrived, snorted, and muttered, “Now there are druids 'ere too?”

  Sorc
ha had stared after her in shock.

  They stayed away from her after that. She didn’t know if dwarves were among those that banished her people in the first place, but she guessed it was likely they were a part of the decision. Druids were fearsome creatures to the Fae. Humans capable of magic defied all logic.

  She tucked into the stew and tried to find Eamonn in the crowd. He slipped into his warlord visage as soon as he set foot in the camp. All of his attention poured into catching up with the dwarves he called “generals.” She thought it more likely they were heads of their families.

  Boggart tugged on her sleeve and pointed.

  Sorcha followed the direction of Boggart’s jabbing finger, finding the same female dwarf at the edge of the shadows. She didn’t look frightened, but something else entirely. She was watching Sorcha with a hard gaze.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Are you hurt?” Sorcha asked. “I’m a healer.”

  “Druids don’t 'eal dwarves.”

  “You have a problem because I have druid blood?”

  “Your kind makes poor decisions. I remember the stories of when you 'ad free access to the Otherworld. Stealing magical objects. Using them against each other until you accidentally killed an important faerie. I know all of it, and I don’t trust you.”

  “Well,” Sorcha put her bowl to the side and hugged Boggart tighter in her embrace. “Perhaps it would set your mind at ease to know I do not follow the old ways. I was not raised a druid, and magic is very new to me.”

  “Is it?” The dwarf nodded at her bowl. “Then why did you leave a bit of food?”

  “I’m no longer hungry.”

  The little woman crossed her eyes and flicked her beard over her shoulder. “Go on. Do what you want to do with it. I’ll watch to make sure you aren’t up to any funny business.”

  “I don’t want to do anything with it.”

  But that was a lie. The dwarf was reading her mind, Sorcha realized. Her fingers itched to pick the bowl back up and throw the remnants into the fire. She had always done that, even as a child. She always tossed leftovers into the flames, even food someone else might eat.

  Words bloomed in her mind like the ink that appeared on the papers of her books. Baring her teeth in a grimace, she picked up the bowl and flicked the remaining food into the flames of the campfire.