Page 48 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

He chuckled. “Key lime is my favorite, too. Centuries ago, Idunn gave me her recipe.” His voice rose in volume, sending a dark scowl at his two guards. “I was rudely interrupted while baking one, and now it’s nothing more than a pile of ash.”

Turning back to her, he shook his head. “You will always be in control. Spells may go haywire sometimes, but your magic is a part of you, and only you can wield it. You are of the light, and your soul is filled with goodness and love. No, my dear, it will not consume you. Now, before Cyran's soul travels too far into your mother’s realm, you must retrieve it.”

A mixture of emotions whirled through her, and she tightened her grip on Cyran’s still chest, knowing his heart had not beat during their entire conversation. Fear for what she was about to do swamped her. Overriding that was the terror of losing him—as if she stood at the edge of a high cliff.

Her body swayed, and the mist-covered valley so far below sharpened until she could see the icy ground through the thick clouds. Gathering what was left of her fragile strength, she stepped over the precipice and drew on the powers she had kept bottled up for so long.

Instead of overwhelming her and taking over, it flowed through her like a soothing summer breeze, filling every empty nook and cranny inside her. Memories of her youth flooded her mind, and the few times her mother had spent with her in Helheimr surfaced.

Turning wide eyes to her grandfather, she inhaled a stuttery breath. “I remember… Why did I forget? How could I forget my mother’s touch—her loving embrace?”

“The magic you are drawing on is tied to her. Your father gifted you a different type of magic, which is equally strong to your mother’s, but his comes from the light while your mother’s is that of death. You are the best of both your parents—maybe stronger. What I sense flowing from you might rival my own, which is saying something.”

“Help me,” she begged, unsure of her abilities and not wanting to jeopardize Cyran’s life.

Loki smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. “I’m sorry, my dear, but you will have to conquer this on your own. Each of us has that one moment in life where we must dig deep into our souls to overcome whatever is holding us back.”

His smile turned to a grimace. “Some of us, I'm afraid, must learn this lesson more than once. I think my brain is broken and refuses to accept those events that should have shaped who I am today.”

Shalendra chuckled. “You are not broken and are as you should be, although a little less orneriness might be helpful in your familial relationships.”

Not giving in to her fear, she opened her mind. The magic flowed through her, sharing the exhilaration of complete freedom. For the first time, she became who she was meant to be—a perfect blend of life and death.

She turned her thoughts to Cyran, filling her mind with everything they had been through together and who he was. His handsome face faced her with a hesitant smile. The rightness of his touch and how he protected her. Even his sarcastic droll made her want to laugh, but his need for acceptance and love, like hers, won her over and filled her heart.

She willed his heart to beat again and his lungs to draw in the much-needed oxygen, their rise and fall beneath her arm in perfect sync with her own. She bathed his mind with warmth and power, knowing the exact moment he reached out to her, his healing magic blending with hers and seeping into her.

To her amazement, vignettes of his life played through her mind, starting when he was a child when his mother showed him how to use magic to heal a bird’s broken wing.

The next memory was much later as his stepfather chastised Cyran for not recreating a spell precisely to his specifications and Cyran’s reaction of folding in on himself, hiding the pain as he ran away to be with his two best friends, Lamruil and Ailuin. The younger twin, Ailuin, soothed Cyran’s inadequacies and self-condemnation and turned them into a strength, fueling Cyran’s intense need to nurture and heal others.

She was surprised when his next memory was of meeting her. She almost didn’t recognize herself. While she knew she was okay to look at, she was nowhere near as pretty as he thought.

Yes, you are—more so. You are beautiful,nín meleth,inside and out. Your heart is pure and loving, and you fill the world with such a brilliant light. Look at what you are doing this very minute. You are risking yourself, facing fears you never wanted to face, to save me. Someone you just met and what you do know of me isn’t flattering.

The moment my gaze touched on you in the prison, your beauty and goodness stopped me in my tracks. Your soul sang to mine. It was such a shock. I’m afraid I didn’t react well at all, and for that, I am forever sorry.

Cyran? How is this possible?Confused about what was happening, she focused on the two words that grounded her. Nín meleth,which in ancient Elvish meantmy heart. Cyran’s heart. It meant everything to her.

Only you can answer that, Shalendra. Ifeltyour soul brush mine. It drew me away from wherever I was. I was lost and alone, as if nothing but time was left to me. Surrounded by darkness, all I could do was float along wherever it took me. I know a few gods who can mentally talk to one another, but there are even fewer with that ability in other races.

Elves are no different. While Lamruil and Ailuin can speak to each other, they are both twins and royalty. Their gifts are unique. You and I shouldn’t be able to talk this way. I thinkyouare the miracle—your healing touch is more magical than anything I have ever experienced, and I have seen a lot in my long life.

What is the last thing you remember?she asked, not understanding what was happening to him nor what to do next. How was she supposed to bring someone back from the netherworld?

I felt a sharp pain in my back and neck as we traveled through space. I remember we were returning to Alfheimr. We should have been safe.

Moving her hands to cradle his face, she pressed her forehead to his, his skin almost warm. Holding on to that more positive thought, she pictured the warrior, his handsome face cold and ready for battle, emotionless…except for the smoldering heat in the recesses of his light green eyes when he looked at her. His color of love for her.

The depth of that feeling was breathtaking, and the wondrous emotion directed her movements now. She reached out, trapping that warmth between her hands, and with a single exhale, gave him her soul. Her only thought was having him beside her, hearty and whole once more.

Behind her, two gasps sounded, and she opened her eyes and found herself trapped in Cyran’s teal gaze. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead with a smile, relief pouring through her.

“Welcome back,” she whispered, helping him sit up. Cyran frowned at Loki and then turned his attention to their surroundings.

“Where in the hell are we, and why is Loki here with us?” He cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. Glancing at her with confusion, worry darkened his blue-green eyes. “Shalendra?”

“Jötunheimr,” she answered.

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