Page 125 of The Dryad Storm

A shiver runs through Tierney, and it’s not unpleasant, their locked gazes generating a disarming heat.

Stop falling into this bond!Tierney chastises herself as she wrenches her gaze away from Or’myr’s only to have it snag on his entrancingly violet sorcerer hands. Tierney’s thoughts scatter, both Or’myr’s violet form and the riverbank’s stone lit with a deep-purple runic glow that’s so lush, a tendril of sensual heat curls through her, her River shot through with every dark shade of Or’myr’s gloriouspurple...

A sudden realization floods her.

I’ve gained some of Or’myr’s geo-draw to purple through Viger’s bond.

She meets Or’myr’s heated gaze once more, a tracery of lightning flashing over his lips, as if he can sense both her newfound color thrall and her flare of longing for him. He shakes his head and spits out what sounds like an Uriskal epithet before casting her a tortured look. “Do you know how hard it is to keep my wits about you now that you’re...purple?”

Tierney’s heart skips. Swallowing thickly, she glances toward Fyordin to find him farther into the Vo, his back to them, a jealous tension rippling through his water power.

“I... I’m not completely clear on what’s happening between all of us,” Tierney admits sheepishly.

“Oh, I’ve a few guesses,” Or’myr offers. “I think that bond Viger set down in you during Xishlon is a primordial mating bond, and it’s quickening. And now we’reallcaught up in it.”

Tierney’s power rears, a small storm cloud bursting to life above her. “I suspected as much,” she sputters.

“I need to have a talk with him about the meaning ofconsent,” Or’myr grits out with dangerous calm. “And by ‘talk’ I mean ‘inflict great bodily harm.’?” Tierney cocks a brow at this, as anger forks through Or’myr’s eyes. “The only thing keeping me from going after himright now,” Or’myr adds, “is the fact that the very large Dryad piece of me knows he helped us save a huge swath of Forest along the entire expanse of the Vo. Not to mention the Vo itself. Which is a lot more important than—” he swirls his hand agitatedly between the three of them “—thisinsanity.”

Her brow knotting, Tierney glances at the grayed trees edging the Vo, Viger’s tendrils of Darkness winding around their bases, their leaves slowly speckling with purple.

Viger’s regenerative Death power battling back the gray.

“Ineed to have a talk with him,” Tierney firmly states. “Where is he?”

A harder flash of lightning cracks through Or’myr’s eyes. “I don’t know where your Xishlon’vir is,” he rigidly supplies, and Tierney hears him attempt but fail to keep the hurt from his tone. He draws in a deep breath and shakes his head, giving her a pained look. “I’m sorry, Tierney. Being bound to you like this... it’s incredibly difficult.”

Remorse rises inside her, mixed with the trauma of the night, a lump suddenly lodged in her throat over the invisible divide that stands between her and Or’myr. A divide that might not exist if their incompatible magic didn’t make kissing, and possibly other types of touching, a lightning-charged agony.

Her pang of remorse tightens.

What must Or’myr think of her, now that he knows she kissed both him and Viger on Xishlon? And what must Fyordin think of her? A flustered aggravation quickly flares, overtaking her rush of cursed Gardnerianshame, because none of this mattersone whit. Not compared to saving the Natural World.

But still, having a primordial Death Faematingbond set down without her consent—that most certainlydoesmatter.

Her troubled emotions gathering into a fitful tide, Tierney brings one hand to her hip as she turns and peers into the Forest’s darkness. She canfeelViger’s directional pull through his fang-deep hold on the bond, a subtle tether of his Darkness fastened to her power’s core.

Blast this, Tierney curses as she turns and strides toward the purpling woods, a protective flare of Or’myr’s and Fyordin’s powers encircling her. Fighting the urge to let her power return their embraces, she shoves off their magic with an aggravated burst of water power and strides into the Forest toward Viger at a rapid clip, shoving a hand into her tunic’s pocket to retrieve the small purple runic stone that Or’myr magicked for her earlier to light the night.

She’s only a few paces into the woods when her sense of Viger’s pull vanishes, as if wrested from her grasp. She pauses, frustration burgeoning. The night air is cool, insects chirring, as she casts about for a sense of Viger’s aura of Darkness, but... nothing.

She curses under her breath. Viger could beanywhere.

A sudden idea lights.

Stilling, Tierney closes her eyes and draws in a deep breath, her hand coming to the vial around her neck as she focuses inward on her fear for the Vo and her iron-injured kelpies, and for her multitude of kindred river creatures and all the Waters of Erthia.

She can feel Viger’s awareness prick up like an antenna’s subtle lift as he connects to her fear, but he makes no move to enthrall her or draw her in. She senses his shiver of resentment, but also, the subtle pull toward his location.

Stalking forward, she fumes, resentment welling over everything Viger didn’t tell her about their bond butshould have.

Her sense of his energy strengthening, she finds him in a small clearing, crouching on the ground, his hornless head angled down, eyes closed, claws in, ravens perched all around him.

His palms to the earth.

Her primal attraction to him quickens, and she remembers how he fought off the Shadow forces, all teeth and claws and Dark Deathkin power, warmth rushing to a place she has no wish for it to be.

Why in all the hells would you be drawn in by that, she chastises herself.

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