Page 2 of Mountains of Mist and Magic

The endearing nickname instantly brought an excitement to her belly, the fire further fueled by the way he whispered the words in his husky tone.

He bent his neck and then tilted her chin up, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Always like this. First the forehead, then her cheeks. And then he withdrew, pausing, trying to end his affectionate kisses there. Then, several seconds passed, and he moved towards her mouth, slowly at first, then more and more desperate.

And then pulling away, much too soon. Panting. Breath coming in gasps. Longing. Heat. A warmth that surged through her soul hotter than the fire burning in the giant hearth inside the lodge.

Phillippe enveloped her in his arms, and she couldn’t help but lose herself in his scent of leather, pine, and new grass sprouting on the verge of spring.

Esmeralda felt safe in his arms, safe in a way she’d never felt before. She knew that at one point she’d had parents who loved her, who held her and protected her, but those memories had long faded. Instead, she just had memories of growing up with a firm and stoic older brother who was protective, but not around much and emotionally unavailable when he was.

“Esmeralda,” Phillippe whispered wistfully, slowly pulling away from her. Each clandestine meeting was a little longer, and each time they went a little further, but it was never fast enough.

She gulped, the warmth she felt slowly fading as the cool night air moved in between them.

She wanted to ask him why he stopped, why he showed self-control when word around the village was that he never showed restraint in anything—alcohol, women, fights…he was all or nothing.

So, was this…nothing…between them? She sighed audibly, and he looked down at her, his forehead wrinkling. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just cold,” she lied, wishing she possessed the courage to ask him why he stopped kissing her. Why he seemed to want to sleep with every other girl in the Snow Lands but her. But instead, she just grasped his arm and let him guide her back to the lodge, the snowflakes floating around them and a pack of arctic wolves roaring far in the distance.

Chapter Two

Selenia scrunched up her nose and rubbed her temples vigorously. The scent of musty parchment and aged leather filled her nostrils as she surveyed the towering stacks of books surrounding them. For the past week and a half, they'd been entombed in this library, surfacing only for dinner and...other activities.

With a dramatic sigh, she set down a particularly heavy tome. The loud thud echoed through the cavernous room, momentarily drowning out the incessant ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Sion lifted his head, his tan skin glowing in the flickering firelight. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed their relentless pace.

“We're never going to find anything in these books,” Selenia murmured, combing her fingers through her mess of curls. She recalled Doria's offer to trim the unruly ends last week, but the memory of Sion's fingers playing with her ringlets, pulling them taut before watching them spring back, had changed her mind.

“We will, Little Fox,” Sion reassured her, his voice rough from disuse. “We just have to keep reading.”

Selenia's gaze drifted to the book before her, its pages brittle and yellowed with age. The faded script danced before her tired eyes. “These books contain nothing useful. Anything that dates far enough back to when the fading started is falling apart and illegible. Any material I can find that's remotely readable does nothing but mention great frosts or how many Arctic seals it takes to make a waterproof tent. There's nothing here of use.”

The fire popped, startling her. Selenia turned her head and looked out the window. Delicate snowflakes pirouetted in the air, a stark contrast to the stuffy warmth of the library.

“We still have over half of the books here to get through— Sion began, gesturing to the untouched shelves looming behind them.

“Sion, there's nothing here. I can—I can feel it. When I reach out, there's nothing.” Frustration entered her voice as she struggled to articulate the void she sensed.

Sion's eyes snapped to hers, blinking rapidly. “You mean, you're able to feel it with your magic?”

Her lips turned down into a slight frown. “Ever since Renya and Cyrus forced Cressida to return the stolen magic, I've felt stirrings. Before I stopped using my magic, I could sense things of importance. They felt...heavy. I could sense Renya's power before it was unlocked.” She shrugged, grasping for words to describe the odd sensation. “It's like...like feeling the back of your neck. You know it's there, you can feel it, but it's partially unknown to you.”

“That's incredible, Little Fox.” Pride tinged Sion's voice.

Selenia bit her lip, uncertainty clouding her features. The minute power she had regained didn't feel exactly like her magic, which was confusing. It wasn't dirty or tainted—just different. Like a familiar stranger.

“Incredible or not, it doesn't change the fact that I don't think there's anything here.” She began stacking books and journals, the tomes and leaflets of parchment forming precarious towers on the table. “We need to look elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“We need to return to the Sun Realm. Cyrus mentioned that Cressida spent countless hours in their archives, studying and searching. Their library is ancient—and it's been preserved throughout the years. If there's anything to be found, it's there.”

Sion ran his hands through his short hair, the strands barely long enough to muss. Selenia had learned to read this as a nervous habit, along with the other little signals that meant he was hungry, tired, grouchy or...aroused.

Which was quite frequent.

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