Page 10 of Kissing Potions and Elves
When I’m finished, I wrap a soft, fluffy white towel around my body and then walk back into the bedroom to search for something to sleep in. I rummage through a large chest of drawers and find a long undershirt.
It must be one of Lyrion’s because it smells faintly of clean linen and parchment, just like him. I slip it over my head. It’s a bit large, the neckline hanging so my left shoulder is bare, and the hemline falls just above my knees. But the fabric is comfortable and softer than anything I’ve ever owned.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I glance at my bandaged hand. Lyrion wasn’t nearly as cold as I expected. He’d actually seemed worried, his touch gentle and careful. Maybe he isn’t all sharp edges and snobbery. Perhaps there’s more to him.
The house feels cold, too big, and too quiet, and I wonder if he has any friends or family. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him speak to anyone in the café or witnessed him with anyone when I’ve seen him in the village.
He arrived in town a few months ago, and there are rumors that he’s some sort of High Elf nobility. The mansion certainly fits that theory. Perhaps I can ask him some questions tomorrow and find out more about his life.
Suddenly, I remember what got us into this deal in the first place: his headache. Guilt fills me. I grab a thick robe from the back of a chair and wrap it securely around my form. I slip into the hallway, my bare feet silent on the polished floors, and pause before his door.
Raising my hand, I gently knock, but there’s no answer.
Maybe he’s asleep. I bite my lip, debating briefly before carefully pushing the door open just a crack, and my breath catches in my throat.
Lyrion lies sprawled across the massive bed, his chest bare. Heat rushes to my face. He’s stunning, even in his sleep. Shadows and moonlight carve the sculpted planes of his lean, muscular form.
Moon and stars, he’s even more handsome than I’d imagined.
Tiptoeing closer, I lean over him, trying to see if he’s awake. His dark lashes rest softly against sharp cheekbones, lips parted just enough that I can see a hint of perfect white teeth and his pointed Elvish fangs.
Even so, he looks... soft somehow in the peacefulness of sleep. Less like a pompous Elf lord. More like a regular person, albeit a very attractive one.I wonder if he has anyone who looks at him like this.
“Lyrion?” I whisper.
His eyes snap open, their violet depths blazing with sudden intensity, all traces of softness completely gone. For a terrifying second, he looks like a predator startled awake by a hapless mouse.
I yelp, stumbling backward.
He blinks rapidly, the predatory gleam fading into confusion. “What are you doing here?” He sits up and presses a hand to his forehead with a low groan.
“I—I remembered your headache,” I stammer, clutching the robe tighter around me. “I mean, that’s what got us into this mess in the first place, right? I thought I could help if it’s still bothering you. Maybe make you a cup of tea?”
“Tea?” He arches a condescending brow. “You really expect me to trust you to make meanythingafter what happened?”
I wince inwardly. He’s right. It does sound foolish. However, it was an accident and he doesn’t have to be so rude when I’m only trying to help. Straightening, I tip up my chin. “You know what? I was just trying to be nice. And I may not be able to make you anymagicaltea, but I certainly can make you a regular cup of lavender or chamomile.”
He sighs heavily. “Fine. Then I’d like a cup of lavender tea. Please.”
I smile, feeling a small victory fluttering warmly in my chest that he actually said ‘please.’ “I’ll be right back.”
CHAPTER 5
LYRION
Icollapse back onto the bed with a heavy groan, pressing my palm against my forehead. My head is still throbbing, not as intensely as before, but enough to make me want to curse in every known Elvish dialect.
Earth and sky, I can’t believe this has happened to me.
A human. I kissed a human.
My pulse quickens traitorously as I recall the feel of Isobel’s soft lips beneath mine, the warm mint of her breath, and her delicate scent. Just the memory of her kiss has my body heating uncomfortably.
Isobel. A human girl who somehow manages to be lovelier than any Elf I’ve ever seen, although certainly not as tall or graceful. I picture her fumbling nervously in the café, nearly knocking over everything in her path, and my lips twitch slightly despite my irritation.
I’ll admit that I’ve often wondered about her. It’s strange that I’ve never seen her around town with a bonded mate. Surelysomeone as lovely as her should have a line of suitors, fighting for her attention.
Perhaps she is simply not interested. I’ve seen males try to catch her eye in the café, but she seems oblivious to their flirtations.
