Page 24 of The Dark Elf's Found Family
The words steal the breath from my lungs. He's not looking at Rhea anymore—his violet gaze is fixed entirely on me, intense and unwavering in a way that makes my pulse skip. The noise of the festival fades into background murmur as the space between us seems to shrink, charged with an electricity that has nothingto do with magic and everything to do with the way his lips curve when he speaks my name.
"You are so remarkable, Brynn." It's barely a whisper, but it carries the weight of weeks of carefully controlled longing, of moments like this when the careful distance we've maintained threatens to crumble entirely.
He leans closer, close enough that I can see the silver flecks in his eyes, can feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek despite the winter cold. Close enough that when he tilts his head slightly, questioningly, I know exactly what he's asking.
Every rational thought I possess screams at me to step away, to maintain the boundaries I've spent ten years building around my heart. This is dangerous territory—the kind that leads to shattered dreams and broken promises, to waking up one morning to find myself abandoned again with nothing but bitter memories and another child to explain why her father doesn't want her.
But when Ciaran's gaze drops to my lips and back to my eyes, when he leans just a fraction closer but stops there, waiting for me to make the choice, all my careful defenses crumble like paper in rain.
I meet him halfway.
The kiss is soft at first, barely more than a brush of lips, tentative and questioning. But then his hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking across my skin with devastating gentleness, and something inside me simply melts. I rise up on my toes, my hands fisting in the front of his cloak as I press closer, and the kiss deepens into something real and breathtaking and utterly terrifying.
He tastes like rirzed wine and winter air, like warmth and safety and all the things I've taught myself not to want. His lips move against mine with a careful reverence that makes my heart pound so hard I'm sure he must feel it through the layers of woolbetween us. This isn't the hungry, demanding kiss of someone taking what they want—it's the kiss of someone who knows exactly how precious this moment is, who doesn't want to risk breaking it by moving too fast.
For one perfect, crystalline second, I let myself believe this could be real. Let myself imagine what it would be like to trust this man with my heart, to build something lasting and beautiful with him and our daughters. The fantasy is so vivid, so achingly sweet, that I can almost taste it beneath the wine on his lips.
Then reality crashes back in like ice water.
The last time I gave my trust to a dark elf artist, the way his smile had made me believe too much, the way he vanished without a word.
The memory hits me with brutal clarity—Cyprien's hands on my skin, the way he'd whispered promises against my throat, the morning I'd woken to find him gone without so much as a note. The months that followed, watching my belly grow while I waited for him to come back, to explain, to claim the child we'd made together. The way I'd finally had to accept that he never would.
I jerk back so suddenly that Ciaran stumbles, his eyes going wide with confusion and hurt. My heart hammers against my ribs like a caged bird as I stare at him, at this man who looks so much like the one who broke me, who sculpts words instead of stone but creates beauty with the same careless artistry that captured my foolish heart once before.
"I—" I start, then stop, pressing my lips together to trap the words that want to spill out.I'm sorry. I can't do this. You'll leave.
Because that's what they do, isn't it? Dark elf artists with their beautiful hands and their silver tongues and their complete inability to think beyond their own desires. They take what they want and move on to the next inspiration, the next muse, thenext foolish human woman who thinks she might be special enough to make them stay.
Ciaran reaches for me, his expression shifting from confusion to concern. "Brynn, what?—"
"I'm fine." The words come out sharper than I intend, a defensive wall thrown up between us with desperate speed. I force my lips into a smile that feels like broken glass. "We should... the girls will want to head home soon."
He stares at me like I've struck him, violet eyes searching my face for some explanation I can't give. Because how do I tell him that kissing him felt like coming home and like walking off a cliff all at once? How do I explain that I initiated it, wanted it, but now I'm drowning in the terror of wanting something I can't have?
"Mum!" Rhea's voice cuts through the tension like a blade, bright and oblivious. "Come see what Veyra taught us!"
Both girls are racing toward us, their faces flushed with cold and excitement, and I've never been more grateful for my daughter's impeccable timing. Before I can think too hard about what I'm doing, I step away from Ciaran, putting careful distance between us as Nya crashes into his legs and Rhea grabs my hand.
"The lanterns look like stars!" Nya says, tilting her head back to gaze up at the glowing decorations. "And Veyra says we can help with the flower arrangements tomorrow!"
"That's wonderful, sweetheart," Ciaran says, but his voice sounds strained, and when I dare to glance at him, his eyes are still fixed on me with an intensity that makes my stomach clench.
Rhea tugs on my hand, chattering about the songs Veyra has been teaching them, about the plans for tomorrow's preparations, about how Nya thinks they should ask Eda to show them how to make special Ikuyenda pastries. I nod andmake appropriate responses, but my pulse thrums with equal parts longing and fear, and I can feel Ciaran's gaze on me like a physical touch.
What have I done?
14
CIARAN
The next morning arrives with fresh snow, more and more each day, and the hollow ache of regret lodged beneath my ribs. I wake before dawn, as has become my habit since arriving in Eryndral, and lie in the narrow inn bed listening to Nya's steady breathing from the one beside me. But instead of the contentment that usually fills these quiet moments, all I can think about is the way Brynn pulled away from me last night—the flash of panic in her hazel-green eyes, the careful distance she put between us as if I'd burned her.
I replay the kiss over and over, searching for what went wrong. The way she'd melted against me, soft and willing, her hands fisting in my cloak like she was afraid I might disappear. Then that sudden retreat, walls slamming back into place so fast it left me reeling.
Fear.I know it when I see it—have carried enough of my own to recognize the shape of it in someone else's eyes. But fear of what? Of me? Of caring too much? Of being abandoned again by another dark elf who promises more than he can give?
The last thought tastes like poison. Because that's what happened with Rhea's father, isn't it? I don't know much beyondthat Brynn has admitted she's half dark elf. Someone who took what he wanted and left her to raise their daughter alone.
