Page 79 of Through the Wicked Wood

“If my memory serves me, the Stones are located at Nevek Peak. That’s where we performed my Ceremony. That’s where my mother placed them before—” I stop myself and wait for the darkness to encroach my vision. Only, it doesn’t come. Rolling my shoulders, I crouch down to draw a rough map into the dirt. “This is where they’ll be.” My voice shakes as I point to my poorly drawn map.

“And how exactly do we remove these Stones?” Jarek asks, crouching beside me on the ground, scanning his eyes over the map.

“Dyrsjel’s are the only ones who can wield the Stones,” Galen chimes in before I get the chance. “Elora,” he says, turning his body to face me, “will be the one to pull them out.”

I nod slowly. “That’s where it gets…complicated,” I say, glancing up at Jarek, avoiding Galen’s gaze. “I have never pulled them before. Never done a Ceremony on my own.”

“You’ll know what to do,” Galen says with such surety I almost believe him.

“But if I don’t—”

“You will,” he says again, cutting me a glance. “Trust yourself.” His smile reminds me of how far we’ve come as friends. How much we’ve all grown these last few weeks.

Sorin’s hand finds its way to my back as I stand. “We get the Stones, perform Sam’s Ceremony, then head for Valebridge.” Sorin goes over the plan again, as if he’s waiting for it to change.

“We haven’t discussed the potential for hunters,” Sam says with a sigh. “I mean, rumor is they have been looking on Kirsgard for some time, the moment we use the Stones to wield my magick, surely they’ll come running. And who is to say the Stones haven’t been retrieved by another Dyrsjel?”

“They haven’t,” I blurt out, everyone’s eyes landing on me in an instant. “I think I’m the only one of us left, there isn’t any other Dyrsjel to pull them.” Sam nods, but says nothing. Grawgeth believed me to be the last Dyrsjel. Even though Galen says there’s a second bloodline, something deep inside of me confirms I’m the last.

“Better to plan for the hunters’ presence than be surprised by it,” Jarek says, tossing Sam a determined look. “If they're there, we’ll be ready. Besides, this close to the rainy season deters most from traveling to the mountains anyway.”

Sam sighs, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “That’s true, I suppose,” she says. “Our powerful Dyrsjel.” She smiles, the jubilant tone of her voice returning. “Our fate is in your hands.”

* * *

My foot aches and swells tightly against my boot as we set up camp at the base of the Kirsgard Mountains. The chill from the elevation change settles deep in my bones as I drop and peel off my boots. A groan escapes me as I rub absently at my foot. Reading my mind, Galen passes me a familiar glass vial.

“I only have one more after this,” he says, giving my shoulder a squeeze as he bends down. The liquid settles in my stomach as I swallow it down, creating a haze over my body.

* * *

We reached the base of the mountain late in the day, and after agreeing it was best to wait until dawn to venture to Nevek Peak, we settled in for the night.

Inside our tent the wind hisses and slaps against the canvas. Low-hanging branches scrape against the thick fabric as Sorin and I lie awake.

“I can hear you thinking.” Sorin presses his mouth to my ear before kissing it. A smile tugs at my lips as I roll to face him. Pulling my hands through his hair, I trace the outline of his face with my finger. Down his sharp jaw, over his smooth, full lips. Over the small lines that form around his eyes when he smiles.

“I’m worried I’ll fail,” I finally say, the admittance sounding weak and uncomfortable leaving my lips. But it’s the truth. And we’ve sworn to be truthful, and I am trying with every breath to be that. “If I can’t wield the Stones or perform the Ceremony for Sam, then this has all been for nothing.”

“I don’t think it’s been for nothing.” Sorin doesn’t miss a beat as he grabs my hand, his lips kissing a trail up my arm, sending shivers over my skin.

“You know what I mean.” I laugh even though nothing in me feels funny. Pulling my arm away, I shove him slightly, trying to ignore the lingering feeling of his lips on my skin. Would I ever tire of that?

“You’ll find them, love. I know you will. And we have to try either way, don’t we?” Nodding, I don’t believe him but I want to. “Now,” he continues, running his hands over my hips, tugging me closer to his side. “Seeing as how this could be our last night together for a while, let’s make the most of it, shall we?” His smirk accentuates the dimple in his cheek and it drives me mad in all the right ways. Climbing on top of him, I pin his shoulders down with my hands until he’s flat on his back. His hands drape lightly over my hips. His eyebrows raise as he laughs.

“Yes, I believe we shall,” I say, lowering myself to his mouth. I hover over his lips, our breaths intertwining but not kissing him before whispering, “Arms up, thief.”

He lets out a low laugh before obliging and lifting his arms above his head. I plant a soft kiss on his lips before moving my mouth to his neck, intentionally going slow. Ensuring he gets the same torturous treatment he gave me in the cavern. Kissing, licking, and nipping my way over his neck, to his broad shoulders, across his chest. Sorin’s breathing is heavy as he meets my eyes, something dark flashing in them before I work my way lower. His hands reach for my hair but my narrowed glance has him laughing, putting his hands back where I told him to, above his head.

Dragging my tongue down the toned lines of his stomach, he moans as I slip my hands beneath his trousers, pulling them down and off. My tongue trails down the length of him. I dare a glance up. His eyes are on me, hungry and desperate.

So I do it again, slowly, until he’s moaning my name this time.

“Fuck, Elora,” he whispers. Casting him a glance to make sure his hands are in place, I smirk as I see him clench his fists above his head. Lowering my mouth on him again, I’m interrupted by Sorin’s hands gripping my hair. I spring my head up to snap at him, but before I get the chance he hauls me up toward him, crashing his mouth into mine before peeling off my breeches, then my top.

“You have a very wicked little mouth,” he says, gripping my hair.

It doesn’t take long to find our rhythm. To find our pleasure. He knows exactly how to move, where to touch, what to say.

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