Chapter Thirteen

“Where is it?” Rhys hurried to sit up, and Luka turned to reach over the side of the bed for his clothes, pulling the pink quartz from a pocket. He held it in his palm a moment, warming it. Pain flared inside him, his wounded soul not quite healed. But he would give all he was for Rhys, if need be. He reinforced his intention and handed the stone to Rhys, emotion practically choking him.

Rhys took it reverently, held it cupped in his hands so that the faint glow within shown on his face. “It’s beautiful, Luka. I’m sorry I didn’t know what it signified when you gave it to me. Will you tell me about it?”

Luka lifted his shoulder in a shrug, then sat up straighter at Rhys’s frown. He was right, this wasn’t a time for evasion. He drew a breath, weariness creeping over him, but he put it aside and gave Rhys a smile, his love spilling over.

“I love you,” he began, voice throbbing as he spoke through the emotions holding him captive. “I have since the moment your gaze met mine in that dank cellar, brave and strong and beautiful.” He tenderly ran a finger along Rhys’s chin, needing to touch him, thrilling at the soft blush in his skin, knowing he’d caused it. “I had no expectations you could love me in return.”

“You were my dream,” Rhys told him, and went on despite Luka’s snort. “In my lonely bed at night, weary and hurt, I’d long for someone to find me, stronger than Aethan’s cruelty and darkness.” He moved to put his lips against Luka’s ear, his breath sending a pleasant shiver over him. “But I didn’t know you’d be so handsome or have such gentle eyes.” He dropped his gaze. “Nor have such a delicious body—”

“Rhys! You’re teasing when I mean to be serious.”

“My pardon.” Rhys turned his head, kissing him. “Please, go on.”

Luka couldn’t resist another kiss, Rhys’s full, sweet lips a definite distraction.

“But you did love me,” Luka continued. “You woke me up, brought me to life. Reminded me what happiness is. The stone is a symbol of my love, and a talisman.”

Rhys picked up the pink gem, holding it to the light of a nearby candle. “Aethan said you imbued it with a piece of your soul. Is this possible? Never mind.” He gave Luka an arch look. “I believe there is nothing beyond your skill.”

Luka enfolded Rhys’s hand holding the stone in his own. “A small part of my life’s energy is in there, though you have all of my heart.”

“But why? Luka, who am I for you to do this for, but the son of your enemy?”

“No, my love. You have never been that to me.” Luka again kissed Rhys’s fingers twined with his own, and his heart thumped. He could never see the erotic contrast of their light and dark skin and not be affected.

“It’s true I find great pleasure in your body,” he continued, and flushed hotly when Rhys’s eyes kindled, and hurried on, “But more than that, I see your soul. Pure and bright and true. You steal my breath and leave me trembling with your fierce courage, untarnished by the horrors you’ve suffered. Tempered and unfaltering.”

Rhys stared at him, then moved to grab the back of his head and pull him into a kiss, wild and passionate, making his blood surge and rush. Tears stung his eyes, overcome with love for Rhys in his arms, his heart singing, grateful and humble, sending broken thoughts of gratitude to the universe who gave him such a gift.

“Hush, dearest,” Rhys murmured, stroking his hair, and Luka became aware he was sobbing once more and fought for control. Rhys must think him a fool.

“I’m well,” he muttered, pushing up, but turned his gaze away from Rhys’s searching eyes. “I’m more tired than I realized.”

Rhys pulled him back down, rolled to face him. “Of course, you are. You’ve expended more energy than anyone should.” He wiped Luka’s tears with a tender thumb, kissed his eyes and lips. “Sleep now, my sweet witch. Between you and Widow Ravan, we’re as safe as we can be.”

A wave of exhaustion washed over him, and for a brief moment, Luka wondered if Rhys had bespelled him, but then a welcomed sleep claimed the last of his thoughts. He dreamed sporadically, but they were pleasant wanderings, forgettable, and each time he woke Rhys was there, holding him, the room snug and warm and safe.

Morning sunlight met him when he woke the last time, more refreshed than he should be, and he smiled, feeling the echo of Rhys’s joy leave him with the last tendrils of sleep. The pillow beside him was empty, but he took a moment to snuggle in the quilts, Rhys’s scent lingering in the bedclothes. Images from the night before played in his mind and he felt his cock waken. He laughed, heart happy, then bit his lips. Ravan’s patience would give out if he asked for the morning as well.

With a sigh, he climbed reluctantly from the bed and drew on his clothes. He could willingly spend the rest of his life in that room with Rhys, but there was much to be done before they could find such peace again. Allowing his eyes to close, he thanked the earth and sky for the gift of last night and the coming day, then firmed his lips, picked up his boots, and strode purposefully from the room.

He stopped in the doorway, his lips curling into a spontaneous smile. He’d expected to find the others grim and brooding at the table. Instead, Rhys stirred a pot over the fire, the scent of warm oats and herbs filling the air, while Ravan stood at the table, laughing at something he said while she kneaded dough for bread. They both glanced at him as he entered the room and the love and concern in their eyes filled his heart to bursting. Composing his features, he walked over to them, his face warming with the heated look in Rhys’s eyes.

“You finally woke up,” Ravan teased, deftly shaping the dough into a round loaf. “There’s tea in the kettle, if you’d like.”

“Permit me,” Rhys offered, pulling a mug off the shelf over the fireplace and pouring him a cup. Their fingers touched, and Rhys smiled into his eyes and leaned forward to give him a tender kiss. Desire sparked along Luka’s nerves and he forced down a groan. Rhys wasn’t as circumspect, his moan intensely erotic against his lips. If Ravan wasn’t present…

“But I am here,” she said drily, and they broke apart, Luka smiling into Rhys’s flushed face. Ravan sighed, her tone regretful when she continued, “I’m happy you found each other again, truly. But this is not a honeymoon. We have serious matters to see to.”

Rhys gasped, her words clearly taking him by surprise. Warmth spread through Luka. He’d never suggested Rhys stay with him always. That would be more joy than he deserved. But Rhys’s unexpectedly shy glance, the way he pressed his teeth against his lips to hide a grin, suggested…

Luka’s heart pounded, and he cupped Rhys’s face with his free hand. “When this is all over,” he murmured, and kissed him, a promise. An oath. Rhys drew a shaky breath when Luka released him, his eyes shining, then he shook himself, sending an apologetic glance to Ravan.

“The porridge is ready,” he said to the room in general, sounding breathless, and turned to stir the pot once again. “Would you care for some? Ravan?” he asked when Luka nodded.

Luka set his tea on the table then returned, the bowl warming his hands when Rhys passed it to him. Rhys touched his arm when he would have carried it to his place, and with a sly glance at Ravan busy putting the bread dough in an oiled pan, he added a pinch of cinnamon to Luka’s porridge from one of the clay pots over the stove. Luka exchanged a grin with him. Ravan was jealous of her spices. He took the spoon Rhys handed him, snuck one more kiss, then crossed the cozy room to take his chair.

Rhys joined him with two more bowls. He helped Ravan clean the flour from the tabletop while Ravan cleared her ingredients and set the bread in the hearth to bake. Luka was discomfited when they took chairs opposite him when they finished, blue and piercing green eyes settling on him. He had trouble swallowing the porridge now tasteless in his mouth.

Raven pushed her graying braid over her shoulder and picked up her spoon, stirring her bowl while Rhys ate with appetite. She asked after a moment, “Rhys, you have questions for us?”

Rhys stilled, then carefully put down his spoon, sitting back in his chair to take in both of them. His gaze turned troubled and Luka told him encouragingly, “Go on,” though his heart thumped.

Rhys looked between them and laughed self-consciously. “I don’t know what to ask first.”

Ravan tapped the side of her bowl, the clay resonating a pure tone that vibrated through Luka, making his shiver. “You wish to know if Luka is my father.”

Rhys nodded, wide eyed.

“He is.”

Rhys continued to stare at her, his look turning puzzled. Luka held his breath. His story would be told soon, and the old grief, never far from the surface, was nothing compared to his fear Rhys would walk away from him.

“I see no resemblance,” Rhys began.

Luka answered forcefully, “She looks like her mother.”

“Oh.”

Rhys continued to study Ravan and Luka could see the questions hovering on his lips. He looked at his daughter as well. Ravan’s complexion was slightly darker than Rhys’s, as if she spent more time in the sun, and her hair was once as golden as Rhys’s own. She’d been a fairy child, growing wild in the woods, and Luka’s greatest joy.

Ravan smiled at him. “Then she must have been beautiful as well as brilliant,” she stated, and Luka’s heart lightened at her teasing.

“She was that,” he answered fervently, and took the hand Ravan held out to him across the table.

Rhys drew an unsteady breath and looked right at him, uncertainty and the fear of loss in his eyes, and Luka’s heart squeezed when Rhys gathered his courage to ask, “Where is she?”

The old grief rose up, tightening Luka’s chest, and he was unable to answer. To his horror, he watched Rhys’s eyes darken with pain, though he pressed his lips together, making it clear he would wait for Luka’s reply. Luka had never loved him more.

“She left us,” Ravan said for him, and went on despite Luka’s faint protest. “She said her name was Loralyn. She’d wandered out of the forest one night, a beautiful, wild thing, a broken dove who collapsed on Luka’s doorstep. He took her in, tended her. She had a malaise that lingered for many days. They loved. I am the result of that. But the day of my birth, while Luka gathered wood to keep the house warm for us, she slipped away, perhaps back into the forest. Luka searched, but there has been no sign of her since.”

Luka stared at his and Ravan’s clasped hands, her brittle tone tearing at his heart. He felt Rhys’s gaze but couldn’t meet his eyes. Not yet. Not until it had all been said.

“There’s more,” Rhys guessed in the charged silence.

Pressure built in Luka’s ears as if the very air awaited his reply, but the words he needed wouldn’t come. The snap of the fire shattered his nerves.

“There is,” Ravan answered when it was clear Luka couldn’t. But he softly pressed her hand, swallowed the lump in his throat, and tentatively raised his eyes, to be seized by Rhys’s burning gaze.

“She was beautiful,” he explained quietly, desperate not to wound him. “A wild, magical thing. A creature of the woods. She captivated me, tender and sweet, and took away my loneliness. When she left… I couldn’t…”

Luka broke off, dropping his gaze to the tabletop. What he’d done next had been terrible, unforgivable, and he couldn’t bear to see aversion creep over Rhys’s face.

“Tell me,” Rhys urged, and his compassion broke Luka’s heart.

Ravan took up the story. “The villagers say that Luka searched the forest every day for three weeks. Then, on the night of the full moon, he entered the grove of oaks at the heart of town. They say they heard thunder, saw flashes of light, though the sky was clear. Then the earth roared and shook, an earthquake that leveled most of the buildings. Many were injured, though none fatally. They saw when Luka came out of the trees that his face glowed. He spoke to no one, and in the morning he and the child were gone.”

Luka gave a painful laugh, his life’s tragedy measured out in a few brusque words. If he could go back… No. He let go of Ravan’s hand and clutched his own together in his lap, then raised his eyes once more to Rhys. Rhys’s face was pale, lips firm, eyes flashing fire.

Rhys moistened his lips, his expression gentling. “What did you do, my sweet witch?”

Luka’s heart lurched. Rhys called him that when he loved him the most. “I was beside myself with worry,” he said, trying not to plead, desperate for his understanding. “Keep in mind, mine was a lonely life, few friends. Most people were afraid of the dark-hued witch who did magic they didn’t understand. But Oak Grove was where my wandering feet led me, and the oak trees still whispered in my ear.

“Loralyn was a gift, filling my home with life and laughter and moments of joy. I was beside myself when she left. I scoured the forest for days on end, not eating. Not sleeping. I left my infant daughter in the care of my neighbors. There was no sign of her. In desperation, I went to the grove, and I…” Luka stopped, afraid to say the next words.

“What, dear heart. Tell us,” Rhys urged.

“Yes, Papa. You never have said what you did to cause the earthquake,” Ravan prompted. “Or was that coincidence?”

Luka sighed, shame burning through him. “I made a wish,” he confessed, and cringed at the utter silence that met his words.