Elf Raised (Northern Creatures Book 3) by Kris Austen Radcliffe

Author:Kris Austen Radcliffe [Radcliffe, Kris Austen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781939730558
Publisher: Six Talon Sign Fantasy & Futuristic Romance
Published: 2018-03-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Remy took the steps to the second-floor walkway three at a time, with me close behind.

“Slow down, Remy!” She’d told us to leave, and running into a situation with an upset magical—especially a dark magical—would likely get us hurt. Badly, too, if Remy continued to leap up like a frantic puppy.

I rounded the landing to the last half-flight of steps up to the second-floor walkway. The woman in the shifting red dress had backed against the door of one of the middle apartments. Remy stood about five feet from the top step with his hands open and out.

Green, leaves-in-water streams of magic coiled around the woman and her shifting red dress. Sweet, spring greens. Deep summer, living greens. Evergreens. Grass. Crops. Life.

“I can’t help you,” she said. “You need to leave.”

She wore red, but she wielded green.

“Remy.” I gripped his shoulder. He couldn’t barrel into this situation.

Portia Elizabeth moved into the middle of the walkway. Behind her, the moon poked through the palms and the setting desert sun. She might be all the greens and all the reds, but the night was oranges, yellows, and purples.

Her green magic flowed outward from her body in a specific sigil pattern. It shook and manifested more than moved, and Remy and I were suddenly in a pocket inside the pattern. None of her magic touched us, yet it flowed around our bodies.

Remy didn’t take his eyes off Portia Elizabeth. “I tried to find you,” he said.

She wasn’t just beautiful, she was beauty. Not in an idealized way. Not like the exaggerated transformations of the kitsune. She was a real woman with soft breasts and real muscles under smooth-yet-textured skin. Her earthy deep-brown eyes did not shimmer beyond the green of her magic. Her nose had a slight bump, her lips a generous pout, and her hips the width needed to carry the world.

The woman standing in front of us was the abundancy of all things female.

The feel of her magic changed, and its pattern reformed. One of the new lines touched Remy.

And me.

I would never lie to Portia Elizabeth. Not because I felt compelled to tell the truth. Because telling her the truth was the correct thing to do.

“Whoa,” I said, and stepped back from the line of her green magic—and the connection I felt, the trust and belief, vanished.

She didn’t notice. All her attention was on Remy. “I know you’ve been looking for me,” she said.

Remy dropped his hands. “Come home.”

No small talk. No conversation or questions about her life. Just a flat-out please come back.

She tried to cover the emotions dancing through her eyes. She tried to hold her face still, but her cheek twitched and her lip quivered.

“Alfheim is no longer my home,” she said.

Her dress whiffed when she moved, and shimmered as if made of silk. And though I knew it was red, I couldn’t tell what red it was—first candy apple, then red wine. When a shadow hit, it looked like fresh blood.

The dress was neither suggestive nor modest.

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