Ink Blossom (Ink Blossom 1) by Lynn Robin

Author:Lynn Robin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: halloween, devil, spring, seasons, autumn, gods love, paranormal rom, romance series, autumn romance, fiery heroine
Publisher: Lynn Robin

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

ink is forever

Rafe sets his jaw as a brush of power, icy cold as well as scorching hot, rumbles through his body.

His soul.

He watches the swaying treetops in the distance, their red shade nearly black under the stormy heavens, their motions reminding him of either a victorious dance or a shiver of foreboding.

Nature is torn. Confused. Doesn’t know whose side to choose.

It has become a puppet, lost between a faceless force and a broken master.

Gwyneth stares at it, frozen under his hands. He can hear her swallowing.

And then gasping, as Bone releases a growl and darts away, back into the shadows, out of their sight.

She swears under her breath, barely loud enough for Rafe to catch. “What is happening?” she asks hoarsely.

Rafe looks back to the forest, clenching his teeth again as he focuses on the powers prodding into his soul, the challenge calling out to his mind. Silently pushing them back, he watches the treetops coming to a rest.

Only when Gwyneth pulls herself free and steps away from him, turning her back to the front door, does he realize his hands had tightened their hold. He lowers his arms, meeting her gaze which is now at eyelevel as she’s one stone step above him.

“It’s Autumn,” he replies at last, keeping his tone even. “Taunting me. Demonstrating that its powers are greater than mine. Preparing to strike—to drag me into their prison again. And unless I get my heart back… well,” he near-whispers, glancing back to the forest, “there is only so much time I have left, only so much strength to hold them off.”

These final words he directs back at Gwyneth, meeting her meadow-green eyes, holding them—until she averts her gaze, wordlessly yanks open the front door, and steps into her house.

“We need to talk,” she says tersely.

Rafe stills, not moving for a beat.

The way she looked away just then made his brittle hope dissolve into dust—but… the fact that she wants to talk to him…

If he’d had a heart, it would now leap in anticipation.

Stepping into the cottage and closing the door behind him, he follows her out the front hall until she comes to a halt before the wooden staircase, leading up to the second floor. He’d thought of going up this morning as he cautiously explored the house. In the end, he didn’t and remained in the living room, hiding behind the closed curtains until he’d found enough courage to slip outside, needing to feel the earth underneath his bare feet. He glances down at them, finding them cloaked in dark fabric again.

Looking back up, he studies Gwyneth, her fists clenched at her sweeping hips, her features tight, her small mouth slightly skewed to the side.

“What is it?” he asks calmly, softly.

“How long ago has your heart been stolen?” she asks. “How long have you been imprisoned?”

This is not the conversation he had in mind.

And yet, he’s swift to offer her an answer—the fact that she’s no longer avoiding him must mean something. Must mean he’s right to hold on to a sliver of hope.

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