Page 6 of Awakening

Emrys held Trystan’s affecting gaze. His heart begged him to breach the connection between them, but Emrys feared that in doing so, the fallen one would rise and destroy everything he loved, and that included Trystan.

“Why, Emrys?”

Emrys stepped toward him, closing the distance between them. “I wish I knew,” Emrys whispered. He took a deep breath and reached for Trystan’s hand, grasping it gently. “I do love you, Trystan. Perchance, someday…” Emrys leaned down and brushed his lips over Trystan’s. Bringing his hand up, he framed the side of Trystan’s soft, barely-bearded face and deepened their kiss.

His heart urged him to keep going. Every part of him craved Trystan, imploring him to bond and mate, but he couldn’t. Too much was at stake.

“I’m so sorry, Trystan,” Emrys whispered.

A faint blue glow flashed, disorienting Trystan. His eyelids felt heavy as consciousness slipped away. Everything went dark.

Trystan awoke to a knock on the door. His eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, rubbing his hand over his face. The book that had been resting open on his chest fell and tumbled onto the bed. He drew his brows together, looking at the old, leather-bound tome. He blinked a few times, seeming to recall he’d lain down to read. He must have fallen asleep.

Another knock sounded. “Trystan?”

Trystan shook his head and clambered off the bed. He opened the door. “How long did I sleep, Emrys?” he asked, his voice groggy.

“Most of the afternoon. May I come in?”

“Of course.”

Emrys entered, closing the door behind him. “I thought you might like a tour of the grounds before the festivities this evening.”

“I would, actually.” Trystan stood at the foot of the bed, his head tilted to one side as he stared at the book where it had fallen just moments ago.

“Is everything all right, Trystan?”

Trystan gave a quick nod. “Yes, I’m just feeling a little disoriented is all. My head feels a little fuzzy.”

“Perchance some fresh air will help.”

“Perchance.” Trystan reached for the book and lifted it from the bed. A small, folded piece of parchment fell out of it, landing on the blanket. Trystan picked it up and unfolded it. The writing was faded and what was legible was written in a strange language, one he did not recognize.

“What is it?”

Trystan glanced at Emrys. “I don’t know. A note or letter perchance.”

“May I see?”

Trystan handed the stained, faded paper to Emrys. Emrys recognized the writing immediately.

“It looks like ancient Welsh,” he said. “Do you mind if I keep it? I’d like to see if I can translate it.”

“Of course you may, Emrys. But once you have, will you promise to share what it says?”

“On my honor.”