Page 65

Story: Blood and Thorns

I blink, sifting through the memories: the heartbreak, the manipulations, the revelations of my half-blood nature, the raw couplings, the betrayal, the war…

“No,” I whisper, surprising even myself.

“I regret the pain we caused each other, the lost illusions, but not the journey that brought us here.” I let my palm flatten over his chest. “We found something real, beyond House Draeven, beyond the dark elves. That’s worth everything. ”

He closes his eyes, relief etched across his face. “I feel the same,” he says, softly. “I’ve never believed in happiness without war overshadowing me, but with you, I… I see a horizon I never dared to dream of.”

Tears prick my lids again. This time, they’re tears of quiet joy.

Leaning up, I press my lips to his in a slow, lingering kiss that conveys more gratitude than words could.

We tangle in each other’s arms once more, bodies gently shifting to accommodate my wound, but the fear that once drove our passion is gone.

This is about trust, tenderness, and forging a new life from the ashes.

Time blurs as we exchange whispered confessions, naming the burdens we carried alone.

He confides how the Council’s expectations suffocated him, how his mother’s political games never let him breathe.

I share how I endured nights of terror under the dark elves, how discovering my half-blood lineage felt like a curse until it became my strength.

We listen, we hold each other, and the intimacy deepens, carved from honesty instead of desperation.

At some point, I slip into a half-doze, lulled by the warmth of him and the grove.

I dream of a small cottage near a stream, of him tending a modest garden while I teach illusions to orphaned half-blood children—a fanciful dream, perhaps, but sweet.

I sense him shift, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple, as though encouraging me to hold onto that image.

When I stir again, the moon has risen high, casting pale light across the glade.

Our illusions are dormant, no threat to repel.

The blanket covers us, his arm draped around my waist. The closeness draws a lazy, satisfied smile from me.

We exchange soft glances, and I realize how fully he’s become my anchor.

He strokes my hair, voice a murmur in the hush. “I should let you sleep. You need the rest.”

I shift, gently hooking a leg over his hip.

The pain in my thigh flares mildly, but I manage a light huff of laughter.

“I’m not that tired,” I say, half-teasing, half-serious.

The earlier lovemaking, for all its tenderness, leaves me with a lingering desire to feel that closeness again—no urgency or fear, just the security of each other’s presence.

His eyes widen a fraction, dark with renewed heat. “Valeria,” he breathes, a playful note in his tone. “Your leg…”

I smirk, brushing a thumb across his lower lip. “We’ll be gentle,” I whisper, letting the tip of my finger linger. “I just… want to be close to you.”

A spark ignites in his gaze. His wings twitch, half-opening. “You sure?” he murmurs, concern still warring with longing.

“Shut up,” I say softly, leaning in for a languid kiss. My heart thrums, not with the frantic pulse of war, but with the knowledge that we’ve earned this. We’re alive, the immediate threats behind us. For once, the future stretches open.

He groans softly, returning the kiss in kind.

Our lips mold in a slow, unhurried dance.

He gathers me against him, mindful of my bruises, and I melt into his warmth.

The hush around us deepens, as though the entire night bows out to give us privacy.

My breath catches when he peppers tender kisses down my neck, each press telling me we have all the time in the world now.

No more savage or desperate couplings. This is about connection.

“Tell me,” he whispers, between kisses, “if anything hurts.”

“Only if you stop,” I tease, laughter bubbling up.

He flashes a grin that banishes the shadows from his face.

His hands roam, exploring my body with reverence, rediscovering each scar, each curve.

I do the same, fingers tracing the shape of his shoulders, his ribs, the ridges of his wings.

Every touch sparks a fresh wave of wonder at how we survived, how we stand here entwined despite everything.

Slowly, intimately, we come together again.

This time, the world outside ceases to exist, and I lose myself in his tender warmth.

Our foreheads press, breath mingling in sweet gasps, each motion deliberate, each sigh drawn from a well of shared emotion.

I cradle the back of his neck, nails lightly grazing.

He shivers, meeting my eyes, and in that moment, I feel the raw sincerity of his love.

The pleasure swells in lazy waves, each crest a soft moan or whispered name, each trough an exhale of relief.

There’s no rush to reach a frantic peak—it’s about savoring the journey, memorizing the taste of his lips, the press of his body.

We’re free of the constraints of fear or an impending assault.

If the night is infinite, we let each heartbeat linger.

When we finally unravel in each other’s arms, it’s not a shattering explosion but a gentle flood of warmth that suffuses every cell.

I cling to him, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.

He brushes them away with trembling fingertips, breathing my name like a lullaby.

My wounded leg aches, but I ignore it, letting the wave of closeness ripple through me.

This is everything I never thought I’d have.

We remain entwined, hearts pounding, illusions flickering in the faint starlight.

Eventually, we share a few whispered laughs—exiles from two worlds, forging something neither side can destroy.

He draws the blanket up around us, wrapping me in the circle of his arms. I nestle my head under his chin, feeling the steady thud of his heart.

Time drifts. Above, the stars intensify, winking in patterns I’ve never bothered to learn.

For the first time, I wonder if we might stay in this valley for a season, enough to truly heal.

We can’t keep wandering, half-blood outlaws forever.

But maybe we can carve a haven, at least for a while.

The Council’s condemnation and the dark elves’ hatred feel distant tonight, though I know they still lurk beyond these mountains.

Eventually, I speak, voice soft. “You think we can build a real life, Vaelorian? Something… stable? With these outcasts, or maybe alone?”

He strokes my hair, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple.

“I do,” he says simply. “It won’t be easy.

We’ll have to remain cautious. But I choose you over any House, any fortress.

If that means living among outcasts, forging a new clan, or wandering until we find an oasis, I’ll do it.

” A pause, then more quietly, “I love you, Valeria. That’s worth fighting for. ”

Emotion tightens my throat. “I love you too,” I whisper, burying my face against his collarbone. “Whatever comes next, we face it together. No illusions, no half-truths.”

He nods, a soft exhalation of relief. Then he settles beside me fully, letting our shared warmth banish the night’s chill. The forest hush remains, a cocoon of star-dappled darkness. My body hums with a languid contentment, my heart swelling with a cautious but undeniable optimism.

We are exiles—thrown out by the Council, despised by the dark elves.

Our old homes are ash and memory. Yet in that emptiness, we’ve found each other, forging new possibilities from the ruin.

I rest my cheek on his chest, letting my eyelids flutter shut.

The lull of his heartbeat lulls me toward sleep, each beat a promise that we can shape our destiny into something better than fear.

Before dreams take me, I think of the day we’ll build a small hut or cottage in some secret glade, maybe near a stream like this.

We’ll watch the sun rise without scanning the horizon for enemies.

We’ll greet each dawn holding each other, illusions swirling only for comfort rather than defense.

Perhaps we’ll adopt stray half-blood children cast out by fearful clans, teaching them to harness their gifts.

We’ll cultivate a garden, trade with travelers, show them we exist beyond the war.

And if an army marches against us again—dark elves or Council enforcers—we’ll stand side by side, illusions and half-blood power blazing, to protect what we’ve built.

But that fight is not tonight’s worry. Tonight, I let my body sink into Vaelorian’s embrace.

The memory of gentle passion echoes through my limbs, a vow we sealed with tenderness rather than desperation.

His arms tighten slightly, as though sensing my drifting thoughts.

The soothing brush of his fingertips along my back lures me to deeper rest. The crickets serenade us.

I surrender to the hush, a final lingering sigh escaping my lips.

Hope is real, my heart insists. For the first time, I genuinely believe it.

In the darkest hours, as sleep claims me, I imagine our future unspooling under starlight—two wanderers who shaped each other by betrayal and war, now reborn into a union of love and freedom.

We might be exiles from every faction, but in each other’s arms, we’ve discovered a belonging no fortress or council can ever replace.