Page 45 of Finding Her (Lore of the Fields #1)

“Come home,” the abyss called to me again, the same motherly and gentle voice as every other night. I had grown exhausted by it.

“Who are you?” I asked quietly. The rush of yearning flooding my veins was tiresome. The adrenaline was an unwelcome guest in my body.

“We miss you.”

“I don’t know how to get to you,” I mumbled bluntly.

I knew there would be no purpose in the exploration of the white nothingness. For once, I sat down on the ground and hugged my arms. I would wake up soon enough. Now it was a matter of keeping my head straight until the flood of sensation passed.

“Come home.”

“Tell me where home is.” I found myself feeling passively argumentative. What a waste to spend my time haunted by an unknown entity, with an indeterminate quest, to find an uncertain relief.

“We are all waiting for you.” The voice grew distant. I hoped it was a sign of my waking.

I took in a steadying breath. “I don’t know how. Whoever you are, I can’t get to you right now. I just can’t. Okay?” My teeth ground together as the familiar burning sensation filled my veins.

A brief vision of Graysen’s glowing eyes flashed through my mind. The floral air of Eitrea Island filled my memories. I knew that contentment awaited beyond these cursed echoes of my past.

“Look.” I summoned as much strength as possible.

“I’ll find you when you tell me how. Until then, I’m going to try and make happiness where I’m at.

I hope you understand.” I felt as though guilt should consume me.

I didn’t know who I was disregarding; they could be precious.

But to Faeryn, as I knew myself, this voice meant nothing more than lost sleep and an unwanted distraction from the reality I now was certain was real.

My eyes opened to another day. Silver light poured through the open window and made the dusting of accumulated snow crystals on Graysen’s floor sparkle.

I lay angled between my side and my stomach, with my legs overlapping and my hands curled to my chest. Soft flannel ran down the backs of my bare thighs, and heat seeped through my shirt.

Graysen had wrapped himself fully around me.

My head was pinned between his bicep, which functioned as a pillow, and his face, which was buried into my neck.

His black hair sloppily lay across my cheek, and his warm breath tickled my throat, contrasting the sharp chill whistling through the window.

His upper arm wrapped over my shoulder securely, and a large hand cupped my breast. I couldn’t help but think I would feel smothered if it weren’t so comforting to wake from my nightmare in his protective cage.

Vague memories of last night rose to the forefront of my mind as the disorientation of sleep wore off.

I hadn’t intended to lose my inhibitions, but I wasn’t exactly opposed to it either.

The fact was that our little “ date ”—if I dared call it that—was the first time I had felt like myself since returning to the Western Continent.

Even though otherworldly bartending hardly felt like a core personality trait of mine, being the kind of woman to learn something novel with open-mindedness, curiosity, and excitement felt correct.

What happened between us last night, when our defenses were lowered, was a surprisingly welcome relief.

I’d been miserable since putting up new walls to keep Graysen out.

He had been nothing but kind and patient for the last week, but I could see it wearing on him as much as myself.

The silent meals, separated sleeping arrangements, and passive interactions had done more damage to my progress in self-actualization than I predicted.

That alone had caused me distress; my personality couldn’t be formed strictly in reliance on my constant companion.

Maybe, now that I had a job and social events to attend on the horizon, I felt like I could open up again.

Once the forced distance had dropped, my soul had crashed into his.

Despite the parallels, the feeling was far different from the desperate craving of my nightmares.

Instead of longing to run to an unknown to escape torment, I was pursuing it to embrace belonging .

Whoever Graysen was—whoever I was—there was no denying that it felt as though we were connected intrinsically.

It was as if we could be whole as individuals, but intertwine ouractualized spirits to create something magnificent and sentient.

A living, breathing entity of fulfillment.

I supposed, on some level, I hoped connecting physically would allow that budding sense of completion to bloom.

Once the chaos of the night subsided, I was a little disappointed we couldn’t really, truly, become one.

I yearned for him to fill every inch of me.

I wanted to feel his pulse throb inside my core and our rhythms to synchronize symbolically.

Instead, I looked into the glowing eyes of my fallen angel of fire and was surprised when the world began to burn.

Seeing Graysen’s natural form—or at least what I assumed to be close to it—was awe-inspiring.

He looked like the deities he spent so much time describing to me, the gods of his culture.

The muted orange light that came from him had swallowed his features, and what remained of his face was two glowing bronze orbs, the russet shadows of his cheekbones, the indents where his dimples pulled.

His jaw had been able to unhinge somewhat unnaturally, that marvelously dense rouge tongue squeezing past predatory white teeth.

Images of being bent over that granite countertop with his claws sinking into my back flashed through my mind, although I was certain that hadn’t occurred the night before.

Talk about a deliciously vivid daydream: I would manifest it for the future.

As much as I wanted to continue reminiscing, my bladder ached.

I had forgotten to stop at the restroom after all of the distractions, and I had drunk my weight in alcohol.

I had to get ready for work at some point, anyway.

Graysen indicated it would start midday, and there were still several hours to refresh myself on my newly acquired bartending knowledge.

I placed my hand over Graysen’s, trying to gently lift it from my bosom. A soft snarl panted into my ear as his fingers gripped my curves. His weight shifted further onto me, covering my body with his own.

“Graysen,” I groaned, feeling uncomfortably pinned at this point in addition to my need to pee immediately. “ Graysen ,” I repeated firmly with increased volume.

His hand relaxed, and the mattress groaned under his mass as he rolled back. “Fae,” he hummed, rubbing his face with his hands. “Good morning.”

“I need to step out and start my day,” I warned, already rising to hurry down the hallway.

He peered beneath his dark lashes at me. “Of course.” He cleared his throat with a husky grunt. “I’ll go start breakfast.”

I would have insisted he stay in bed, but I could no longer focus as I hurried to the bathroom, jumping over the puddles of water that remained on the floor from my feeble attempts to douse the fire last night.

Graysen and I met back in the hallway at the same time, he was buttoning up a new shirt to cover the alluring softness of his chest. Strands of twisting black hair hung in his eyes as he looked down to where his fingers worked.

“You could have stayed in bed,” I offered now that I was no longer panicking at the thought of pissing myself. “Or at the very least, kept your comfortable flannel on.”

He grinned up at me. “My new morning routine has been bringing me comfort. It’s bad enough that I wasn’t up before you to begin tasks for the day. I’m behind on my self-imposed schedule.”

The kitchen counter was a wasteland of glasses, sticky spills, and discarded tools.

Despite Graysen’s insistence that he would take care of it, I began sorting things into their expected destinations: Dirty dishes in the sink, alcohol in the glass-fronted liquor cabinet above the stove, spices on the designated wall-mounted rack, and unused ingredients left out overnight in the waste bin.

I used it as an opportunity to remind myself of what each liquor was called, and the composition of each drink.

Graysen listened and nodded approvingly, occasionally contributing his own reminders or corrections.

Once the surface had been wiped clean, I conceded by taking my usual seat at the counter.

“What should I wear on the job?” I asked, picturing my wardrobe in my head. Nothing felt appropriate for the environment. Not that I knew what was appropriate.

“Whatever you’d like.” He looked up from the counter where he was deftly chopping vegetables. “I understand I haven’t provided you many options.”

“Do you think the stores would have more variety for me?” Why had I spent the last week pouting around the house when I could have been preparing for my eventual employment? It wasn’t like I was going to let myself lose that argument.

He frowned. “The closest clothing market is half a day’s round trip. I could go for you, but I wouldn’t make it back in time for your first shift.”

I hummed, tapping my blunt fingernails on the counter. “Do you think Mykie has anything appropriate?” If I’d only seen her summer wardrobe, I wouldn’t bother asking, but a handful of her winter outfits had… potential. She certainly had more fashion sense than I’d been able to form yet.

“She might,” he reflected, his eyes briefly drifting in thought. “If you’d like, I can drop you off with her to prepare for your first day. Her house isn’t far.”