47. Danica

Danica

47

T he ride's rhythm has been my constant companion, Storm's hooves laying down a beat that vibrates through my very core. We become a symphony of motion, a blend of muscle, sinew, and leather-wrapped in relentless purpose. Hours bleed together in a blur of landscapes and the ever-present thrum beneath us.

But then—a shudder ripples across my skin as we hit a glitch in the world, like walking face-first through an unexpected cobweb. It's that moment of ick amplified by a thousand, yet there's no spider, just the eerie caress of magic.

"Did anyone else feel that?" I glance back at Rhyland with raised brows.

"We've just breached the protective runes," Faderyn calls out from horseback, a few paces to our left. "We are no longer covered under their protection." His emerald eyes reflect the sudden alertness that overtakes us all.

The forest around us seems to awaken. Ancient trees stretch their limbs toward the sky, bathed in sunlight filtering through leaves of emerald and gold. It's as if we've entered a realm where nature itself has conjured enchantments.

As the strange sensations ebb, a new one blossoms—the press of Rhyland against my back, his arms forming a bastion of strength around me. He leans in, his voice a gritty thunder against my ear. "How are you holding up, Angel?"

Despite our audience, I let myself savor the closeness for a heartbeat longer than propriety dictates. There's a steadiness in his embrace that flows into me, a silent bolstering.

"If you keep holding me like this, I'll be more than fine," I quip back softly, just for him, angling myself into the solidity of his frame.

But I know what he's asking—how I'm coping with the magical unknown we've stumbled into—so I give a little nod of assurance. "I'm good," I confirm, volume back to normal. "But if this enchanted forest tries any funny business, I'm letting you handle it. You can be my knight in leather armor." It's a gentle tease, my way of saying I feel safe under his protection, even as we venture deeper into a realm ruled by ancient forces.

Rhyland chuckles, the sound vibrating through me. "And deprive the world of seeing you kick ass in enchanted forests? Never." His grip tightens slightly, adding weight to his words. "Besides," he adds, his breath warm on my neck, "you shine brightest when you show me up. How could I take that away from you, k?ra?"

Curiosity colors my voice as I tilt my head slightly. "And what's 'k?ra'? You've never called me that before."

He pauses a flicker of mischief in his eyes. "It's a term of endearment from my old world, meaning beloved or dear one." His words drip with a baritone richness, a hint of an ancient Norse accent wrapping around the word like a caress. "But for you, it could also mean 'feisty little temptress who has a Viking under her spell,'" he adds with a playful growl, his lips close enough to tease the shell of my ear.

His arms constrict gently, reinforcing the word's weight with his unyielding presence. His tone is playful and dominating, a reminder that he's a force to be reckoned with—a protector from times when the word meant a fierce guardian of heart and body. "Get used to it, k?ra, because I have a feeling there are many more ancient endearments I've yet to call you."

His words, steeped in affection and a trace of that owning, dominating charm, are enough to heat my cheeks and raise the ante in our playful exchange. If this were a sparring match, Rhyland's verbal volley would have the crowd roaring.

"We'll reach the Spectre Vales by nightfall," Faderyn calls out from ahead. "A day's ride."

Curiosity nibbles at me, and I pull out the map from the saddlebag. I touch the spot for the Spectre Vales, activating its magic. The map ripples, its surface shimmering like a storyteller clearing his throat before weaving his tale.

"In a land cloaked in eternal twilight," the map begins in its 'once upon a time' voice, "lie the Spectre Vales of Crystal Peaks. Here, pale wisps of mist cradle secrets and confound the senses. Beware the Whisperlings that merge with the fog; they entangle thoughts and lead wayfarers astray."

A knot tightens in my stomach with each revelation from the map, its whispers painting a foreboding picture. Just the thought of Rhyland and those ghostly Whisperlings sends a cold shiver skittering up my spine.

I tuck the map away, but its words linger, portents of peril making me hyperaware of Rhyland's presence.

Sensing the shift in my mood, he dips his head, his breath warm against my neck. "I've got all the protection I need right here." His lips graze my skin in a tender and fierce kiss, a silent oath that my worries are his to bear. He feels each flutter of apprehension through our bond, just as I sense his steadfast resolve flowing back.

I melt into that brief moment of intimacy, drawing strength from our shared connection. Whatever dangers lurk ahead, we'll face them together. He is my shelter in the storm, just as I am his guiding light. With Rhyland at my side, I know I can weather any squall.

Craning my neck, I find his fathomless blue eyes—calm seas and raging tempests captured in twin spheres. "Betcha your ass," I volley back with a hint of sass. But letting truth slip in, I add softly, "I won't let anything happen to you."

Rhyland's laughter rumbles through me, rich and gritty like aged whiskey. "Angel, it's them who should be worried about me."

"Out of curiosity, does your...power extend to, let's say, invisible entities? Or is it just the tangible stuff you can influence?" My scientific mind itches to know the limits and mechanics of his telekinesis.

Rhyland exhales deeply as if gearing up for a lengthy explanation. "Honestly, as far as I've determined, my power is effective only on physical things. What's got you asking?"

My thoughts circle back to that terrifying day in the forest when Marcus took me, and Azrael joined the fray. I remember the helplessness I felt as Rhyland struggled against the intangible forces. That memory makes my heart beat faster with worry.

What if the Whisperlings can bypass Rhyland's defenses, too?

Putting on a brave face, I try to mask my concern with humor. "I'm basically getting my PhD in Telekinesis 101, courtesy of Professor Vampire."

Rhyland doesn't miss the undertone of distress. "You're about as transparent as crystal, Angel. Spill it. What's gnawing at that brilliant mind of yours?"

I take a deep breath. "You couldn't touch Azrael's shadows," I start, my wit retreating in the face of my fears, "and that scares me. If the Whisperlings are anything like that—I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you." My voice cracked, and the final words were barely whispered.

Rhyland becomes a solid, reassuring force. His hand lifts my face, making me meet his gaze—his ocean-blue eyes holding a tempest of determination. "Listen to me," he says, his voice a low rumble charged with indomitable will. "I may not have been able to grip those damn shadows, but I've survived a millennium's worth of nightmares. No shadow, no Whisperling, nothing in this world or the next can take me down easily, especially with you by my side." He pauses, his thumb gently caressing my cheek. "I've got you, and I'll tear through whatever I must to keep you. That's a promise, and I don't break my fucking promises." His eyes blaze with fierce protectiveness, a silent vow in that intense gaze.

Leaning into the fortress that is Rhyland, I whisper, "I'll do whatever I can—I will let nothing happen to you."

It's our secret, a feisty pledge in the quiet of our shared moment. My mind races like a sprinter; shutting it off isn't an option.

We ride in silence for a while, his inhale drawing in the scent of my hair, trying to read my emotions. "Angel?" His voice hints at the powerful creature he is. "I can still feel your anxiety. Is there something… I need to do?"

I'm an open book to this man, unable to hide my inner turmoil. The fear that's grabbed me ever since those visions invaded my sleep—of him, consumed by shadows, Moretemis stealing him away, my Nordic Nightwalker— is relentless. It's replaying repeatedly, and it's eating me up inside. He's always here, finding ways to steer my mind clear of those dark images.

I trust Rhyland to put an offer on the table as casually as if he's ordering a pint, utterly indifferent to the audience around us.

The mere idea sends a thrill down my spine, yet I can't help but blurt out, "Have you lost your marbles? Right here, right now?"

"If you don't relax,baby," he warns, the corner of his mouth ticking up in that cocky half-smile I know all too well, "then I'm just gonna have to find a way to relax you." The promise in his tone is as much of a caress as his gritty and unyieldingly flirty touch.

Oh no. What is with this man and PDA—X-Rated style?

My body tenses up instantly as I quickly survey our crew. We're spearheading the group, with Faderyn at our six, diligently covering our backs. Erik holds our left side, ever the stoic guardian, while Lucian's on our right, no doubt ready with a quip. And falling into place, Axiyla assumes the rear.

"Rhy—" But before I can even get my protest out...

"We're going to ride ahead a bit. Give us some room," he asserts in no uncertain terms, then nudges Storm into a swift gallop, widening the gap between us and our companions.

"Oh, for the love of all that is HOLY. Are you for real right now, bro? " Lucian whines.

I hear Erik's voice fading into the distance before it becomes inaudible, "Zip it, Lucian. No one needs to hear your bitchy commentary."

Rhyland spurs Storm forward, leaving a trail of dust and distance. The forest boughs lace together above, dappling us with cool shade speckles as Storm drops leisurely.

"Rhyland, this is hardly the time for…. that. There are more pressing matters, and let's not forget, we're not exactly alone," I chide him, rolling my eyes.

Rhyland laughs, full of confidence. "Since when the hell does an audience stop me, Angel? You must've forgotten our little escapade the other night and the night in the forest already," he quips, leaning in and kissing my neck. I roll my eyes harder as he pulls me roughly against his chest, "I need you to relax," he growls in my ear.

His hand slowly reaches the front zipper of my vest, "and what better way to do that..." With a quick tug, it's undone. Before I can protest, his hand is cupping my bare breast, and I can't help but let out a soft moan as my nipple hardens at his touch. "Than to make you fucking come?"

My eyes flutter shut as I surrender to the sensation. "Godsdamn, you're so responsive," he mutters, his fingers pinching and plucking at my hard nipple. "You're gonna come for me, aren't you?" he says with a smirk, and I can't help but nod in agreement, my body already responding to his touch.

"Yeah, you are. Here. Hold the reins." I snatch the reins fromRhyland's grip with lightning speed, and before I know it, his other hand is making a beeline for the front of my pants. "You better lean back and give me that pretty pussy, sweetheart," he demands in that rough tone.

All I can do is comply as Rhyland makes good on his promise of pleasure.