Dark Love

B2P40

Hard chiseled chest that belied the ravages of age slammed against her cheek. The sudden yearning to nuzzle against them catching her unawares. The scent of cinnamon assailed her nostrils first. It's unexpected sweetness a punch stunning her into a sudden stillness. A stillness that let her know the arms of Nick's dad were not wrapped about her in returned affection. A stillness that told her the scent of cinnamon was unique to the Elven, specifically those with get heritage. Those with strong links to their inhabitable homeland. There were Elven among them.

Saera drew back surprised. Only hightened emotions gave out that scent. It was usually concealed with manufactured fragrance. Some spelled into existence and others store bought.

Nick himself had all but showered in Brut. She'd thought the cinnamon edge to his scent unique to him. But her recent time at the academy among more of his kind told her that was not the case. Even out there amongst the fiery brimstone and the scent of burning flesh, the whiff of cinnamon remained.

Saera looked anxiously about. She didn't want to deal with more Elven. Not when so many had died all around her. They would surely hold her to blame. The sole survivor. The friend of deamons.

Saera took another anxious step back. But look all as she might she couldn't pin the Elven. She couldn't pick him or her out from those gathered around her and it made her nervous.

"I should go," she said abruptly, forgetting her reason for even being here.

Nick's dad tilted his head assessingly as he studied her, the look on his face so familiar it brought a pang to her aching heart. "You only just got here," he said, before nodding to her pack. "What do you have for us?"

Saera's mouth fell open. Suddenly uncertain what she should do. "There's nothing... no spellwork in my bag," she managed finally, her voice coming out small it went almost unheard.

"Then why are you here?" The question was a punch in the gut. Did he already know? Was that why he was so brusque with her? Did he blame her? Did he want her gone?

She knew she'd only drive herself mad with those questions, so instead she hauled open her satchel and pulled out another bag, this one holding all of Nick's belongings. At least those he'd brought with him.

"Nick's dead," she said, thrusting the bag out to his dad. "These were his."