A mind that was consumed with only one singular thought.
“Cedric,” she breathed, shoving her blankets aside and slinging her legs over the edge of the mattress. Not without effort, Elyria hauled herself out of bed. She reached for where her staff was propped against the wall, planting it on the floor like a walking stick, letting it hold someof her weight.
What’s wrong with me? What is this?
Bare feet stumbling along the cold wooden floor, Elyria made her way to the door. Her clumsy fingers fumbled for the handle, and she swung the door open—only to step back in surprise.
Because standing there, right in front of her, was Cedric Thorne, his fist raised as though he had just been about to knock.
His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the ties of his loose black tunic tangled with his token. His hair was mussed, sticking up adorably on one side, and despite the fog in her mind and the weight on her body, Elyria found her mouth quirking up.
A flicker of relief broke across Cedric’s face, though his brow furrowed as he took in the state of her, shivering in nothing but her own long tunic and undergarments, halfway braced against the door, staff in hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked breathlessly, padding into the room on bare feet, the hem of his pants brushing across the floor.
“I was coming to ask you the same thing,” she said, rubbing her chest.
“What’s wrong?”
Elyria shook her head, rays of clarity breaking through the clouds there. The bond between them pulsed again, softer now, and it was like his very presence helped pull her back to the surface. “I don’t know. I just feel strange. Like I’ve had a few...dozen...drinks too many.” She offered a halfhearted grin. “Only, I swear to you I was sober as the day I was born when I crawled into bed, so I don’t understand. It’s only this”—she tipped the staff toward Cedric, then back to herself—“that brought me out of it.”
“You felt it too. That tug.”
“I feel it often,” she said, and the only thing tugging at her now was her fear, having finally admitted to it. Though there was much she suspected, much she thought about, when it came to this celestial-blessed—or celestial-damned—connection she and Cedric shared, she’d never openly acknowledged it. Never wanted to give it voice.
“I do too.”
A beat of silence passed between them, and for a moment, Elyria thought Cedric might reach for her. Instead, he said, “Tell me moreabout how you felt before I arrived. Feeling strange.”
Elyria’s brows drew together. “You don’t?”
“I feel normal, same as I always have. Or, well, same as I have since meeting you, I suppose.”
Elyria didn’t know if he meant it as a compliment or a complaint, but she supposed it didn’t much matter. “What do you think that says, that I end up all woozy and you get to stay your vigilant,normalself?”
Cedric huffed a low laugh, raking his hand through his hair. “Damned if I know, Trouble.”
Elyria blinked. “What was that?”
Cedric gave a sheepish grin. “Trouble. You know, because I’m always the oneintrouble, whereas?—”
“Iamtrouble. Yes, I recall. Cute.” She shook her head, trying her damnedest not to let her amusement show. As far as nicknames went, she’d had far worse. “I thought we determined that we have more than enough monikers between the two of us already.”
Cedric shrugged. “So what’s one more?”
“You have an uncanny way of diverting my attention, Sir Thorne.”
“Listen, if you get a shiny new nickname?—”
“Courtesy of yourself,” she interjected.
“—then it’s only fair you start calling me Ric. Besides, I think we’ve long since moved past such formal address, wouldn’t you agree?”
Elyria’s grin was downright devilish. “Oh? You don’t like it when I call you, ‘Sir?’ ”
The color suddenly flooding Cedric’s cheeks made her chest light up, the thread between them shimmering with something like delight. With every word they exchanged, Elyria woke up more. Her mental fog continued clearing, her body slowly feeling stronger, surer.
Sid, too, seemed to become suddenly alert, her tail flicking warily as she stretched across the bed.
