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He studied me for a long moment before nodding.
A massive yawn stretched my whole damn face, and Ervo pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly to his chest.
Thirteen
“You need to rest,”he murmured to me. “I’ll find us some pillows and blankets. Wait here, where I know you’re safe.”
“Fine.” I sighed dramatically, and he lightly tickled my side. A squeal escaped me, earning a soft chuckle from the phoenix before he strode out onto the balcony and disappeared into the forest, heading out to find pillows and blankets.
The space was comfortable, despite being empty. Ervo had explained that you could create a mattress with Vevol’s magic, but it was really time-consuming and pretty exhausting. So, we were going to crash on the ground until we were certain enough that we were staying in the treehouse near the Stronghold for the long haul.
Some of the other girls wanted to get away from the rest of the fae, to put more space between them and the men, but I liked being near the action. I’d always enjoyed my friendships with the other women, and I had spent enough time alone on Earth to be certain that wasn’t what I wanted in Vevol.
Ervo had assured me that he didn’t mind living near everyone else, as long as it meant he was with me. And damn, that made me feel good.
He had set his bag down against one of the far walls at some point in the day, so I crossed the room and picked it up.
We hadn’t created any of the floating lights that the fae could make with their magic—they were also exhausting and time consuming, according to Ervo. But I could see just fine in the dark, since I was technically a fae.
I tugged the book out of the bag, still curious about why Ervo had handed it to me and told me to bring it along. The action had been very deliberate, and happened while he was admitting that he wasn’t good at voicing his thoughts and emotions.
Opening to the first page—usually a title page on Earth, but some of the books I’d found in Vevol had no titles—I stared down at the paper.
The words on it were handwritten in simple, perfect glyphs. Whatever magic translated our words for the fae and the fae for ours worked on written language too, and I watched the glyphs of the fae language transform into my own.
And into a poem.
There was no title, for the book or poem, and my eyes immediately scanned the words.
She’s mine,
It whispers,
The wind against my face.
She’s mine,
It bellows,
The scent in my nose.
She’s mine,
It snarls,
The beat in my chest
She’s mine,
It roars,
Though I don’t hold her yet.
My mouth wasdry when I finished reading.
My heart beating rapidly.
I reread the poem once, and then again.
