Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries - By Valerie Douglas Page 0,34

resilience of his body, the empathy of their race, the ability to create Elven lights in the darkness, and a trace of Healing. His own truest magic was in his skill with his swords, in his ability to pass those skills on to others. Like Ailith.

He had no ability to foresee…and yet…

Now he delighted in Delae’s body, in the pleasure she took from him and what he took from her, in her quick responsiveness, in the way her body trembled and quivered. He loved the taste and the feel of her.

The feel of his long silky hair brushing over her stomach as his mouth did wonderful things to her drove all thought from Delae’s mind as heat built within her and her breath came short. Her body went limp, twitching helplessly at the touch of his tongue, his warm mouth on her.

Her hands fell away as her body quivered.

Dorovan surged up, impaling her on him and she cried out, locking around him as she trembled wildly, her body closing around him, stroking him. With a cry of his own he poured into her, shuddering, his body rigid as he emptied himself into her.

It had been true when Ailith had asked it and it was true now. If he could have had a soul-bond with Delae, no matter what race she was, he would have.

Curling around her, he drew her body close to his. So precious to him, this life.

“Ailith is troubled,” Delae said.

Nodding, worried himself, Dorovan said, “You are, too.”

“There’s a darkness…” Delae said.

Startled, he rose on an elbow to look down at her. “Yes. You feel it, too?”

“It’s growing,” she said and shivered.

Dorovan nodded, pulling her close, wishing he could protect her - could protect all of them from what was coming.

“I think even Geric senses it, he’s been acting very strange lately,” she said, curling into the warmth of Dorovan’s long, strong body, running her hands over the muscles of his chest.

Dorovan cradled her against him, wishing he could bring her with him to Talaena where she would be safer, but he couldn’t.

“I gave Ailith the swords,” he said and smiled. “I wish you could have seen her face, Delae.”

The timing had just been wrong, Delae unable to return to the homestead before Ailith had to leave.

Knowing Ailith had the swords was an ease to Delae’s fears. And to her heart.

Named swords.

Rare even among the Elves, as close to unbreakable as Elven magic could make them, they were made with Elven steel, on an Elven forge with Elven magic, usually by the teacher for the student - for an exceptional student and keyed to student and student alone. To be wielded only by them.

Dorovan had told Delae what he intended to do. It was dangerous in a way for him to forge them, dangerous too in giving Ailith Named swords - swords that were bound only to her, forged by him with his own hands - but Dorovan had felt driven to do it, as was true with all Named swords.

Perhaps this had been why.

With a sigh, Delae smiled and said, “I wish I could too but I’m sure she’ll show them to me when I see her next.”

Not that Dorovan hadn’t shown her the swords already, both long and short - and they’d been incredible pieces of art, steel become sculpture and weaponry, beautiful and deadly - but that hadn’t been the point.

They’d both felt strongly that now was the time to give them to Ailith. Whatever was coming, they wanted to give Ailith the best chance they could to survive.

Worriedly, restless and heartsick, Dorovan drew Delae close, holding her tightly.

The Alliance and the Agreement had brought them peace for a time, but something loomed over all of them.

Chapter Thirteen

The pounding on the door to the homestead in the night reminded Delae dimly of a fateful night so long before. The night she’d met Dorovan for the first time. She scrambled from her bed, still caught up in the dream-memory as she threw on her robe before running down the hall in her bare feet.

She could almost hear Dorovan chiding from behind her, although he wasn’t there. “Put your shoes on, Delae.”

Her lips curved in half a smile at the memory.

A familiar voice, muffled by the door, with panic and fear running just beneath the calm, cried, “Delae. Wake up. Delae. Hurry.”

Ailith?

Snatching up a lantern, Delae lit it from a twig in the fire and hurried to the door.

“Delae,” the voice shouted. “It’s Ailith. Hurry.”

Ailith? At this