would be enough to tide him over for now, until he could return to the guild and eat some fruits and vegetables to give his body the nourishment it craved. A diet of such things was enough for most elves. Blood was only necessary for regular elves when they were injured or in need of a boost to their healing for some reason.
For the tainted like him, a regular intake of small quantities of blood was vital. It helped him control the darkness, satiated it and calmed it. However, restraint was needed. Too much blood could trigger bloodlust and give the darkness a firmer hold over him, causing it to spread its tendrils deeper into his soul to squeeze out the light.
The line between not enough and too much was dangerously thin.
“Please, Rosalind,” Fuery murmured as he took a drink for himself, but didn’t touch it. He ran his free hand over his overlong blue-black hair, in danger of pulling the top half of it free from the silver clasp that held it back as his violet eyes implored the witch. “Will you take a look at the spell? I was not aware of it… if I had been, I would have… I do not know what I would have done.”
Hartt wanted to reach for him as he dropped his hand to his lap, gripped the hem of his black tunic and twisted it into his fist, an agonised and desperate edge to his expression.
The wounded look Fuery gave Hartt stirred acid in his chest worse than the grapefruit had and he looked away from his friend, dropping his gaze to his knees as that hot feeling scoured his insides.
“There was not time to ask your permission.” He was deeply aware that wasn’t an excuse for what he had done or the fact he had failed to tell Fuery about the spell. It had bound them for centuries now and he had kept it from his friend that entire time. “I should have, and I am sorry about that, but I could not lose you.”
He lifted his head and locked gazes with Fuery, hoped he saw in them how deeply he loved him and how he couldn’t live without him. He had lost too much in this world.
If he lost Fuery, he would be alone, and gods, he would easily lose himself to the darkness.
Would let it take him.
He struggled to hold Fuery’s gaze as he added, “I should have told you sooner, but… this… this is what I feared. I made a decision that day, a choice for both of us. It was either lose you or risk losing myself… and I will always pick your welfare over mine.”
Thick silence fell as Fuery stared at him, as his amethyst eyes warmed and glittered.
“Aw… you guys are so sweet.” Rosalind knotted her hands together in front of her heart. “You want a room?”
He frowned, unsure what she meant by that.
When it dawned on him, that frown became a scowl. She was insinuating that he and Fuery were engaged in more than a friendship.
“Little wild rose,” Vail gently admonished.
She shrugged. “Just asking. They’re as bad as you and Loren. All moon-eyed when you’re around each other. So many bromances in the elf world.”
“The spell.” Fuery’s tone had darkened, gaining a sharp edge that revealed his impatience.
Hartt again wanted to tell him to let it go and forget trying to learn the words that would activate the spell. Fuery must have sensed it, because he levelled a hard look on him, one that said what he wouldn’t—if Hartt would tell him the words, he wouldn’t have to get the witch involved.
There was no way in this world, Hell or Heaven, that he was going to willingly tell Fuery the words, giving him a method of drawing the darkness from Hartt. Fuery would mean well, but he would try to draw all the corruption from Hartt’s soul, and it would destroy him.
Rosalind shuffled to the edge of her seat and he glanced at her, froze in place as their eyes locked. The lighter blue that filled most of her irises sparkled, silver stars twinkling brighter and brighter and beginning to move as her magic rose to the fore. He fell into them, could feel it as a physical action, as if he was dropping towards her.
Or she was pulling him in her direction.
Her hands came up and framed his face as she peered deeper still, and a brief tangled thought crossed his mind,