Page 20 of Tempest Awakening
His face inched closer, and I found myself holding my breath in anticipation. Just as his lips were about to touch mine, tendrils of shadow curled around us, cool and electric against my skin. They caressed my cheeks, my neck, leaving trails of tingling awareness in their wake. With a start, I realized these shadows weren't just ambient darkness—they were an extension of Ciaran himself, responding to his will.
Ciaran's lips barely brushed mine, a whisper of a kiss that left me aching for more. The shadows seemed to pulse with desire, mirroring the longing that coursed through my veins.
"Until we meet again, little librarian," he breathed against my lips. His silver eyes glimmered with promise and a hint of warning. "Remember, our encounter must remain our secret. Not everything in this library is as it seems. Trust your instincts... and that pendant."
Before I could respond, the shadows enveloped him completely. In the blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving me breathless and tingling from his touch.
I looked down at the fire opal pendant, still clasped around my wrist. Its warmth pulsed in time with my racing heart. As reality slowly seeped back in, a wave of guilt washed over me. This wasn't mine to take, no matter how drawn to it I felt.
With a deep breath, I unclasped the pendant, my fingers lingering on its warm surface. As I moved to place it back in its box, I could have sworn I felt a surge of... disappointment? The pendant seemed to grow cooler, its vibrant colors dulling slightly.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, feeling oddly compelled to explain myself to an inanimate object. "You're beautiful, but you're not mine."
As I closed the lid of the box, a faint, mournful hum seemed to emanate from within. Shaking my head at my own imagination, I turned to leave the alcove.
With trembling fingers, I touched my lips, still feeling the ghost of Ciaran's almost-kiss. "What have I gotten myself into?" I whispered to the empty alcove, the echoes of his presence lingering in the air.
Chapter 8
Kane
I strode into the Dragonne Library, matching my father's brisk pace. Silvius Ellesar, Lord Protector of the Dragon Rider Guild, led the way, his silver hair a stark contrast to his perpetual scowl. I kept my hands clasped behind my back, projecting calm while I cataloged every detail of our surroundings.
The meeting room was already occupied. Isolde Northfall, Garrick Burke, Aurelia, Akira—each a piece on this political chessboard. My fingers tapped a steady rhythm against my thigh as I settled into an armchair, a habit that kept me focused.
Moriyana commanded the room with her presence—obviously, as she was the only dragon here—but it was the unexpected figure beside her that caught my attention. A human woman with tousled hair and golden-brown eyes.
Tempest Whittaker, according to the nameplate before her. An anomaly, but one that stirred an unwelcome spark of desire within me. I clenched my jaw, forcing my gaze away from the delicate curve of her lips, the soft swell of her chest. This sudden, intense attraction was as unwelcome as it was unexpected.
"Esteemed colleagues," Moriyana began, her voice rich with authority. "I present Tempest Whittaker, our new Librarian and Archivist of Human Magical Interactions."
A ripple of tension swept the room. I noted each reaction—Isolde's measured nod, Garrick's stoic acceptance, Aurelia's thinly veiled disdain, Akira's intrigued smirk.
"Ms. Whittaker will lead our Oral History Project," Moriyana continued, "bridging the gap between our worlds post-Unveiling."
My father's lip curled. "Surely you jest, Moriyana," he spat. "A human? For such a task?"
I stole another glance at Tempest, taking in the slight flush on her cheeks, the defiant set of her jaw. Heat bloomed low in my abdomen, a primal response I struggled to suppress. I shifted uncomfortably, jaw clenched, furious at my body's betrayal.
"The decision is made, Silvius," Moriyana's scales shimmered, a warning in her tone. "The Oral History Project will involve gathering and preserving firsthand accounts from humans and magical beings alike, documenting their experiences and perspectives since the Unveiling. This will be a comprehensive effort, requiring delicate handling and deep understanding of both worlds."
Tempest's voice, calm and clear, cut through the tension. "The goal is to create an archive that future generations can learn from, fostering a deeper understanding and cooperation between our species."
My father's sneer deepened. "And you believe a human can manage this monumental task?"
I watched Tempest, impressed despite myself by her steady gaze under scrutiny. A complication, certainly, but perhaps an opportunity as well—if I could quell the unsettling pull she seemed to have over my senses.
Moriyana nodded. "Tempest's fresh perspectives are precisely why she was chosen. We need someone who can navigate both worlds with insight and empathy."
"If this must proceed," my father's voice cut through my thoughts, "the Guild will oversee it. Kane will manage the project."
I tensed, careful to keep my face neutral. Of course. Another burden for the dutiful son to bear.
"As you wish, Father," I responded, tone clipped. Despite my father's disdain, I didn't share his prejudices against humans. Among the supernatural community, I was probably considered quite liberal. In fact, I had long believed that humans and Supes working together could lead to unprecedented advancements.
But this—this attraction to Tempest Whittaker—well, it was a problem.
The meeting concluded and I approached her, steps measured, drinking in the faint hints of warm vanilla and spice that seemed to cling to her hair. The scent sent a jolt of want through me, one I ruthlessly pushed down.
