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   Chapter 83 No.83

The WeatherMaker Hearts Desire By Lady Lilium Characters: 4753

Updated: 2018-07-10 19:02


The room became suddenly cold. Farrell heard Ramana shifting on the bed before him, perhaps moving away to give him space to enter. Farrell moved onto the bed, reaching Ramana who had crawled toward the headboard. Bearing over her, Farrell felt a cold draft on the back of his neck, though the window was closed.

He lifted the skirt of her dress up, running his hand up her thigh. Ramana shivered, her breath shuddering.

The room felt cold, felt icy.

Ramana grabbed his shirt roughly, ripping it apart and tearing the buttons away, running her claws down his chest. Farrell did not flinch as her scratches left red marks on him. He ran his fingers through her hair, as her hands ran down his lean and muscular frame and to his belt. She fumbled in the darkness, trying to undo the thing. He helped her, throwing the belt and the trousers away and turning his attention back onto her.

Their bellies touched.

Ramana gasped, throwing her head back onto the pillows as she drew a deep breath. She moaned; reaching out to Farrell and wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him close into a deep kiss.

Minutes later, Farrell's pace began to quicken, until he let out a final breath, sighing in pleasure as he felt Ramana below him stiffen.

Their breathing slowed, and Farrell pulled away from her, his skin beaded in sweat. He collapsed beside her, feeling in his chest his beating heart slowly return to its normal rhythm.

Ramana lay on her back beside him, though he couldn't see her clearly, she was smiling to the ceiling.

Ramana lifted a hand slowly to her head, brushing her hair back.

'You've messed up my hair.'

Farrell chuckled to himself.

'So vain' he whispered.

'Am not!' Ramana cried indignantly sitting up.

'Shhhhh' Farrell voiced, pushing her gently back onto the bed. 'Don't be so loud, you'll ruin the peace.'

Ramana flumped back onto the bed.

As they rested, Farrell held her close. Ramana's skin was burning hot; it was as if her body was aflame.

'Are you alright?' Farrell asked her concerned. 'You're boiling hot.'

Ramana took a deep breath, closing her eyes. It may have been a draft, or the fact that they had stilled now, but her skin suddenly seemed to cool.

Oh Ramana…. Farrell grieved. My love…….my poor love…….what have I done to you……to us…?

Ramana…..I'm so sorry….

That night, as they s

lept in the cave, Farrell dreamed of her again.

'Why don't you play outside?' Ramana suggested.

'But why?'

Ramana slapped him lightly, smearing bright pink paint across his face.

'Now look at the mess you've made' she said laughing at him. 'You look like a jester!'

'Me?' Farrell said indignantly back at her, reaching for a pot of paint behind him. 'What about you?!' he threw the paint at her, but missed.

'Heads up!' Ramana called suddenly from above him.

Farrell jerked his head up to the balcony above, just as an entire content of a paint pot fell over his head.

'Dam you woman!' he bellowed, wiping the blue from his eyes. 'What is the matter with you?'

He was vaguely aware of a bird chirping loudly and running around in circles nearby, but when he cleared his eyes, he saw neither the bird nor Ramana.

Everything was silent, and he no longer stood in his home, but outside, in woodland.

He was no longer covered in paint.

He was alone, save for one figure, standing facing away from him.

He couldn't see the shadowy figure clearly, but in his dream he somehow knew it was a young woman, with long black hair.

She turned to him, face hidden by the darkness of the cave that suddenly began to materialize around them.

'Find me…'

He woke with a start. The others were still asleep.

Farrell lay back down, taking slow and steady breaths. Alone with his thoughts he remained for several hours, until one of the mercenaries beside him woke. Shortly after, the others began to rise also, and the faint morning light reached them from the mouth of the cave. And as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Flunkit returned to them.

'The men are still out there' he told the others. 'They are circling the forest, looking for our trail.'

Chapter Twenty Eight

A Knife in the Dark

'So' Woodworm began, summing up their predicament, 'we've barely started our quest, and we're somehow worse off than when we began. We're no closer to finding the real Amaia, and we have somehow gotten ourselves into a situation where we are hunted by none other……then the frikkin prince himself. How the fuck did we manage to fuck up so badly so early on?'

'We couldn't have known it was him' Flunkit reasoned.

'This is all your fault' Woodworm shot at him. 'If you hadn't fired the first arrow then we wouldn't be in this mess.'

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