Alora: The Maladorn Scroll (Alora 3)

With the touch of his lips he sent a surge of love. Not a shallow magnetic attraction, but a deep, self-sacrificing devotion. She opened her shield and drank it in, relishing the waves of velvety affection. This part of having a soulmate was pretty awesome. On the other hand, the part where you die after a few days without contact and one can’t live if the other dies... that wasn’t quite so great.

The frustration and guilt didn’t disappear as much as cower inside, a hidden gremlin, poised to jump out again at the first opportunity. She would have to stay on guard.

“Hmmm,” she murmured as he withdrew his lips. “It seems kissing cures a lot of ills.”

“Even better than your magick circles,” he remarked, one side of his mouth quirking up in a crooked smile. “And a great deal more enjoyable.”

“Those pills are called ibuprofen, and you know it. Why do you insist on using the wrong words for things?”

“Because i-bu-pro-fen, is a nonsensical word. It has no meaning. Magick circle is better.”

“Still, you ought to learn our words.”

“Yes, you should.” Jireo’s muffled voice came from behind the couch, startling Alora so that she cried out. He continued, “Like me, Kaevin must practice new words forthwith.”

“Cripes!” Alora crawled up on her knees to peer over the back of the couch, where Kaevin’s meddling best friend lay on his back, his sandy-blond head pillowed on his clasped hands and a smug expression on his face. “Jireo, what are you doing down there, you little sneak?”

Beside her, Kaevin looked down at Jireo and chuckled, not the least bit embarrassed to discover their meeting hadn’t been private.

“I was here before you came in the room. It’s not my fault you failed in your reconnaissance,” Jireo said. “It was you who disturbed my nap with your cloying prolix and gauche kissing. I shouldn’t be surprised, as you are known osculators.”

“What’s an osculator?” Alora demanded.

“One who kisses,” Jireo replied, waggling his eyebrows.

“Cloying? Gauche? Where are you getting these words from, Jireo?”

“From Wesley. He has been teaching a new word each day, while we practice our archery together.”

Alora made a mental note to give Wesley a piece of her mind. Jireo seemed to gain immense satisfaction from annoying her at every opportunity with an endless personal arsenal. Now Wesley had managed to add even more ammunition to his stash.

“Yes,” Kaevin added. “Wesley reads the words from his magick talker.”

“Kaevin, you know it’s called a cell phone.” Alora frowned, but his answering grin was unrepentant. “I bet Wesley’s using some kind of learn-a-new-word app on his phone.”

“Alora, you are quite perspicacious,” Jireo replied, pinching his nose closed.

“I have antiperspirant on,” she objected.

Jireo sputtered laughter. “That word means wise. And you should make up your mind, Alora... you become enraged whether we speak as simpletons or with sesquipedalian elocution.”

With Kaevin’s infectious laugh, Alora felt her anger evaporate.

“How long did you practice these phrases, Jireo?” asked Kaevin.

“Only four fingers or so,” he explained, using their time measure for an hour. “But the return was well worth the effort. Your soulmate is so easy to tease. It’s almost as enjoyable as tormenting Arista.”

“I feel sorry for your sister. Growing up with you must’ve been like torture.” Alora spouted, thought she had to stifle a grin, unable to combat the cheerful vibes in the room.

The delicious smell of fresh baked cinnamon rolls wafted into the room, eliciting a growl in her stomach, as Uncle Charles leaned into the room. “Where’s Markaeus?”

“I don’t know,” Alora answered. “He’s usually dancing by the oven door on Saturday mornings. Cinnamon rolls are his favorite.”

“Ha!” Charles laughed. “Everything sweet is his favorite. That kid would probably eat a horse if you put frosting on it.”

It was true. Since Uncle Charles had brought the nine-year-old to Montana, he’d eaten everything in sight, but he had a penchant for sweets. He adjusted well to his new environment, although he was riddled with guilt. Having seen his brother die in battle following their desperate escape from Water Clan and knowing his grandfather was still suffering under Vindrake’s bloodhound control, Markaeus felt he didn’t deserve happiness.

Around Uncle Charles or the boys, Markaeus always put up a tough exterior, but he often let his barrier slip when he was with Alora. Gradually sharing his sad life’s story—growing up with only his grandfather to care for him—he seemed hungry for a mother’s love. Many a night Alora had held the gangly boy in her lap, rocking and soothing him to sleep.