Highland Moon Sifter (a Highland Sorcery novel) by Clover Autrey Page B
Authors: Clover Autrey
Ads: Link
the villagers, the stony façade of his expression melted into sorrow.
Sympathy wound tight around Bekah’s heart. Their words had hurt him.
The moment he was in the trees again, away from the watching eyes, he leaned back against the trunk of a tree, or rather slumped against it as though he no longer had the energy or will to hold himself fully upright.
His shoulders sagged, head lowered so that his long hair fell forward, covering either side of his face.
He remained like that, motionless, a living, breathing sculpture of a broken defeated spirit, and she didn’t want to be moved by it, or him, not with what had to be done, but she couldn’t hold the tide of emotion back.
She hurt for him, for all that he’d endured, all that he’d lost. His clan, his family, even his pride.
He was a good man.
She could no longer deny that.
Yet sometimes good men made terrible choices.
He made his. Or would make his. And she had already made hers.
She knew what she had to do. She’d jumped into a freaking tornado of a time rift because she had made her choice.
After a long while, Shaw moved, shifting fully back to unsteady feet. She thought he’d return to the castle as beat as he looked, but instead he headed in the opposite direction.
She shadowed him from afar, afraid to get too close and give herself away. To him or to the Sifts? She wasn’t all that sure anymore. Though with the way his pace slowed and his steps weaved, he most likely wasn’t alert enough to hear her approach anyway.
Or any monsters, beasts, or men who might wish him harm.
She glanced about for the Sifts but saw no trace of them. Which of course didn’t mean a thing.
Damn. She shouldn’t feel protective of Shaw. It’d be good if something came along and took him out for her. Wouldn’t it?
Her circling thoughts were getting way out of hand. She had a knife, albeit a small one. He was weak. She’d never get a better chance than now. Except…she couldn’t do it anymore. She knew she should, that it was what was right, but she couldn’t.
A low thrumming rumbled through the ground into her feet, the crashing of waves. Shaw moved out of the forest onto a craggy ledge that looked out over a gray tumultuous sea.
From the shadows within the trees, Bekah watched Shaw turn his face up to the silver glow of the waning moon. His hair whipped back by the wind coming up off of the cliffs. As though magnetized by him, particles of moon dust rained from the sky, coating him in a jewel-like substance.
It was magic.
He was magic.
Moon Sifter.
He literally sifted his magic from moonlight.
It was said a Moon Sifter’s gift sprang from a darkness in their core, an unnatural flaw in their very creation, but this…this was not bred of shadows.
But magic woven upon strands of moonlight, replenishing a tired hurting soul. He blazed like a beacon surrounded by night. Her heart took a tumble as great as the fall to the ocean below.
He was a miracle.
Tilting his head back, Shaw sank to the ground, lying flat on his back, eyes closed, allowing the soft dusty glow to fall upon him and absorb into his skin.
Bekah sank too, overcome by what she was witnessing. He looked so vulnerable at the cliff’s edge, his flat stomach moving up and down with his breathing. He could have fallen asleep, easy prey to her little blade, a soft puncture into his skin.
But she couldn’t make herself get up and go over there. Not like this. Not while…she scrunched her nose, crushing a leaf between her fingers. No, never. She needed to stop pretending. Needed her mind to catch up to what her heart was telling her. There was no way in the known universe that she was going to kill Shaw Limont. Just like that, another decision was made, overriding the first.
So what now?
The Sifts still couldn’t come into existence.
What if she explained things to Shaw? Told him about the Sifts, about everything?
He was a good man. She saw that now, understood why Col would never have
Sympathy wound tight around Bekah’s heart. Their words had hurt him.
The moment he was in the trees again, away from the watching eyes, he leaned back against the trunk of a tree, or rather slumped against it as though he no longer had the energy or will to hold himself fully upright.
His shoulders sagged, head lowered so that his long hair fell forward, covering either side of his face.
He remained like that, motionless, a living, breathing sculpture of a broken defeated spirit, and she didn’t want to be moved by it, or him, not with what had to be done, but she couldn’t hold the tide of emotion back.
She hurt for him, for all that he’d endured, all that he’d lost. His clan, his family, even his pride.
He was a good man.
She could no longer deny that.
Yet sometimes good men made terrible choices.
He made his. Or would make his. And she had already made hers.
She knew what she had to do. She’d jumped into a freaking tornado of a time rift because she had made her choice.
After a long while, Shaw moved, shifting fully back to unsteady feet. She thought he’d return to the castle as beat as he looked, but instead he headed in the opposite direction.
She shadowed him from afar, afraid to get too close and give herself away. To him or to the Sifts? She wasn’t all that sure anymore. Though with the way his pace slowed and his steps weaved, he most likely wasn’t alert enough to hear her approach anyway.
Or any monsters, beasts, or men who might wish him harm.
She glanced about for the Sifts but saw no trace of them. Which of course didn’t mean a thing.
Damn. She shouldn’t feel protective of Shaw. It’d be good if something came along and took him out for her. Wouldn’t it?
Her circling thoughts were getting way out of hand. She had a knife, albeit a small one. He was weak. She’d never get a better chance than now. Except…she couldn’t do it anymore. She knew she should, that it was what was right, but she couldn’t.
A low thrumming rumbled through the ground into her feet, the crashing of waves. Shaw moved out of the forest onto a craggy ledge that looked out over a gray tumultuous sea.
From the shadows within the trees, Bekah watched Shaw turn his face up to the silver glow of the waning moon. His hair whipped back by the wind coming up off of the cliffs. As though magnetized by him, particles of moon dust rained from the sky, coating him in a jewel-like substance.
It was magic.
He was magic.
Moon Sifter.
He literally sifted his magic from moonlight.
It was said a Moon Sifter’s gift sprang from a darkness in their core, an unnatural flaw in their very creation, but this…this was not bred of shadows.
But magic woven upon strands of moonlight, replenishing a tired hurting soul. He blazed like a beacon surrounded by night. Her heart took a tumble as great as the fall to the ocean below.
He was a miracle.
Tilting his head back, Shaw sank to the ground, lying flat on his back, eyes closed, allowing the soft dusty glow to fall upon him and absorb into his skin.
Bekah sank too, overcome by what she was witnessing. He looked so vulnerable at the cliff’s edge, his flat stomach moving up and down with his breathing. He could have fallen asleep, easy prey to her little blade, a soft puncture into his skin.
But she couldn’t make herself get up and go over there. Not like this. Not while…she scrunched her nose, crushing a leaf between her fingers. No, never. She needed to stop pretending. Needed her mind to catch up to what her heart was telling her. There was no way in the known universe that she was going to kill Shaw Limont. Just like that, another decision was made, overriding the first.
So what now?
The Sifts still couldn’t come into existence.
What if she explained things to Shaw? Told him about the Sifts, about everything?
He was a good man. She saw that now, understood why Col would never have
Similar Books
