Free Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4) by Rebecca Ethington Page B

relieved when his sadness dissipated. I squeezed his knee, leaving my hand there against the soft cotton of his pants.
    “So am I,” he whispered. My heart beat heavily at the way his soft voice flowed over my skin. “It is the most complicated of all the braids that our kind uses, and the one I have done the most. I have sat for thousands of sleepless nights as I taught my friends, my subjects, how to braid the hair of their mates for the one ceremony that would forever change their lives.”
    His fingers brushed against my neck as he continued to work, each touch of his skin against mine sending electric pulses of magic into me. I smiled at the sensation and lowered my head a bit, giving him easier access to the long lengths that fell down my back.
    “It was why I cut my hair the first time,” he said, the tone of his voice changing to that deep pull that brought my attention back to his story. “I was the first one to do so, hundreds of years before it became the fashion of the mortals, and I cannot tell you how many elders scorned me for my choice, but to me, I had no other. I would grow my hair out for council or for battle. For the most part, I kept it short, however, unwilling to place the braids that in many ways seemed almost a painful mockery to me. Then I received the sight, which told me of your existence, and I grew my hair out naturally and wore my hair longer more often, knowing someday I would finally get the chance to braid your hair, that you would braid mine…”
    My chest constricted as what he said seeped into me, the warmth of his fingers as they moved along my neck sparking my concerns. I wasn’t sure if I was excited or terrified. It wasn’t like a bonding wasn’t something we had talked about—okay, had almost done. It was how he spoke about it in that moment that was different.
    “Ilyan?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper; my heart seemed to have stopped beating. Ilyan’s words burned into me, blending with his thoughts in a cacophony of emotions and desires.
    I don’t know why I had never understood it before. Beyond waiting for me, beyond keeping me safe, Ilyan had wanted nothing more than to have that which he had seen others have. What the sight had told that he could only have with me. I knew—I could feel it in the way he pushed away the flare of his emotions—that he would never fully admit that. Even to himself.
    Ilyan lightly pulled on my hair as he secured the band. His weight shifted as he turned to face me, his legs stretched out on either side of me.
    “I do not know what this connection of our souls means, mi lasko,” he whispered as he finally answered my question, his hands enclosing around mine. “It affects us in ways I never thought possible, and while I am not sure how that may affect our future, I can tell you this: it changes nothing between us.”
    They were words that hours ago I would have loved to hear, and I did. For some reason, though, my stomach had turned into butterflies and my heart had taken on a stutter all its own.
    So you are still my kick-butt trainer with bad taste in clothes? I spoke into his mind, trying desperately to ease my nerves, but it didn’t work. Even my subconscious voice trembled.
    “Something like that,” Ilyan said with a smile, his hand squeezing mine before reaching up and running his finger over my hairline. I smiled at the touch, my muscles tightening all on their own as a snake of pleasure ran through me.
    “So… what braid is this?” I asked as I lifted my hand behind my head, the tips of my fingers trembling against the perfect silken strands that Ilyan had just woven.
    My nerves jumpstarted in apprehension as Ilyan captured my hand, his own unease surprising me. I had never expected Ilyan to be so nervous, yet I could hear the frantic pulse of his heart, the trembling of his emotions.
    “The braid of true love,” he whispered as he released my hand, his eyes unwavering from mine. “It is normally braided