Odessa Hywell

Naps were life. I’m sure I said that already, but I woke after another sleep feeling worlds better than before and less like roadkill. After another shower, I felt more like myself. My magic did its thing, healing the aches and pains I’d gained from the long flight and lack of sleep. My stomach rumbled as I towel dried my hair. I couldn’t tell what time of day it was, so I had no idea if I had slept through lunch, dinner, or even the entire night into the next morning. The door was pushed open after a brief knock....

Edain, nor his dragon, being so used to warmer weather, were built for the temperatures this high in the mountains, where it was cold more often than not. Next time I took him out, I’d be sure to bundle him up so he didn’t spend the last leg of the journey home attempting to suppress his shiver.  Did anyone in the horde even own a pair of mittens?  If not, it wouldn’t be any trouble to take a trip into town and get what Edain needed until he adjusted to the climate. It wouldn’t take long but in the meantime,...

Morning broke over the tops of the trees, the light filtering through the thin curtains and pulling me from a strange dream. In it, I was being held in warm, safe arms. The man felt familiar. There wasn’t much time to dwell on it, with so much for me to do. After a decent night’s sleep, I felt ready to approach the monumental job I’d taken on. If I was any less of an omega, or a brat as my dad would say, then I’d admit I’d probably taken on too much. Nope, wasn’t going to admit that. Instead, I...

Stubborn brat. Headstrong omega.  Every day after the first, Edain worked hard to repair the wards. He never gave quite as much as he did that first day—learning his lesson the hard way once was enough, but he pushed his limits time and time again. More than once, I had to warn him away from giving more because he was so damn focused on the task at hand.  Each night when he finished for the day, I ended up carrying him home, even if he was capable of walking, and forcing him into a bath, with the salt that was...

I didn’t give a flying fuck about the looks Caspar was shooting my way for being carried in by my uncle. Sure, he probably thought I’d been irresponsible and pushed myself too far, and though I’d worked hard, magic was like a muscle. You built it up and gained more tolerance, or some other metaphor. I was tired, okay? The stones for the corners were fully charged. They’d accepted my magic so readily, as if they were thirsty and I was providing water in a drought. They would hold steady for a couple of days while I had some time...