Serpent's Kiss

TWELVE

Carling could not remember the last time she had felt such intense joy. In his gryphon form, Rune’s muscular feline back was so broad she couldn’t get a stable enough grip with her legs. She pulled the strap of the container higher on her shoulder, kept a tight hold on his neck as she hitched forward until she was perched more securely on his front shoulders and could grip the base of his neck between her knees. Only then did she open the container to take Rasputin out and cuddle him in the crook of her arm, though she wouldn’t remove the stasis collar until they were safely on land. She looked back at the powerful flex of Rune’s gigantic bronze wings beating steadily on either side.

“You all right back there?” Rune asked.

His deep voice was a clarion bell that thrummed between her legs. “I’m perfect,” said Carling. “I was just getting into a more secure position.”

“Don’t worry, darling Carling,” he said. “I won’t let you fall.”

Darling Carling. She found herself grinning. What a truly awful endearment. Only he could pull off something so ridiculous, with that gentle, caressing, teasing note in his deep voice that invited her to laugh along with him at the silliness of it. With his voice alone he made extravagant, intimate promises. Promises that said he spoke only to her this way, her and no other. She didn’t believe it for a moment, although she confessed to herself, in her secret heart of hearts, it was rather nice to pretend.

When would he come after her again? When would she turn around and see that look of intent in his eyes that he masked so cleverly behind a sleepy expression? Her smile disappeared as arousal flared all over again, and her own predatory impulses stirred, like the lazy stretch of an animal that had long been asleep.

What would he do if she came after him? She liked that thought, them stalking each other, one moving forward, the other pulling back until that last pounce. One way or another they would become lovers. It was another promise from him, of a pleasure that already was so surprising it caught at her soul. She had thought that the days of her taking a lover were long over. How gorgeous, that she could be surprised.

They were soaking wet, and the chill wind was slicing. Although she craved warmth, the bitter cold did not hurt her. Even though Rune’s body roared with heat and effort, the cold might be uncomfortable for him.

She stroked the back of his sleek powerful neck and whispered a spell. A ripple of Power washed over them both, and then suddenly they were both dry.

“Mmm.” Rune started to purr. “That felt good.”

“I thought you might be getting cold,” she told him.

“I wasn’t, but I like it when you practice magic on me,” he said throatily.

She snorted. He was clearly in a playful mood. Her amusement died as she remembered the dark, calculating way she had planned to research ways to attack him. It seemed to make sense at the time, but now the thought of throwing an offensive spell to hurt him made her feel queasy. Even if, for some reason, Rune became her enemy, she didn’t think she could do that to him, not anymore.

Once she would have done anything to survive. Whatever it took. Living was the supreme priority. Now even though time had become more precious than ever before as it ran out, she finally discovered there were other things that were more important than survival.

They were damp again quickly from flying through the thick fog. The city was shrouded and indistinct, until suddenly they were upon it.

Then Carling felt something shimmer into place around them. She stiffened but almost immediately realized that the sensation, whatever it was, came from Rune. It felt strange, warm and intimate, as if he had somehow expanded his aura to wrap it around her.

“What is that?” she asked. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cloaking us,” Rune replied. “I should have done it as soon as I took to the air, but I was distracted. SFO’s air traffic control is probably having a conniption right now.”

She raised a hand and looked at it. She could still see herself but she was blurred as if she were looking through an antique window. She studied Rune. He was blurred as well, but perfectly visible. “Are you sure it’s working properly?”

He chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“I can still see us,” she said. “That’s because we’re both inside the cloak. Other people can’t see us, which is the main point.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, squinting skeptically at her hand again. “It’s a nifty trick, if you’re not pulling my leg.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” murmured the gryphon. “Where is your town house?”

Carling looked down at the ground as she gave him directions. They were just flying over the Presidio at the northern tip of San Francisco. Originally a Spanish fort, it had been a military installation for almost two hundred years. Now it was a public park. Wreathed in the mist that had rolled off the ocean, the aged, well-tended trees looked vaporous, the ground indistinct underneath.

She sighed. “I would say we should just stay at my town house, except I’m almost certain someone on the staff is a spy and I would rather Julian not be apprised of our every move. He’s not going to be happy as it is when I call to tell him I’ve come back to the city. We had decided my condition was too dangerous for me to be around very many people right now.”

“Fuck Julian,” said Rune. “I don’t care if he’s happy or not.”

Carling sighed heavily again. “I’ve handled him many times before when he’s chosen to be unpleasant, and I will handle him again if I have to, but we have more important things to focus on than clashing with Julian right now.”

Rune paused for a moment. He continued in a softer, more serious voice. “You’re right, of course. We don’t have to rub your presence in Julian’s face. Since I didn’t know what to expect when I got here, I arranged to have a suite available at the Fairmont Hotel for whenever I might need it. After we drop Rasputin off, we can go there. No doubt there’ll be spies there too but it won’t be the same as it happening in the intimacy of your own home.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” she muttered. “I don’t care where we go.”

“Then the hotel it is,” said Rune. He climbed steeply in the air, soaring over the tops of buildings, and plummeted to the street corner near her house. The town houses were luxurious, and Carling’s home was mere blocks from Market Street. He realized her house would be an easy walk to the Turner and Braeburn offices, and the Bureau of Nightkind Immigration. That seemed too convenient to be a coincidence.

He landed lightly on his feet and after Carling had slid to the pavement, he shimmered into a shapeshift. Only then did he relax the cloaking around them. “See?” he said. “No one saw us.”

She looked around and laughed. Traffic was all around but by some trick of chance, there weren’t any vehicles passing by them at the moment, and the nearest pedestrians were a half a block away and walking in the other direction from them. The fog was not terribly heavy, but it did give everything a sense of space and privacy that might not otherwise have been present in the full light of sunshine. “No one saw us, my dear genius gryphon, because there’s no one around to pay attention.”

He looked around, his eyes narrowed. “All right, I can see that you’ll take some convincing. Here, give me that.” He took the container from her.

She strode down the street with Rasputin in her arms, and Rune fell back a few steps so he could watch her. She moved with her characteristic imperiousness. She was barefoot and bedraggled, her hair a tangled mess down her back, her awful caftan a ragtag, crumpled mess. And there was no doubt in his mind—there could be no doubt in the mind of anyone who saw her—that she was royalty. Goddamn, that was smoking hot.

She led him up the steps of an elegant four-story Mediterranean Revival home. Loosely based on Italian palazzo architecture, the facade was simple, an elegant pale ochre, with arched black wrought-iron windows. She took hold of the doorknob, spoke a Power-filled word, and Rune heard the small click as the lock turned. Hell of a handy trick, that. She never had to worry about losing a key and locking herself out.

Rune followed her into a spacious front hall, with gleaming oak floors and a simple antique hall table that was so beautifully constructed, Sotheby’s would have drooled over it. A vase filled with fresh lilies provided the only adornment. Carling gestured to a doorway on the right. “Make yourself at home,” she told Rune as she strode down the hall. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okey-dokey,” he said. He strolled into a room that was as elegant as everything else he had seen of her home. She had continued with the Mediterranean theme in the interior decor. The room had textured walls, thirteenth-century Florentine tapestries and artwork, and leather burgundy furniture. Way to be all-over classy, Carling.

As he opened up the container to pull out his duffle and Carling’s leather bag, he heard the sound of rapid footsteps approaching. They were much heavier than Carling’s soft, almost imperceptible tread, no doubt belonging to a male. “Councillor!” Yep, it was a male. “What a surprise! What may I do for you? Would you like for me to wake the others?”

“There’s no need to bother them, Rufio,” Carling said. “I’m not staying.”

“The others” must be Vampyres, as it was fairly standard practice in Vampyre households to have a human or two on staff to attend to daytime affairs.

Carling was continuing. “I have dismissed Rhoswen. She is no longer acting on my behalf, nor is she to be trusted. She may come by for her things, so you are to have everything packed and waiting for her, but do not allow her access to any part of the house unsupervised, is that understood? I want to know if she becomes a problem for you. If she does, or you feel threatened in any way, let me know and I will take care of her.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Startlement-R-Us. Was there something else in the male’s voice, something like relief, or was that Rune’s imagination? He wished he could see the human so he could get a take on the other male’s expression, although anyone Carling had on staff would have the ability to be discreet.

“Two more things before I go. First, the staff needs to look after Rasputin for the time being while I attend to some unexpected business. Rhoswen was to have hired someone to look after him, but I had to let her go before that happened. Have Abelard look for someone. He should have a list of prospects prepared for me by the end of the week. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am. And what is the second thing?”

“Pack some clothes and things for me, and send it to the Fairmont Hotel.”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away. Has the little man eaten recently?”

Little man. Rune grinned. He might grow to like this Rufio guy.

“He’s due for his evening meal. What is the date and time here?”

Given that the Other land was not in sync with the time in San Francisco, it was not as odd a question as it might otherwise have sounded. Rufio informed her that it was late Monday morning. Rune had left on Friday evening, so the time slippage hadn’t been all that bad.

“Excellent. Give him a late breakfast, and he’ll be on track for the next evening meal. Don’t take the stasis collar off of him until we are gone. There’s no need to go through all his drama while I leave the house.”

“We? My apologies, Councillor. I did not realize we had a guest to attend to.”

“We don’t. Wyr sentinel Rune Ainissesthai is with me, and he and I are just leaving.”

“Very good, ma’am. I’ll have some of your things sent to the Fairmont within the hour.”

Rune rolled his eyes. He knew just what those things would be too. The forecast called for more wretched caftans with a ten percent chance of classic black Chanel scattered throughout. Shoes, optional. Makeup, nonexistent.

“Feed Rasputin first, Rufio,” Carling said.

“Yes, ma’am. Of course. Will there be anything else?”

“No, that will be all, thank you.”

Rune walked out of the room, their two bags in his hand, and he met Carling as she returned. He looked over Carling’s shoulder at the tall, wide-shouldered man who cuddled Rasputin at the opposite end of the hall and stared back, his face alive with curiosity. Rufio was perhaps a fit forty years old and well groomed.

Of course he had to be a good-looking male, didn’t he? Rune wasn’t so sure he would like the other man after all. He found his lip curling and instead of suggesting Carling take her time and at least have a hot shower before they left, he growled, “Ready to go?”

She looked at him in surprise, but whether that was for his tone of voice or his question, he didn’t know. “Of course.” He walked with her out the front door. When they were outside, she turned to face him. “What is wrong?”

As soon as the door was shut behind them, he began to feel better. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all. Why don’t I change again? I can fly us to the Fairmont more quickly than a taxi could take us.”

She frowned. She was certain something had been wrong. In the hall he had flared with aggression, but whatever had set him off, the aggression was gone now. She put it out of her mind and shrugged. “Fine, if that’s what you want to do.”

Secretly she was thrilled. She couldn’t wait to fly with him again. She schooled her face to hide her excitement as they stepped down to the sidewalk, he handed her his duffle and her leather bag, and shimmered into the change. Just before he shifted, he cloaked them again. She felt the ripple of it settle over them both like a warm blanket. As she leaped onto his back, he pointed out, “And still, nobody has seen us.”

Amused, she tapped the back of his sleek eagle’s head. “Pay attention. There’s nobody around.”

“You want more proof? I’ll just have to show you more proof.” He crouched and launched.

The power in his spring was even more incredible as he took off from land. Her spirits launched with him, in a straight-up trajectory toward exhilaration. After a steep climb, he wheeled to head in the direction of the hotel.

The Fairmont Hotel was one of the premiere luxury hotels in San Francisco. It sat atop Nob Hill and looked over the city and the Bay, and it had hundreds of rooms and suites, three restaurants and lounges, ballrooms, multimedia rooms for business conferences, shops and a spa. It was not far from Carling’s house, so in just a few minutes they landed on the hotel’s spacious manicured grounds, and Rune waited until Carling slid off his back before he changed into his human form.

Carling watched in fascination as he rippled through the change again. She had seen him change a few times now, and she still could not quite grasp what happened. This time the blur of his change was made even more indistinct by the cloaking . . . spell? no, that didn’t seem quite right, as it didn’t involve an incantation . . . that he kept wrapped around them. Then he was in his human form again, with his broad bare chest, horrible blood-streaked jeans and all.

He stepped close to put an arm around her and she leaned into him. “By the way, how are you feeling?” he asked. “Any hint of an approaching fade?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Check this out; here’s your proof. We’ve landed, you’re here in public, I’m half dressed, and nobody’s noticed. Now Councillor, you’ve got to admit, that’s just not right.”

Her eyebrows shot up and she laughed. She took a quick look around. The fog blew vaporous tendrils of white along the streets. She could hear and see people and traffic in the distance, but by some trick of chance, once more nobody happened to be nearby. “That’s sheer luck,” she said. “Nobody has noticed us because again, nobody is paying attention. I’m not convinced.”

“All right,” he said. “Come with me. Just remember to be quiet now. The cloaking only works on the visual, not on the auditory senses.”

He took the bags from her again and slung them onto one shoulder, kept his other arm around her, and walked with her to the flagged, well-lit portico at the front of the hotel. She stayed silent, watching the street that was busy with honking traffic and pedestrians as Rune steered them down the sidewalk. This time they came closer to other people, and not one person glanced their way.

Even with the fog, the late morning was too bright for any of the more photosensitive of the Nightkind, and there wasn’t a Vampyre in sight. All of the people they passed were human.

Are you convinced now? Rune asked telepathically.

She smiled to herself. She liked walking down the street with him. She liked moving together and basking in the warmth of his Power as it wrapped around her. She liked his clean, masculine scent. And maybe she liked teasing him a little too. I might be a bit more convinced than I was. But you know, San Franciscans are used to some pretty odd sights, nudist parades, the Vampyre Exotica ball. It could just be we’re boring.

Never, he said, his arm tightening on her shoulders. We’re never boring. Let’s step inside.

They had to pause to wait for someone else to walk through the front doors, and then they slipped in after, Rune urging Carling to go in front of him.

The lobby was massive, filled with gold brocade furniture, towering plants in huge floor pots, marble-veined columns that supported a two-story-high ceiling, patterned marble floors polished to a high gleam and rich cream lights. It was also quite busy, filled with people dressed in designer and shabby chic clothes, and sleek, tailored business suits. The lobby was filled with random noise, from the street traffic outside to conversations and sudden trills of laughter, and the unpredictable ping of cell phone ringtones. After the relative peace and quiet of the windswept island, civilization was jarring.

Rune guided Carling adroitly to one side near a wall, where there was a quiet clear space out of the way of traffic. He set their bags down and stood with his arms crossed. He told her, Feel free to commence praising at any time.

She chuckled under her breath. The lobby traffic wasn’t all human. A couple of Light Fae were checking in at the desk, tall slender figures with their signature pale blond hair and elegantly pointed ears. The Light Fae would have the ability to sense magic, but they were busy with their own affairs and never noticed Carling and Rune. Nobody looked their way. She had to admit, she was impressed.

Not that she was going to commence praising on cue. The eagle in him was perfectly capable of preening his own feathers. She grumbled, Okay, I’ll concede you might have something here.

He murmured, At last, success.

But what’s the catch?

He squinted at her. There is no catch. Nobody can see us. You could tear off all your clothes, jump up and down, and wave your arms, if you like. Nobody can see a thing we do.

There’s always a catch, she said. And I’m not talking about the auditory. There’s always a drawback or some kind of limitation to matters of magic and Power.

You’re just a glass-half-empty kind of girl, aren’t you? He cocked his head in exasperation.

Girl, she said, mulling over the word.

Very much a girl. Rune swiveled and paced in a circle around her. She turned her head to track him. His Power changed and tightened on her. It was a heavy, sultry feeling as vivid as a physical caress. He moved behind her, so close his hard chest pressed against her shoulder blades, and his hands came over hers and curled on her slender wrists. His hands were corded with strength, broad along the back and long in the fingers. They were heavily calloused from sword work and other physical labor. He stroked those long, clever fingers of his up her arms lightly. A spiky, beautiful girl. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.

The tiny friction of his touch raised goose bumps along her bare skin, and she shuddered. I bet you say that to all the spiky, beautiful girls.

Never. I’ve never said it before. He spoke with such conviction she was actually tempted to believe him. He took her shoulders and pulled her back against him. Then he bent to put his lips against her ear and said in a whisper against the delicate shell of flesh, “There is one catch to the cloaking. Anyone with Power can look and see a shimmer where we’re standing. I’m told it looks like a heat haze rising off asphalt. But that happens only if they’re looking in the right direction at the right time, and are paying attention enough to question what they see. And nobody is looking at us.”

The Light Fae finished checking in and headed for the stairs. She watched them climb upward and disappear. Rune’s whisper was the barest thread of throaty sound. His breath tickled along her sensitive skin, and she shuddered harder as her knees weakened. She found herself leaning back against him. She breathed, “What are you doing?”

He felt it again, the sense that here was some keystroke password to an unbreakable code. He put his lips against her neck and mouthed, “What do you think I’m doing? I said I was going to come after you again.”

“Yes, but here? Now?” She tried to turn around, but his hands tightened and held her in place.

“What can I say, I’m an opportunist,” he murmured. “And you’re making me crazy. I loved the feeling of your legs gripping me tight when you knocked me down at the cottage. I love the fact that you could knock me down. I love your strength and confidence.” He realized the depth of truth in that statement. Back on the island it had hurt him to see her so profoundly shaken, and he would do just about anything he could to avoid seeing that happen to her again. He whispered, “Look at the couple that just walked in the door. They don’t have a clue we’re standing here. Or the doorman over there, standing just outside. He can’t see a thing as I do this.”

Unable to resist, Rune’s hand slid around and he cupped her full, round breast.

Even though he had given her plenty of warning, acute shock still bolted through her, washing her from head to toe. She made a small, strangled sound and suddenly Rune’s other hand was clapped tight over her mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered. His breathing had roughened. “We can’t make any noise.”

She gripped his forearms tightly, shaking, as she watched the couple, a man and a woman, walk by obliviously. The heat from Rune’s hand on her breast burned through the thin barrier of the cotton caftan. He stroked along the firm, weighted flesh until her plump nipple jutted between his first and second fingers. Then he pinched her gently, and the sensation speared right down to the juncture at the top of her legs.

She jerked in his arms and sucked in a useless, frantic breath. Her fingers dug into the muscled flesh of his forearms.

And she did not push away either the caressing hand at her breast or the hand that covered her mouth.

His mouth felt taut against her skin, at the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. “Tell me to stop,” he breathed. Because he could not stop himself. The compulsion he felt kept driving him toward her. Dimly he was aware of warning bells going off somewhere, but they were far off in the distance, cloaked by a sensual haze that covered everything in his head.

Her head fell back against his collarbone. She gazed blindly at the ceiling and mouthed the word soundlessly against his broad palm. Stop?

He massaged her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers, and good fucking hell, once again he almost came in his jeans. The luscious heavy weight of her breast filled his palm just right, and her nipple was a delicacy his mouth watered to taste, but the by-God real ass-kicker was how she shivered in his arms and held on to him like he was the last stable thing on earth, how her gorgeous, healthy scent bloomed with feminine arousal. That was his scent. That was for him.

And she breathed for him, in ragged, telltale gasps.

“You need to say that word again,” he whispered roughly against her neck. “Because I’m feeling a little thick right now and I’m not processing too clearly. And this time you need to say it like you mean it.”

The gears in Carling’s head ground as she tried to understand what he said. Word. He wanted a word from her. What was it?

Girl. No, that wasn’t it.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a teenage boy slouching through the hotel’s front doors, wearing ripped designer clothes and goth makeup, and carrying an iPad under one skinny arm. He glared at the world as if it owed him an explanation. Yeah, good luck with that one, kid.

Then Rune opened his hot mouth on the sensitive skin of her neck and suckled at her, and she lost the ability to get any word out. He grazed her lightly with his teeth as he let go of her nipple. His infernally clever fingers moved to the front of her caftan.

All of her caftans were hand-stitched, of varying designs. Some were simply fashioned to pull over the head, and others were fastened down the front with a row of small buttons carved of either bone or wood. None of them contained zippers, as she used them so often for work and metal could sometimes interact or interfere with magic.

This caftan was fastened in the front with a row of buttons. As he suckled at her neck, Rune slipped one of the buttons free of its hole. His hand was clamped so tightly on her mouth she couldn’t turn her head. She tried to track his movements by just moving her eyes.

The buttons ran close together. He unbuttoned another and slipped his hand inside to cup her breast again. They both hissed as his calloused palm came in contact with her heavy, naked, sensitive flesh. Every muscle in his body felt ridged with tension. When he pushed his lean hips against the rounded curve of her ass, she could feel the long thick ridge of his erection. She could sense the blood hurtling through his body like a stealth bomber, and his jagged breathing sawed against her skin. He massaged her breast and scraped the tip of her nipple with his fingernail.

Every pulse point on her body screamed in response, the sexual need ratcheting higher. Normally so cool, she was shocked all over again when she broke into a sweat and her sex moistened in a liquid gush. The sense of urgency, of possible exposure, was agonizing.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

She started shaking her head. Somehow she found a paltry scatter of words. I—I don’t think—I can’ t—

Can’t what, beautiful girl? Can’t relax and enjoy this? It’s wicked but not bad. It’s just a little naughty fun and even if it doesn’t feel like it, it’s perfectly private. Rune whispered temptation in her head with as much wily wisdom as the snake in the Garden of Eden. He pinched her harder, and she strangled a squeal as her back arched. You’re safe, trust me. I would never let anyone see you like this. God, your breast feels like it was made for my hand. Such a perfect, perfect fit.

She was going to push him away. She was, any minute now, but then he pulled his hand out of the caftan, which left her blinking in disappointment.

She twisted to face him, her arms going around his neck even as his mouth came down on hers. He kissed her, hard and hungrily, and she let her eyes fall closed as she kissed him back. His heart pounded. She loved the sensation of his blood coursing throughout his long, powerful frame.

He turned them and pushed her back against the wall, covering her with his body, and fresh shock detonated as he ran a hand down her torso between them to unfasten the two buttons of her caftan that were over her groin. Before she quite knew what happened, he had slipped his hand inside and slid his fingers into the moist silken tangle of private hair.

He was touching her. Right there in the hotel lobby. He was touching her. The pleasure of it had her so crazed it escaped in a high, thin, nearly inaudible scream as she clutched his hand against her. He swallowed the sound as he fucked her mouth with his tongue.

And nobody noticed. Nobody saw. The indifferent world wheeled on its clockwork way around them.

Shh, darling, Rune said. His mental voice sounded as ragged as she felt. His big body bowed over her, lungs working like bellows. He was so hot, the feel of his body burned through the caftan. Holy gods, I’m finding religion here. You feel like heaven on earth, you’re so soft and wet and silky. What I wouldn’t give to be able to taste you right now.

She let go of his hand and gripped one of his rock-hard thighs as she sank the other fist in his hair, and somehow she managed to find her telepathic voice again. Okay okay okay. This has been really amusing—

Amusing. More like apocalyptic.

—but I don’t think I can take any—any more of this—

Even as she stuttered, he found the small stiffened bud of her clitoris and stroked it with a forefinger.

The climax sucker punched her, a left hook that came out of nowhere and clipped her on the jaw. All the strength ran out of her body and her legs turned to rubber, and she went down for the count.

She slid to her knees and he came down with her. He cupped her between the legs and kept a firm steady pressure on the tiny throbbing pulse of her pleasure, bracing his weight on one forearm against the wall as he bowed over her. He was panting as if he were running in a full-out sprint, his Power a fiery cascade around them. He pulled his mouth from hers to sink his teeth into her neck as she shuddered through the throes of the climax. He was swearing steadily in her head, and the jagged curses sounded like poetry.

Then the cataclysm racking her mind and body eased. They both held still, breathing heavily.

Rune asked, Are you all right? I didn’t push things too far, did I? Even his mental voice seemed hoarse, as though he had been shouting.

She had to think about it. She had witnessed many things, always holding herself separate from the sexual excesses of history, but she had never seen or heard of anything like what she had just experienced. It was not just the exoticism of the act itself. It was the exoticism of him, that playful, affectionate, dangerous on-the-edge man.

Just a little bit of naughty fun, and perfectly private. You’re safe, trust me.

A ghost of a chuckle escaped her. He poisoned her with affection and compassion, and he taught her what it meant to play again. He gave her hope and tore down her past, all with a fierce laugh in those remarkable eyes. He had already taken her soul on an impossible moonlit flight. She might as well give him her shredded, useless heart too, since she hadn’t been using it all these years.

She whispered, “I’m okay, you lunatic. But I really cannot go any further out here . . .”

He was already shaking his head. “I don’t think I could hold on to the cloaking and take you at the same time,” he growled. “And I will not risk exposing either of us like that.”

Because she was safe, and she really could trust him. She really could.

She hiccupped in a silent sob, a physical reaction as involuntary and shocking as the climax had been.

He smoothed the tangled hair away from her face. Are you sure you’re all right, darling? he asked again, sounding concerned.

His handsome features were blurred like the memory of a dream, and the giant invisible force that had been propelling her forward these last several years, faster and faster, shoved her into a realization and then she really was moving at the speed of light.

What was this feeling? She had sensed it before in so many others. She felt shards of it, for dogs and other creatures, nations and ideals, and old lovers who had been gone for so many, many years. She had always felt those shards were pieces of something that was bigger than anything she would ever be able to understand, until just now, as they coalesced and made a whole.

Love. This feeling was love.

She sat back on her heels, dragged the back of one hand across her face then leaned forward to kiss him. Stop worrying, she told him gently. I’m fine.

He frowned and rubbed her back. Okay. Here, let me help you.

She buttoned her caftan unsteadily as he finger-combed her hair into some semblance of order. He tried to twist it into a knot at the nape of her neck and tuck it in on itself the way that she did, but he didn’t have the knack and it fell down her back again. Damn. You’ll have to let me know how you do that.

She gathered it up swiftly again and tucked it into place. Or maybe I’ll just cut it. It’s been a long time since I’ve had it short.

Really? He helped her to her feet. A short haircut would show off the gorgeous bones of her face, but that long extravagant fall of dark hair cascading to her hips was flagrantly feminine and outrageously beautiful. Could you grow it back if you cut it?

How did he do that? How did he manage to tuck that crazy out-of-control passion out of the way and act almost as if nothing had happened? She could barely stand on her feet, and even though she had climaxed, her body still felt empty and aching and unfulfilled.

Or maybe she was the only one who had experienced the crazy out-of-control passion, just as she was the only who had realized she had fallen in love. Falling in love was such a lonely business.

They had achieved an understanding back at the island cottage. They had made a pact, and she was very aware she had agreed to it. This was supposed to be a love affair with a built-in expiration date. Clearly he had been in control the entire time.

Well, he had discovered too many of her secrets already. He could not have this one as well. She would keep her epiphanies and realizations to herself.

She realized he had asked her a question and answered absently. My hair and fingernails stopped growing when I stopped taking in physical nourishment. If and when I cut it, it’ll be gone for good.

That would be tragic. Your hair is one of the wonders of the world. She smiled with pleasure at the compliment in spite of herself. He bent to pick up their bags. He asked, Are you ready?

She assumed a composed expression, twitched the skirt of her caftan to make sure it fell into place, and told him, Yes.

She felt his Power flex in a kind of release, and the shimmering cloak fell away. They strode toward the hotel’s front desk.

Gradually all the noise in the lobby died away. As far as everyone else was concerned, they had apparently appeared out of nowhere. Carling knew what they must look like, half dressed and disheveled, like shipwreck survivors. Rune was still shirtless, and her feet were bare. Sooner or later someone would recognize one or the other of them. Eventually somebody would call the paparazzi and all possibility of discretion would go to hell. After this kind of entrance, and especially after stopping at home, she really needed to make a point of calling Julian sooner rather than later.

None of it meant a thing to her. She certainly didn’t care what she looked like, and it was clear Rune didn’t either. She glanced sideways and down at his long legs keeping pace with hers. What struck her most was how she and Rune moved together, hip-to-hip in a smooth, ground-eating stride. They must look like they were a couple. She ignored the pang she felt at that. Feelings were so often an inconvenience to the rest of one’s life.

She focused on the front desk. A man in a charcoal gray suit rushed over to join a uniformed employee standing at attention in front of a computer. As they approached, the man stared, his face filled with wonder.

“Good morning, I’m Harry Rowling, one of the assistant managers,” he said in a hushed whisper. “Councillor Severan, what an unexpected honor.”

She nodded a greeting and watched as he turned his attention to Rune. The man went white and started to babble. “Sir, ah—Sentinel Ainissesthai . . . what a pleasure, I mean it’s an honor to have you here as well—”

Well yes, of course the rock star of the Wyr did not have just female fans. She would not let herself sigh, although she indulged in a pointed glance at Rune.

She went still and stared like the hotel manager.

Rune glittered everywhere with a barely restrained tension. His face was a loaded weapon, the bones standing out in stark relief, and his eyes were lambent with a dangerous, unpredictable light. One hand was clenched in a white-knuckled grip on the straps of their bags, the other fist pressed against his thigh. He breathed with such measured evenness, she found herself taking a step back.

Perhaps his control had not come as easily for him as she had thought. She started to smile.

Rune’s voice was soft as he said to the man, “I would like the key to my suite, please.”

“C-certainly, uh, would you like for me to check for any messages?”

“Later.” Rune glanced at Carling, who was staring at him in fascination. Rune turned his attention back to the man and waited a moment. Nothing happened. The man stood frozen like a rabbit in front of a wolf. He raised his eyebrows. “The key?”

Rowling started. “Of course! Sorry! Yes, the key!” He whirled to the uniformed employee and hissed between his teeth, “Get the key!”

They scrambled and fumbled, and within moments the key was offered to him. He held the hand that had caressed Carling’ s—Carling’ s—most private place clenched against his side, the fingers curled against his palm, and even then he could still catch the faint lingering scent of her arousal.

He wanted to lick his fingers. He wanted to punch the hotel employees for standing too close. It was a good thing they were just humans with weak human senses, or he might have. He felt like he was going crazy, and he did not dare look at her or the insane beast that bucked so wildly against his control might slip loose.

He took the key gently with his other hand. The assistant manager started to bleat something. Rune said in an iron-hard voice, “That will be all for now.”

Much nodding and more bleating. He pivoted away in the middle of it, grabbed Carling’s hand and stalked to the elevator. She came along, choosing for whatever reason to be acquiescent.

They rode up to the suite in silence, and strode down the hall. His pulse picked up speed as they reached the door. He had too much blood in his body. It roared through his veins, and his skin could barely contain it. He felt like he was speeding down a winding mountain road with his car in overdrive, just barely holding the tires onto the pavement, with his brakes liable to fail at any moment. He swiped the keycard and held the door open for her, still not trusting himself to glance at her.

Then he was stepping in, and throwing the security bolt, and setting aside their two bags. He ran a shaking hand through his tangled hair, and only then did he dare to look at Carling’s face.

She was already watching him. Her long, dark, gorgeous eyes held an emotion he hadn’t seen in them before. It had something to do with shadows and gentleness, and an odd, quizzical understanding.

Then she smiled that subtle, mysterious Mona Lisa smile of hers that tilted the corners of her lush mouth and caused the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes to crease, where that bastard mortality had stroked her velvet skin with skeletal fingers and carved his mark on her before she had kicked him in the balls.

And Rune’s brakes failed. He lunged at her and took her over the mountain cliff with him.