She creamed her skin, imagined Cian’s long fingers skimming over it. Heat was already balling in her belly and throbbing along nerves as she chose her best nightrobe. Brushing her hair she had a moment to wish she’d asked Glenna to teach her how to do a simple glamour. Though it seemed to her that her cheeks were becomingly flushed, her eyes held a glint. She bit her lips until they hurt, but thought they’d pinked and plumped nicely.
She stood back from the long glass, studied herself carefully from every angle. She hoped she looked desirable.
Taking a candle she left the room with the sheer determination she wouldn’t return to it a virgin.
In his room, Cian pored over maps. He was the only one of the circle who’d been denied a look at the battlefield, either in reality or dreams. He was going to correct that.
Time was a problem. Five days’ march, well, he could ride it in two, perhaps less. But that meant he’d need a safe place to camp during the daylight.
One of the bases the others had secured would do. Once he’d taken his survey, he could simply relocate in one of those bases until Samhain.
Get out of the bloody castle, and away from its all-too-tempting queen.
There’d be objections—that was annoying. But they could hardly lock him in a dungeon and make him stay put. They’d be leaving themselves in another week or so. He’d just ride point.
He could ride out with the troops in the morning, if the sun stayed back. Or simply wait for sundown.
Sitting back he sipped blood he’d laced with whiskey—his own version of a sleep-inducing cocktail. He could just go now, couldn’t he? No arguments from his brother or the others if he just rode off.
He’d have to leave a note, he supposed. Odd to have people who’d actually be concerned for his welfare, and somewhat pleasant though it added certain responsibilities.
He’d just pack and go, he decided, pushing the drink aside. No muss, no fuss. And he wouldn’t have to see her again until they caught up to him.
He picked up the band of beaded leather he’d failed to give back, toyed with it. If he left tonight, he wouldn’t have to see her, or smell her, or imagine what it would be like to have her under him in the dark.
He had a bloody good imagination.
He got to his feet to decide what gear would be most useful for the journey,
and frowned at the knock on his door.
Likely Hoyt, he decided. Well, he just wouldn’t mention his plans, and thereby avoid a long, irritating debate on the matter. He considered not answering at all, but silence and a locked door wouldn’t stop his brother the sorcerer.
He knew it was Moira the moment his hand touched the latch. And he cursed. He opened the door, intending to send her on her way quickly so he could be on his.
She wore white, thin, flowing white, with something filmy over it that was nearly the same gray as her eyes. She smelled like spring—young and full of promise.
Need coiled inside him like snakes.
“Do you never sleep?” he demanded.
“Do you?” She swept by him, the move surprising him enough that he didn’t block it.
“Well, come right in, make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.” She said it politely, as if his words hadn’t dripped with sarcasm. Then she set down her candle and turned to the the fire he hadn’t bothered to light.
“Let’s see if I can do this. I practiced until my ears all but bled. Don’t speak. You’ll distract me.”
She held out a hand toward the fire. Focused, imagined. Pushed. A single weak flame flickered, so she narrowed her eyes and pushed harder.
“There!” There was absolute delight in her voice when the turf caught.
“Now I’m surrounded by bloody magicians.”
Both her hair and her robes fanned out as she turned. “It’s a good skill, and I intend to learn more.”
“You won’t find a tutor in sorcery here.”