Nic shrugged. “Probably? Regardless, we need to figure out a way to destroy these completely.”
“I’ll do that.”
“How? No more enchanted dagger to turn them to ooze.”
“If nothing else, I’ll lock them into something until I figure it out. You go have your bath.”
She wrinkled her nose at her blood-spattered self. “And I thought I wanted one before this. Are you hurt?”
He moved his shoulders, testing. “Some stitches might’ve split, but I’m otherwise all right.”
“Hopefully Refoel will show tomorrow and we can get you completely healed.”
“You too,” he replied, gaze going to her bruised throat and the fresh scratches there.
“I’ll be fine. Clean would be nice. Food, as well. I feel I should point out that you have yet to show me how to acquire either.”
“Let’s do that, then I’ll come back and deal with the garbage.”
She smiled at that, genuinely amused. “Deal.”
Opening the back service door, he gestured her inside. At one time, it had been a kitchen of sorts, meant for assembling meals, even if much of the actual cooking had been conducted some distance away. At present, like most of the house, it was sadly empty, used mainly for staging food brought in. He showed her the flags that could be raised by a pulley system. “You pick the flag for what you need—food, bath, service, etcetera—attach it to the line and raise it. Someone will see.”
“Ah.” She eyed it dubiously. “I’m kind of sorry I asked.”
“I did warn you that I wouldn’t be able to house you in the style you were accustomed to,” he said, trying his best not to sound defensive still, and failing at that, too. It rankled that those hunters had gotten the drop on him.
“You’re a morose bastard sometimes, aren’t you?” She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not unwilling to deal with the manual method of bath acquisition, but I’m guessing by the time someone sees my pitiful plea by flag, heats, and brings enough water, it’s going to be an hour from now.”
“Probably longer,” he admitted. “It’s better to set a schedule for them to simply plan ahead to have a bath ready for you.”
“Which doesn’t work in cases like this when I’m filthy, sopping wet, and chilled to the bone—and covered in stinking hunter blood.” With a determined stride, she headed toward the stairs to the second level. “This is why magic has it all over the manual method, and I’m fortunately bonded to a water wizard. Clever planning on my part, I say.”
He followed after her, bemused and mystified. “I warned you that I’m tapped out, and you said you are, too.” Thanks to the hunters, he’d nearly depleted his moon magic, too.
She cast him a brilliant smile over her shoulder. “I would explain, but you asked me not to discuss it.”
He groaned. “Please tell me you’re not planning to teach me something else.” Even if he hadn’t already been exhausted, the aftermath of the pitched fight left him feeling drained.
“All right, I won’t tell you.” The moment she stepped into the master suite, she reached behind her neck and triggered the fastening on the Ophiel riding habit, the fabric parting and plopping to her feet in a sodden heap, a trickle of water running from it to a groove in the floorboards. She gave it a disgusted look. “I should’ve run up the flag for laundry. Oh well, not like it’s going anywhere.”
Gracefully, she stepped out of the pile of mud-soaked velvet and posed with one hand on her hip. She wore only her knee-high black leather boots and the Ophiel lingerie he’d bought for her. Her long, sculpted thighs rose from the boots like flower stems supporting the blossom of her scantily clad form. The ivory lace lingerie clung to her smooth golden skin as if it had been painted on, the magical fit emphasizing her voluptuous curves, the openings in the lace revealing as much as they concealed. Her dusky nipples showed dark and taut through the camisole, the panties hugging a high arc on her hips, flowing to a point at the vee of her sex, the hair beneath glossy and enticing.
Against all probability, his exhausted and depressed self came to attention with alert interest. Still, he was wary of her agenda. “Nic, what is this about?”
“I don’t think you’ve seen the lovely underwear you bought for me,” Nic answered with sensual mischief. “At least, notonmy body. What do you think?”
Giving him a sultry smile, she lifted her hands into an elegant interweaving above her head, swaying her hips as if in a dance, and turning slowly, showing off the slender line of her waist and lower back, the flare of her hips tapering again into her perfectly rounded bottom. The ivory lace threaded into the cleft of her ass, parting the delicious globes, then disappeared enticingly into the valley between her thighs. Looking at him over her shoulder, she wiggled her bottom—as if he’d perhaps failed to notice it—then she bent over, spreading her legs just enough to show him the shape of her lace-clad mound, her swollen sex barely veiled.
“Do you like it?” she purred, yanking his attention back to her face and her wickedly sparkling eyes.
“Yes,” he managed, then had to clear his throat. “Very much. It looks lovely on you.”
Like a dancer, she straightened and turned, flicking a long finger against a spot on the camisole so that it fell away, leaving her full breasts naked. Cupping those breasts so they spilled over her hands, she flicked her fingers over her nipples, making them even harder. She moaned a little as she undulated. “Maybe it looks better off?” she asked with raised brows.
“Ah…” He wasn’t sure of the answer—or exactly what game this was.
“I know I’m filthy,” she murmured with a sexy pout, “but so are you, and you’re awfully far away.”