She woke before dawn and found herself alone. For a moment, she lay in the quiet, in the glow of the flickering fire, just holding on to the moment of comfort between night and day.
In the night, Keegan had slept beside her, and Bollocks had curled in his bed. And in the evening that had stretched before it, they’d shared food, along with Marco and Brian, conversation that hadn’t centered on war, battles, or preparations for them.
They’d had music, companionship, laughter.
And in the glow of the flickering fire, she and Keegan had turned to each other in want and need before sleep.
An interlude, she knew, and for her a hope of what could be.
But it could be only if they battled, prepared to fight, and won the war.
So she rose and pulled on her workout gear. She’d tune her body, then sit at her desk and tune her mind with work. Then once again, she’d cross over to Talamh to practice her magicks, to see Morena and all the others, to train with Keegan for the battles to come.
But before any of that, she thought: Coffee.
On the way downstairs, she heard the mutter of male voices, smelled bacon. Burned bacon.
She found Keegan and Brian in the kitchen, Bollocks busy chowing down on a bowl of kibble, and a scorched frying pan on the stove.
“Having some trouble?” she asked, and aimed straight for the coffee maker.
“This stove is…” Keegan scowled at it. “Complicated.”
“We thought to take turns on breakfast.” Brian stood, tall, muscular, blue eyes dancing. “As Keegan took the first round, we found the complications.”
After getting a mug, Breen nodded at the pile of scrambled eggs, more brown than yellow from overcooking in a scorched pan.
“So I see. Well, I’d advise regular training and practice to improve pathetic efforts to passable.”
“Ha.” Keegan tossed bacon, heaped some eggs on a slice of toast. “It’s fine,” he claimed, and ate.
“Enjoy then.”
She went to the door, and when she opened it, Bollocks streaked out. As he raced to the bay, she stepped into the morning chill and pale dawn light.
Mists spun, thin as gossamer, over the gray waters of the bay. They crept, wispy feet, over the damp green grass. She smelled the rosemary, the spice of the firewitch dianthus, the vanilla of heliotrope.
Berries, pretty red balls, shined on the holly, and a rosebush bloomed defiantly, the color of summer sun, in air that whispered of winter.
She stood, drinking her coffee, watching her dog splash and the whip of water tear at the mists as the sun pushed and pushed through the clouds.
Once, mornings meant rush and hurry. Coffee to go, wait for the bus to take her to a job she didn’t want and felt ill-suited to hold.
She’d loved her little slice of Philadelphia, its color, its feel. But all the rest? Gray shadows, and she the grayest of all.
Now she had this, something she’d once felt unable to even dream of. She had work she loved, and she had purpose.
Even when that purpose overwhelmed, when it frightened, it belonged to her.
And so, at least for now, she thought as Keegan came out, did the man who stood beside her.
“I know you and Brian weren’t talking about burning the bacon when I came down.”
“It wasn’t burned, just very crisp.”
“Right. Either way, I’m glad we could take last night to talk ofsomething other than Odran and war and all of it. But I know you have to go over plans and duties with your warriors, like Brian.”
“And it’s done,” he said simply. “You’ll work on your stories this morning, and I’ll give Harken a hand at the farm for a bit before I tend to other things. The sun sets earlier now, so I’ll want you in the training field an hour before it does.”