Bright Familiar by Jeffe Kennedy
~ 8 ~
“What went wrong is there’s simply too much water,” Gabriel explained, feeling more than a little churlish. When his control snapped and Nic vanished underwater, the panic had nearly overwhelmed him. Maybe he’d overreacted, but he’d never forgive himself if something happened to her. As it was, she looked like a bedraggled water pixie, the velvet riding habit dripping with algae and swirling in burgundy billows around her, her dark hair plastered against her skull so she seemed be all huge green eyes and temptingly lush lips. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to find a way to overcome this tense distance between them.
Distance he’d created through his own blundering.
“You are thinking backwards.” She raised one dark brow at his confusion. “You dealt with an ocean when you kept the barge off the rocks in Wartson. This is much less water.”
With effort, he dragged his attention to the subject of magic. He was heartily regretting that he hadn’t sunk the benighted house long before Nic laid eyes upon it. She wasn’t one to relinquish a challenge. “I take your point,” he said, attempting to set emotion aside and be logical, “but with the barge you advised me to move the water around the barge itself, not to wrestle the entire ocean. This is a different situation. No matter how fast I moved the water, more flowed in to replace it.”
“I noticed,” she replied. “And the faster you moved it, the more turbulence you created, making waves like a storm would.”
“Exactly.” He should feel more triumphant that she understood his point, but she only regarded him blandly.
“So, the solution is…” she prompted.
He scrubbed his hands over his face wearily. The stables had not been comfortable, especially with Vale hogging his stall, displeased at being forced to share. “I don’t know, Nic. I suspect the solution is to sink the whole house in a bog and go find somewhere dry to live.”
“Wouldn’t it be a fen, since it would still be fed by the river nearby?” she asked with an arch look. Then she patted his arm, somewhat awkward with it. “Don’t be discouraged. I’m probably a terrible teacher.”
“Or I’m a terrible student,” he grumbled.
“A perfect match, then.” She gave him a rueful smile. “My point is that you were trying to move all the marsh water. Try simply adding to the water beneath this room. As it rises, the water in here will flow out, yes?”
“Right. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“You’re heavy-handed. Comes of having massive amounts of power. Speaking of which, what happened when you lost control?”
“Hmm. Let me think. Oh! I lost control.”
“Ha ha. Why did you lose control?”
“Because I’m a shitty wizard,” he hazarded.
She didn’t laugh, however, instead giving him a fuming glare. “Gabriel Phel. I never once said you were a shitty wizard.”
“You called me a lost cause.”
“Exactly the opposite. I said you were not a lost cause. Now stop sulking and take a step back. What caused you to lose control?”
“It felt like it was all getting away from me,” he said with a sigh. “Like a runaway horse.”
“All right, then.” She beamed at him. “One key approach to managing magic—especially powerful magic like yours and mine—is facing your fears honestly. Fear is the enemy.”
He could absolutely see the truth of that—both from what had just happened and from his nonmagical experience fighting off the scavengers that plagued Meresin. “Your magic is a lot to manage.” Not something he’d wanted to admit, but that had been the biggest problem.
Not drawing on his own magic and using so much of hers instead had been like gulping red wine, delicious, potent, and going straight to his head. Nic’s fire had burned through him, seeming to turn his water magic to steam, making the moon magic reflect brilliantly, even though he hadn’t even been trying to use the latter. He braced for Nic’s scathing reply, and she did seem to have something to say to that. But she didn’t immediately spit it out, instead chewing on her bottom lip, hesitating as she so rarely did.
She’d been walking on eggshells around him since last night. Not that he blamed her, but he was kicking himself for losing all the ground he’d gained with her. He’d managed to establish some trust between them, and he’d dashed it away along with the dishes he’d broken. “Just tell me,” he urged. “I can take it.”
“You won’t like what I have to say,” she warned him.
“Then that’s my problem.” He took her hands. They were cold, a shiver running through her. “We need to get you out of this chilly water.”
“Or you could warm it up,” she replied pointedly. “At least the water in our clothes, yes?”
“Yes.” Using his own magic, he did so, pleased to feel her shivering relax somewhat. “I feel like you’ve been cold and wet since you met me,” he observed.
“It must be more than mere coincidence,” she agreed wryly. “The perils of living in a swamp with a water wizard.”
The laugh was welcome, loosening his tension. “Tell me.”
She shook her head slowly, holding his gaze. “I know you don’t like to hear it, but when I tell you that there are good reasons the Convocation teaches wizards to control their familiars, this is one of them. This is a challenge for you more so than for most wizards because you’re not as experienced, you don’t have rote lessons to fall back on when things fall apart, and because you just had to acquire the most powerful familiar you could.” She gave him a cheeky smile, but her heart wasn’t in it. “Gabriel, in order to use my magic, you have to be able to control it. Otherwise it’s as if you’ve called for rain to water your crops and accidentally ended up with a deluge that washes away all your topsoil.”
Never forget that she listened closely to everything he told her. “An excellent farming analogy, if borrowed.”
“I’m a good mimic.” She continued to regard him seriously, and he knew what she wasn’t saying, that it all came back to the cursed arcanium and silver chains. To possessing and controlling her in the way she claimed she wanted, but that terrified him to his bones. Not because he didn’t want it, but because he wanted it too much. There had to be another way that wouldn’t lead him down such a dangerously corrupting path.
“I can understand that I need to control the magic,” he said slowly, “but I don’t believe that means I must control you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine, then generations of wizards and centuries of study and experimentation are all wrong.”
“Finally, I’m getting through to you,” he said with a broad smile, and she laughed, albeit with an exasperated shake of her head. It was getting somewhere that he could make her laugh, like coaxing the sun from the clouds. “Can we have this conversation not standing waist deep in cold marsh water?”
“I feel I should point out it’s only thigh deep on your ridiculously big body, and we can, yes—after you try again.”
He groaned at the prospect.
She squeezed his hands, held on to one, and swept the other at the water-filled room. “Get back on that horse, young wizard!”
“I think that’s a mixed metaphor.”
“Sorry, I don’t know any swamp metaphors.” At least her eyes danced with humor again, and she was comfortable enough with him to tease. And badger.
Feeling like a youth approaching whiskey again after his first lethal hangover, he sipped lightly of her magic—and was rewarded with a sardonic sidelong glare.
“The longer you dillydally,” she said, “the longer I’m standing waist deep in this nasty water, bracing for one of those water snakes to bite me.”
“They’re not venomous,” he assured her.
“Oh, I feel so much better,” she deadpanned. “Now, really draw on my magic. You’re so certain you can control it your own way, then do it. Show me these amazing, never-before-seen skills.”
With grim determination—and her sarcasm as a goad—he opened himself to the wine-red, rose-red, bloodred torrent of her magic, at least prepared this time for the overwhelming and intoxicating burn of it. As before, she stood quietly beside him, allowing him the silence to concentrate, providing a steadying presence along with her generously potent magic. He’d wanted this, a partner to teach and support him, long before he’d realized the shadow side of his idealistic expectations. He would find a way to make this work. He could do this. With the potency of Nic’s magic, all he needed to do was apply the skills.
Ignoring the water in the room, he reached for the water outside. The marsh, fed by the river, wanted to reclaim this land. The land wanted to be marsh. Instead of fighting that, he opened the channels for the water to flow into. Water was a force of nature that way. It wanted to flow in, to settle, to slowly carve basins and canyons, to edge out the temporary habitations of the parasitic people on the land and wash them away. Nic had reminded him, perhaps without intending to, that it was always much easier to work with water than against it.
So, he went with the flow of the water, giving it the space beneath the arcade, coaxing it to flow in, to take, to have. Nic’s sultry invitation echoed in his mind with all its erotic and seductive power, her magic following after, obedient to his command. The rose-infused heated wine of her flowed with the water, all submitting to his will.
The floor moved beneath his feet, surprising him.
“Steady,” Nic murmured. “You’re doing it. Keep your sea legs and go with the motion. Remember the barge.”
Right, the barge. That had been hugely more challenging, the sea raging to dash them upon the rocks, and Nic’s magic far less familiar to him then, much less a part of him. How accustomed he’d become to taking from her in such a short space of time.
The predator desires the prey—he can’t have any mercy in his heart for it.
It’s in a wizard’s nature…
The floor shuddered, tilting dangerously, water sloshing around them, startling him.
“Concentrate!” Nic bit out.
“I’m trying,” he said between clenched teeth.
“Don’t try. Do.” Her voice and grip on his hand were remorseless.
No mercy. Devouring her magic, he wrestled the water into submission, making it obey his will, flowing into place beneath the arcade. Dimly, he was aware of the water around them draining away, just as Nic had predicted. Misty sunlight poured in the arches, marching elegantly down either side of the room as they elevated above the water level, plant matter dripping where it hung on ornamental spurs and flourishes.
“Well done, wizard,” Nic murmured. “Now stabilize it.”
“How?” he whispered, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the delicate balance he’d found. Though the arcade was anchored against the receiving salon wall, the free end where it had once been attached to the north wing allowed the room to bob unnervingly. Because it wasn’t a barge and not meant to float. What he was doing wasn’t possible.
The room lurched precipitously, dropping through the water like a rock plunging into a still pond. The struts holding the arcade to the core of the house shrieked, popping and rupturing with huge groans. Nic screamed too, swept up by the wave that poured in the arches, her hand ripped from his, her intoxicating torrent of magic abruptly wrenched away.
As if taking revenge, the water caught at him, obstructing his efforts to reach Nic as the cursed waterlogged gown dragged her under, her dark, sleek head disappearing into the depths consuming the hall as it skewed slightly, unanchored, and began sinking as graciously as it had once stood. The whole thing was going under, muddy, algae-green water swirling up to his chest.
Nic was nowhere in sight.
Taking a breath, he dove under the water, swimming through the muck to reach where she struggled against the weight of the velvet gown. He seized her around the waist and struck out for one of the arches. He was a strong swimmer, if nothing else. Belatedly remembering her lecture about using his own magic if he lost the thread of hers, he tried moving the water around them to assist—and discovered he’d drained his own water magic without realizing it. Unable to think of an application for moon magic in the current situation, he determinedly kept swimming. Much as Nic disdained the “manual” method for accomplishing tasks, sometimes muscle did what magic could not. Case in point.
Reaching the reedy edge of what had once been a formal garden, he hauled Nic onto a rise of lawn more mud than grass. She flopped onto her back, pale and drawn, so boneless he thought she might be unconscious. Then her eyes popped open, glaring at the sky with dark-green exasperation. Rolling her head, she transferred the glare to him. “Let me guess. When you went to stabilize the arcade’s position, you started thinking about how houses don’t float.”
Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as the pitched roof of the arcade vanished underwater, not even a gable to be seen. Feeling all resolve drain away, not unlike the sinking foundation of the entire manse, he flopped onto his back beside her. “Pretty much,” he admitted. “But you have to recognize,” he added, not caring if he sounded defensive, “that arcade wasn’t built to float. I could use magic to shift the water to temporarily lift it, but it’s impossible to keep it that way. It’s always going to eventually sink.”
“Oh, really?” she breathed, managing to sound like a breathless, silly female—something he’d never once heard from her before. Leveraging herself up, she pushed back the muddied, wet tendrils that flopped over her forehead, then pressed a hand to her breast as if her heart was fluttering. Widening her eyes and batting her water-beaded lashes, she positively simpered at him. “That’s so interesting, Gabriel. I had no idea! Truly, tis a wonder magic works at all. Maybe it doesn’t, and we just imagine things like carriages that move by themselves and couriers that can appear and disappear in an instant.”
He glared at her, not even remotely amused to bear the brunt of her sharp wit in that moment. “You’re not funny.”
Dropping all pretense, she sobered. “Maybe you can tell me what will get through your thick skull.” She tapped him smartly between the brows. “Your thoughts shape the magic. Nothing more, nothing less. The moment you decide something is impossible, it becomes exactly that.”
He looked away from her fierce visage, her sensual beauty striking, even bedraggled and mud-spattered. “The laws of physics don’t just vanish because it would be convenient,” he ground out. Exhausted, he contemplated simply lying on this muddy bank until he decomposed and became part of it.
“Which laws of physics are those?” she persisted, taking his jaw in her small hand and making him meet her gaze. Unlike his, Nic’s determination never flagged; she seemed to possess an infinite capacity to soldier on. She put him to shame, which didn’t help him scrape up more resolve. “The ones that say you can’t turn moonlight into silver? Tell me, Gabriel—what happens to that silver like you left scattered across the floor of the dining hall?”
“I scrape up what I can and sell it,” he admitted. “It’s very thin, almost a foil, so it isn’t hugely valuable, but it’s something.”
“Does it turn back to moonlight?”
He frowned. “Not that I’ve seen.”
“So why can’t you make flotation permanent too?”
Lifting his hand, he rubbed his forehead, then pushed himself up. Studying the submerged arcade, he tried to make her suggestion seem logical. He couldn’t, because it made no sense. “I just don’t believe that’s possible.”
“And that is why you fail.” With a heavy sigh, she stood, the sodden velvet hanging heavy on her petite frame. “What do I have to do to get a hot bath around here?”
Something else he’d forgotten to arrange for her. “I’ll handle it.”
“With all due respect and gratitude, Gabriel, I’d really prefer if you’d teach me to fish. Being able to arrange for my own hot bath would be a welcome level of autonomy.”
“Of course.” By dint of sheer willpower, he managed to lever himself to his feet, showing her the relatively dry path that would lead them around to the back entrance of the house. He was so tired, his steps were clumsy, his waterlogged boots occasionally tripping on nothing. Nic eyed him, sharply observant.
“Drained your water magic entirely, didn’t you?” she asked. When he reluctantly nodded, she tipped her own chin in solidarity. “I’m about empty, too. We really have to work on your control.”
“Nic…” He grimaced ruefully at her raised brow. “Could we give discussion of everything I need to learn a brief rest—like for the next hour, perhaps?”
Laughing softly, not without sympathy, she looped her arm through his, a measure of her natural fire warming him at the contact. “Yes, we can. I apologize. I do remember what it’s like.”
“You do?” he asked, with some surprise, opening the back hall door for her.
“Of course.” She shook her head, gaze focused on some memory. “At Convocation Academy, we drilled in all kinds of exercises designed to build discipline and control. All day long, day after day. I started when I was five years old—and we’re trying to cram years of training into hours. You’re so powerfully talented and ingenious that I forget you never learned the basics.” She let out a rueful breath. “And I’m an impatient teacher. You could do far better than learning from me.”
Putting his hand over hers on his arm—she was way too cold, having lost the warmth of his spell when his magic failed—he caressed it and smiled at her. “I know I’m a hard-headed student. I may get grumpy, but it’s probably good that you’re fierce with me.”
“Now you say so.” She smiled warmly.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Now that I don’t have to be worried that you’ll make me wade back into that sunken arcade and lift it again.”
She tilted her head thoughtfully, lush mouth pursed as she considered something. “We need to make this fun for you,” she decided. “If you’re miserable and feeling pressured, that only constricts the flow of magic.”
“Most wizards don’t look like they’re having fun,” he noted sourly.
“Because they love the power. They get all their pleasure from the rush of that, whereas you, my ethically tortured wizard, are much too worried about the consequences of power to enjoy it.”
She had a point. He was about to reply—probably with something she’d call self-excoriating philosophizing—when he caught the unpleasantly familiar feel of something…
“Hunters!” he yelled, spinning and thrusting Nic behind him. He wasn’t wearing his sword, but he’d been practicing for a crisis just like this. Beyond fortuitous that he hadn’t thought of a way to use his moon magic. Extruding a silver sword from his own magic, he faced the hunter slinking toward them. A creature of House Tadkiel’s ruthless justice and House Ariel’s animal-mutating magic, the thing was nothing out of nature. Like an amalgam of a jackal and a weasel in vaguely human shape, it moved with an arching glide, lifting its long snout in the air to sniff in Nic’s direction, tilting its head sideways to fasten one eye on them.
“Lady Veronica Phel,” it crooned. “You will come quietly.”
Behind him, Nic made an incoherent choking sound.
“Lady Phel is going nowhere,” Gabriel growled, levering the point of the sword toward the creature’s eye. “Go back to your masters and tell them Lady Phel is mine now. She’s where she belongs.”
“Lord Phel.” The hunter dipped its snout, jaws parting to reveal rows of teeth. “You may appeal to the Convocation to have thiss familiar returned to you, eventually, in accordansse with the law. But sshe will be taken into cusstody now. Sstand asside.”
“Never. Begone or I will kill you.”
The jaw dropped open further, giving the gruesome implication of a grin. “You did not ssucceed sso far, wissard.”
With a sinking sense of horror, Gabriel realized this must be the hunter from the barge. He’d blasted a hole the size of a watermelon in the thing’s chest, then washed it overboard where it should have drowned. Nic growled in frustration, and he knew she’d realized the same thing. Somehow the thing hadn’t died, and instead swam ashore and tracked them here.
The hunter snapped its jaws closed, hissing threats through its fangs. “I cannot be killed. I warned you previoussly that you have made a grave misstake interfering with uss and there would be conssequenssess if you persisted, Lord Phel.” A shiver of magic sifted over Gabriel, one he recognized from before. One that had frozen him immobile, rendering him helpless. And prompting Nic to thoroughly lecture him on being such a shitty wizard that he let a canned spell overpower him. Not this time. Using the purifying force of his moon magic, he shattered the spell before it could bind him. Huh. Surprisingly simple. No wonder Nic had been contemptuous of him for being caught by it previously.
The hunter sniffed, and its slimy gaze slid past him to Nic. “Learned some tricksss, have we, wissard? Nissse, but you interfere with the Convocation at your peril.”
“Blah blah blah,” Gabriel growled, keeping himself—and his sword—between the hunter and Nic as it tried to sidle around. “If I slice you into enough pieces, it’s the same as death.”
“Are you sssure?” The hunter snarled. And Nic screamed.
Gabriel whirled reflexively, cursing at the sight of two more hunters bearing Nic to the ground. She thrashed and fought, but their unnatural strength was more than she could resist. Mastering himself—because he knew they wanted her intact, along with the child she carried, and so wouldn’t hurt her—he turned back to the lead hunter just as it launched itself at him, fanged jaws snapping, curved talons slicing for him.
Fortunately, Gabriel might have shitty wizard reflexes, but he knew how to wield a sword. Better, his muscles knew, moving instinctively from all those years of practice when he thought he’d be only a farmer lad defending his land against the raiders and scavengers. His blade snicked through the hunter, cleaving off one hairy arm at the elbow. The hunter shrieked but kept coming at him, raking at Gabriel’s midsection in a taloned swipe that could have disemboweled him if he hadn’t jerked himself back in time. The upside was the hunter overreached and Gabriel sidestepped, bringing the sword down in an execution-style, two-handed blow—neatly decapitating the thing.
“Let’s see how you do without a head,” Gabriel snarled, turning to help Nic.
“You cannot evade the Convocation, wissard,” the head answered. “Give up the familiar now and ssave yoursself the devasstashion that awaits you.”
Gabriel considered stopping down on those jaws to shut the thing up, but the other two hunters had Nic pinned to the ground, one sitting on her as it tried to wrest a new iron collar around her neck. Without pausing, Gabriel simply beheaded both, sending those heads flying. To his supreme annoyance, the bodies continued their task as if nothing had changed.
Nic’s eyes widened in alarm. “Behind you!”
Gabriel grunted, staggering as a weight hit him from behind. The headless body of the lead hunter gripped him, claws scrabbling for purchase on his waterlogged clothes as the head laughed at him, the hyena aspect of the creature coming out in shrilling cackles. Reaching over his head with his free hand, Gabriel grasped a black-blood-soaked hairy shoulder and snapped the bones in his grip. Dragging the beast off him, he methodically chopped off the arms and legs, then yanked one hunter off Nic, then the other, butchering them both.
He and Nic stared at each other a moment, her eyes bright green with emotion, both of them panting. Holding a hand down to her, he asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She paused, then nodded, taking his hand and climbing to her feet, picking her way over the grasping limbs and twitching bodies. “That was a bit startling.”
Gabriel stared at her a moment longer, then choked out a hoarse laugh. “I’ll say.”
“You interfere with the Convocation at your peril, wissard!” the lead hunter shrieked.
He gave in to the savage impulse and kicked the yipping head, sending it sailing through the air to plop into the marsh. Nic watched it for a moment, then turned back to him, brows raised. “You might regret that.”
“I wanted to shut it up.”
“Indeed you did. But what happens when the head grows a new body and these limbs grow more hunters?” She nudged the limb crawling toward her by dint of digging talons into the muddy ground and dragging the rest behind it.
“Is that what happened? Because I could swear we used the enchanted dagger to melt all but the one that washed overboard.”
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, not on my 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.”
“Nic, what are you doing?” But he couldn’t stay away. As if of their own accord, his feet dragged him to her, his gaze rapt on the way she toyed with her breasts, so tantalizingly full above her narrow waist. Part of him—the plain farmer boy, no doubt—wanted to be scandalized, but the rest of him rose to the challenge of her provocative behavior, raging to touch, take, and ravage.
She cupped her breasts, lifting them like an offering. “Please touch me,” she breathed.
Realizing he still gripped his sword, as he had no sheath to stow it in, he set it aside, then lifted his hands. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m going to wash soon anyway.”
He brushed her hands away, replacing them with his, filling his hands with her full breasts, their soft weight delightfully overflowing his grip, her hard nipples pressing into the hollow of his palms. In a spasm of overwhelming need, he squeezed, desire hitting him hard when she sagged, mouth falling open with a gasp as she writhed against him.
“Mmm.” She put her hands behind her neck, arching her back to press more fully into his hands, tipping up her mouth, yet another offering. “Yesss. More.”
Unable to resist her blatant invitation, he lowered his mouth to hers, drinking in the heated sweetness of her generous lips, the scent of roses and red wine swirling into his senses. The taste of her settled him, reminding himself on a visceral level that she was all right. Still alive and healthy. Still his. The possessiveness roared up in him, and he slanted his mouth over hers, plundering, her groan scraping through him in answering need.
She twined her fingers into his hair, inclining her nearly naked body against his. Parting her legs, she slipped one slim thigh between his, nudging his aching balls and rolling her hip against his groin, raising herself to straddle his thigh. Deepening the kiss, he released one breast to press a hand against her lower back, pushing his thigh against her sex and lifting her onto tiptoes until she rode him with most of her weight.
She groaned, squirming against him, her sex scorching through the soaked leather of his pants. “Gabriel,” she panted against his lips, “is my bath ready?”
Lifting his head, he frowned at her. “What?”
Like a cat who’d devoured fresh cream, she smiled at him, practically licking her lips. “Be a love and fill the tub with hot water for me. Use my magic if you need to.”
“But I—you…” He trailed off in realization, aware that his water magic had begun to replenish itself, and that the rose-red, wine-dark richness of her magic swirled under her skin, waiting to be consumed by his insatiable hunger.
“But you have enough magic again, and so do I.” Though he’d stopped kissing her, she still clung closely to him, her heated body soft as she rode his thigh, her eyes half lidded.
Firmly setting her away from him, he rubbed his hands together, abruptly aware again of how filthy they both were. “That was all a pretense?”
Nic propped her fists on her hips, leveling a molten glare on him. “No. Idiot wizard. Give me your hand.” She held out hers in demand, holding his gaze with such obstinate determination that he didn’t try to argue, laying his hand in hers. She grasped it, stepped up close—and pushed his hand inside the ivory silk panties, his fingers skidding through her slick and scorching sex.
He caught his breath at the feel of her, at the rush of rich magic that flooded him.
“It’s very real,” she breathed, moving herself against his hand, moaning when he caressed her.
“My hand is dirty,” he said, then cursed himself for sounding like the idiot she named him. His brain moved sluggishly, his body full of need for her, seduced and enthralled by her.
She didn’t laugh, her sensuous mouth curving in a smile. “Fill the tub with hot water, wizard, and we’ll get you cleaned up. Then we can explore just how real this is.”
Entirely rapt in her sensual spell, he did as she suggested, willing hot water into the tub in the adjoining chamber, somehow unsurprised at how easy it was. “Your bath is ready,” he told her, giving her a long, luscious kiss.
“Excellent. And that didn’t take even a quarter of an hour.” She extracted herself from his embrace, cocking her head with a grin. “Once you’ve dealt with the garbage, get naked and join me.” With that, she bent over, giving him a breathtaking view as she released the leather boots, then sashayed happily into the bathing chamber, her croon of delight followed by splashing water.
