I unbuckled my sheath, Sarrat still in it, and hung it over a chair.

It was so comfortable here, in the kitchen. Just me and him. I loved our son, but sometimes it was nice to take a short break from being responsible for a tiny human.

“Where is Adora?”

“I sent her home to take a break. Shower, sleep, that type of thing. She’ll be back in the morning.”

I set the table. We would never be ordinary. We would never have sheltered lives. But we could have this, a quiet moment of simple happiness, sandwiched between danger and desperation. I lived for these moments.

“I’ve decided to give d’Ambray a chance,” I said.

“I thought you might.”

He slid the last slice of bread onto the plate and turned around to me.

“What gave me away?”

“You tend to give people second chances. And third. And fourth.”

“Pot, kettle. Can you work with him?”

He shrugged. “We need him and his wife. I can always kill him later.”

His Furriness, the Long-term Planner. “We’ll have to sit down with them eventually and have a conversation. Can you be civil?”

I pulled a block of cheese out of the fridge and cut it into paper-thin slices.

“Can you?”

“I’m always civil.”

He crossed his arms. The muscles on his forearms stood out. Mmm.

“Really?” Curran asked.

“Sometimes I jump on the table and kick people in the face, but I’m always civil about it.”

He moved behind me. His breath touched my skin. I stopped slicing.

“Always civil?” he murmured. His fingers eased my hair from my shoulders. His lips grazed the sensitive spot on the back of my neck. I shivered.

His lips were hot on my skin. I arched my back against him, raised my hand, and slid it into his hair. He hadn’t buzzed it down.

“We’re childless tonight,” he murmured into my ear. “Nobody in the house except us.”

“What about Julie?”

“She’s sleeping over at Derek’s. She thought you might need time.”

What I needed was a temper transplant, because if she walked through that door right now, I’d yell at her until sunrise.

“She knew where Hugh was.”

“Apparently.”

He kissed me again. His arms slid around my waist, pulling me closer to him, the steel cords of muscle warm against me. Yes . . .

“We don’t have to be quiet,” he promised, and nipped my neck. Tiny sparks of pleasure burst through me.

“We don’t?”

“No.”

“What makes you think that I wouldn’t be quiet anyway?”

“Is that a challenge?” His hand stroked my raised arm. Breath caught in my throat. There shouldn’t have been anything erotic about him touching my arm, but my whole body went to attention, tracking the progress of his fingers.

“Would you like it to be, Your Godliness?”

He stopped. “Still mad?”

I turned around and looked at him. Really looked at him.

“Are you still you?”

Gray eyes looked back at me, full of dancing golden sparks. “I’ve been eating gods for nearly two years. You’ve been living with me all this time. Eating, sleeping, having sex. You tell me.”

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

“Test the waters and find out. Unless you’re chicken.”

“I wish you hadn’t done it.”

“I knew it. Too scared.”

“I’m scared for you, idiot.”

He gave me an appraising look. “Keep telling yourself that. But it would go easier if you just admit it.”

“Admit what?”

He pointed at himself. “All this is too much for you.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re right. That’s totally it. I’ve beheld your godly manliness and now I’m overcome with womanly trepidation. Get over yourself.”

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go easy on you.”

Screw it. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. He tasted of coffee and Curran. I caught his lip between my teeth, nipped, and licked him. He opened his mouth and I slipped my tongue in, teasing him. He picked me up, his hands squeezing my butt, and kissed me back, tasting my mouth. My tongue flicked across his. My breasts ached. My body was aware that I was empty, and I needed to be full of him.

“Playing with fire,” he told me, setting me on the kitchen table.

“No, just pulling a lion by his whiskers.” I kissed the sensitive skin under the corner of his jaw. He made a deep male noise. We kissed again. The world went hot and focused. I pulled his T-shirt off and ran my hands over the ridges of his stomach, over the hard muscles of his chest, over tight nipples, kissing him, eager and hot and wanting.

He pulled off my T-shirt. His hand slipped into my bra, easing my breast out, his thumb sliding over the sensitive bud of nipple. I gasped and kissed him harder. He was on fire, and if I just kissed him hard enough, I’d coax it out of him.

He worked the bra off me and lifted me up. His mouth found my right breast, sucked, his tongue painting heat and texture across my nipple, and a jolt of pleasure made me moan. I wrapped my legs around him. He carried me to the living room. My feet touched the soft rug. I was hot and wet and in a terrible hurry. He was kissing me, touching me, squeezing, stroking. He couldn’t get enough. I worked his jeans open and pulled his shaft out, running my hand up and down the hardness wrapped in silken skin. He groaned and squeezed me to him. His eyes had gone gold. His upper lip rose, baring his teeth.

I tripped him. It was a classic move, simple and effective. He was off balance, because he wanted another go at my breasts. For a moment his weight was on his right leg, and I swept it out from under him. He could’ve fought me on the way down, but instead he just fell. I pulled off my jeans and my underwear, yanked his off him, and landed on him.

He grinned at me and there was no man more handsome on Earth. “Your move, ass kicker.”

He was still him. Still my Curran. Still enough left.

I kissed him and slipped his hard shaft inside me. It felt like heaven. He growled and thrust up. I rode him, matching his thrusts with mine, feeling every inch of him fill me, sliding into my hot slickness. His hands roamed my breasts, slipped over my stomach, and touched the sensitive spot between my legs. I cried out. He snarled in response.

I rode him faster and faster, lost to the rhythm, until the pressure that had built inside me crested and drowned me in ecstasy. And then he was behind me, thrusting hard, and then I was on top again, then we were face-to-face, slowing the pace. Savoring each minute. Every moment was a gift. I loved it all: the taste, the scent, the touch, the way he looked at me, the gold sparks in his eyes, the touch of his hands on my skin, the way his whole body tensed when he thrust into me . . . I came again, and then his body shuddered, and he finished. We collapsed side by side on the rug.

My head was spinning. Sweat cooled slowly on my body. I was so happy. Exhausted and happy. Soft comfortable darkness came.

“Kate,” he said. “We can’t fall asleep here. Come on, baby.”

Somehow we made it upstairs into the bed. He wrapped his arms around me, and I drifted off to sleep.

CHAPTER

15

I KNEW MY aunt had recovered, because she exploded into our bedroom and roared, “The child is missing!”

I sat bolt upright on the bed. Curran groaned. I realized I was naked and pulled a blanket over my chest.

“Knocking,” I told her. “Privacy.”

She glared at us. “This is no time to have sex! Your son is missing! I can’t feel him.”

Kill me, somebody. “He isn’t missing. He’s across the street with his grandmother. You can’t feel him because I strengthened the ward on George’s house to mask his presence.”

She squinted at me. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I went there to check on him late last night and I saw him sleeping. Grendel is with him. There are enough werebears in that house to hold off an army.”

Erra considered it. “Very well. Also, your father’s attack dog, what’s his name? Hugh. Hugh and some blond woman are in a car in your driveway, talking.”