His growl made her grin. She’d wager she wasn’t leaving this house before he took her again.
She checked her appearance in the mirror. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks pinkened. She felt a tinge of regret to see that his claiming mark had healed.
In the shower, she called, “Hey, can we get the hot water fixed?” She’d turned the single lever all the way right, but the water never approached warm.
“In the Territories, there is no hot water for showers,” he called back.
To herself, she muttered, “You’ve got to be shitting me.” She sucked in a breath and stepped under, screeching, “This isn’t right—I didn’t join the army!”
He came to gloat, leaning against the doorway with a barely checked grin. “We Vrekeners find cold water’s good for the mind and body.”
“Oh? That’s a shame—because hot water’s good for morning sex.”
His eyes flickered. “I’ll warm you up. . . .”
Some time later, when they emerged, Lanthe was a cold-water convert. Now she was grinning like a boss.
After she dried off, she reached for her clothes from the night before. Full regalia. Including the mask.
The beauty of metal and leather garments? Easy cleaning. She tugged on her skirt.
“Shall I find you some gowns?” he asked as he dressed again.
She studied his face. “You can, but I won’t wear them until I have them altered.” Lanthe had lived through the Victorian age; out of necessity, she’d learned how to transform a high-necked, floor-length, long-sleeved gown into a proper sleeveless minidress. Or, rather, to give directions for someone else to. “I’ll feel more comfortable in my own clothes.”
He parted his lips, hesitated, then said, “Very well.”
Good man, she thought again. “I feared we were about to have our first married fight.” She slipped on her top. As far as Sorceri clothing went, the outfit wasn’t even that provocative. Her hemline almost reached her knees. Her boots did, so little of her legs would be exposed.
“I know how much you compromised to come here with me,” he said. “I want to meet you halfway. Besides, if you scream at me, it should only be because you’re about to erupt/explode/die with ecstasy.”
“In other words, later today?” She reached forward to cup him between the legs, loving how he rocked on his toes to her hand.
When he groaned, she released him with an affectionate pat.
She donned her boots and gauntlets, then did a quick job braiding her hair. Thronos watched her every movement with undisguised fascination.
“Grab my necklace?”
He hastened to get it, returning to lace it over her head. “I kick myself for not giving you this sooner.”
“Well, we were a mite preoccupied with dragons and demons and pests and all. I treasure it as if you presented it to me—since you put your life at risk to retrieve it. Even if it weren’t silisk gold, it would always be my favorite.”
“Sorceri exchange rings with marriage, do they not?”
She whirled around. “Yes, I want a ring! A gold one, with extra gold.”
His lips curled. “When my mate sets her heart on something, who am I to deny her?”
With an answering grin, she slipped on her mask. “Okay, then, let’s go get this over with.”
He offered his hand; she proudly took it.
The moment they walked out the door, a Vrekener male greeted them, as if he’d been loitering just outside. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a rangy build like Thronos’s, he had olive-green eyes and sandy brown hair tied in a queue.
Lanthe stiffened when she saw his silvered talons. A knight. She wondered how many Sorceri he’d killed. Or neutered?
“Greetings, Jasen!” Thronos said. “I didn’t think anyone knew we’d arrived.”