in invitation. Her legs splayed, she rocked her hips to him in welcome. He needed no further tempting.
Lifting her thighs, he draped her legs over his shoulders and took her. He shoved his body into hers with one long stroke. She gasped, arched her hips even higher and tipped her head back, baring the curve of her long, elegant neck. As he pistoned his hips against hers, taking her over and over again, he took her scent into his lungs.
The scent of his witch was earth, air and something that was purely Teresa. Solely hers. She filled him, taking him as he took her. As he felt the mating fire burn in his chest again, he pulled back to watch another splash of red branding claim her luscious coffee-and-cream-colored skin.
Mine.
He watched her shatter. Felt her body contract around his even as she screamed his name. Her fingers clutched at him as he sheathed himself so deeply inside her he wasn’t sure where his body ended and hers began. Teresa screamed again as another torrent of pleasure rocked her and in the next moment Rune surrendered to the inevitable and emptied himself into her.
Chapter 31
An hour later, Rune gritted his teeth and called on his immense self-control to withstand the need to touch Teresa again and again. He wanted nothing more than to flip her onto her back and drive himself into her until she was breathless. But there were things they had to talk about. Shaking his head, he said, “Now that the Mating’s begun, you need to concentrate on focusing your magic.”
“I know,” she said, all hints of teasing gone from her expression. “But if we’re hiding out, me drawing down the lightning is going to attract attention. Even way out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“True,” he said, and he didn’t like it. “But we’ll have to risk it. I’ll be with you as you practice, to keep watch. And my presence will help you with your control, too.”
“Okay, then what?” She dusted cookie crumbs from her fingers, balled up the used napkins and the apple core and stuffed them into an empty paper bag. “I mean, yes, I work on controlling the magic and you protect me. All good. But what’s next? We go to Chiapas, find my grandmother and …” Her words trailed off into an unfinished question.
“And we figure out where your shard of the Artifact is,” he said, realizing that saying it was a lot easier than finding it was going to be.
“Right. The Artifact. You could start by telling me just what exactly I’m looking for.” Teresa pulled one edge of a red silk quilt up to cover her lap as she tucked her legs beneath her, Indian style. “I have the memory of that night when we set the demons loose.” She paused to shudder. “But I don’t remember the Artifact or what it looked like. I need to know, Rune. Everything you can tell me. What exactly is this Artifact?”
Rune leaned back on the mountain of pillows behind him and looked up at her as she watched him. Her features were open, her dark eyes shining with questions. He hated knowing that her eagerness would soon be tempered by fear. But he could see no way to avoid that.
In a quiet voice, hardly more than a hush, he said, “The Artifact was born of fire, breath and blood a thousand years before the birth of Christ. The element that formed it was black silver, created by a coven of powerful witches.”
She shivered and took a shallow breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“Black silver,” she said, her tone breathless, as if even saying the words was difficult for her. “When you said that, I got a cold chill and a seriously uneasy feeling.”
“Your memories,” he said softly. “They’re opening and you’re remembering.”
“I don’t know that I want to,” she admitted with a slight nod. “But I know that I have to, so tell me. What was this black silver?”
His gaze was locked on hers as he tried to explain. “The element was drawn from silver itself,” he said. “Silver is a conduit for witch magic. It’s of the earth and magnifies your powers as well as stabilizing them. But this new dark element was more powerful than that long-ago coven could imagine. It didn’t just exist, it … became.”
“What does that mean?”
He swiped one hand over his face and then pushed his hair back. Memories swam before him, thick as flies in summer, as he said,