Talon raked his hand through his wet hair as she left one more time and wondered if she'd forgotten anything else.
She had.
"Shoes," she said the next time. "Must have shoes to shop and keep feet warm." She slid her feet into a pair of mules by the door.
"What about a coat?" Talon asked as he noticed she was heading out again. "It is wintertime."
"Coats are good in the winter," she said, going to a rack by the door he assumed was her closet. She pulled on an old brown overcoat that seemed completely not her style. "Be back shortly."
"Wait."
She paused to look at him.
Talon quirked his lips as he crossed the room and undid her misbuttoned coat. Straightening it, he buttoned it correctly.
"Thank you," she said, smiling a smile that did the oddest things to his groin and stomach.
All Talon could do was nod, especially since what he really wanted to do was pick her up in his arms and carry her to the bed and make love to her for the rest of the afternoon.
"I'll be back," she said, heading out.
After she was gone, he finally allowed himself to smile broadly. She was definitely something else.
Something that reminded him of a warm spring day after a harsh winter. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him the way she did. A long time since someone had stayed in his thoughts.
"You like her."
He turned his head to look over his shoulder at the spirit that flickered there. "She's interesting," he said to Ceara.
Ceara moved forward to stand by his side. Her pale cheeks held an ethereal blush as she shimmered between this plane of existence and the next.
She should have crossed completely over to her eternal rest or rebirth centuries before, but she had refused to leave him alone.
And though it was terribly selfish, Talon had been grateful for her company. Especially back in the days when he'd been unable to stay in touch with his Dark-Hunter brethren via modern technology.
Back then, his isolation had been hellish. He'd spent days alone, never daring to let any human near him for fear of his curse. Never daring to reach out to anyone for anything.
The only relief he'd known was his sister's infrequent visits.
But every time he looked at Ceara, he was painfully reminded of how badly he had failed her. He should have been able to help her the day she died. Had he not been a fool, she would have lived out the life she deserved. A life filled with a husband and children.
Instead, she'd been sacrificed because he had been a stupid, arrogant ass.
The first time she'd come to him after their deaths had shattered him. There had been no accusations from her, no hatred, even though he deserved it.
She had shown him only compassion and love.
"I promised you I would never leave you alone, my brathair. And I won't. I will always be here for you."
Over the centuries, her presence had been the only thing that kept him grounded and allowed him to function. Her friendship and love had always meant everything in the world to him.
Ceara brushed a sisterly hand over the bruise on his right thigh. He couldn't feel it like a real touch, but the gesture caused his skin to tingle. "It no longer bothers you?"
"No. I'm fine."
"Speirr," she said, speaking his name in their native Celt. "You know to be honest with me, brathair."
He reached to brush a tendril of blond hair from her cheek, only to remember he couldn't touch her.