It was early when I headed to bed, but it had been a long day and I was tired. I took a long, hot shower that loosened my sore muscles, then took my battered body and tucked it into our big bed.
In my dreams I was wandering down a dark road with Coyote. We were talking about . . . water, I think. Then suddenly Coyote stopped, turned to me, grabbed me by my hands, looked into my eyes, and said, “Her name is Death.”
I woke up gasping in panic, and Adam’s voice from the bathroom said, “It’s all right, sweetheart, it’s just me.”
“It’s just I,” I told him, more pedantic than usual because I was scared.
“Good to know,” he said, unperturbed. “I’d hate to think that someone else was in my bed.”
“How did your meeting go?” I asked, shaking off the ugly feeling that had accompanied my nightmare.
He grunted without pleasure. “It would be so much easier if I could kill a few of them. Then I wouldn’t have to argue for an hour to get them to see common sense. I have one more meeting tomorrow afternoon before the show is ready to start. Can you break free? They want to meet you and tell you that you don’t have any real power, they just need you to be the figurehead and play messenger.”
“When?” I asked.
“Two in the afternoon,” he said.
If Zee didn’t mind working in the shop again, it would be no trouble. “I can do that, I think. Where?”
He turned out the light in the bathroom and pulled back the covers. He looked at me. “I’ll pick you up,” he said absently.
And then ripped the covers all the way off.
I squeaked and ran. He caught me without much effort because he was my Adam, and I didn’t really want to run away from him. I was laughing when he dragged me (not ungently) by one leg to the bed.
He picked me up and set me on the mattress.
“You are so beautiful,” he told me.
He was wrong, but he wasn’t lying. I can hit pretty, but beautiful was a long way off. Christy, his ex-wife, was beautiful. Honey was beautiful. But if Adam thought I was beautiful, I wasn’t going to argue with him.
“Back atcha,” I said—and he snorted.
But he was intent on other things than words. And it didn’t take long before I was, too. I bathed myself in him, the silken skin of his shoulders and the rougher skin of his hands, his distinctive smell, the weight of his body.
After the first time, I was in the mood to play. I tortured the both of us (in the best sense of the word) until sweat gathered on his forehead and his wolf looked out from his eyes. His hands dug into my hips harder than he’d be happy with, but he didn’t force me to stop teasing. Adam would never use his strength against me.
I ratcheted us both up until we hung on that edge, like being on the top of the first hill on a wooden roller coaster. I held us both suspended, hearts pounding but bodies still. The muscles stood out on his flat belly and I put one hand there. He shuddered and our eyes met. I felt butterflies take flight in my veins as he smiled, a wolf’s smile, joyous and hungry.
We fell together. And it was glorious.
Adam fell asleep afterward. But energized by good sex, I thought about motivation. After a few minutes, I poked him.
“I have a theory,” I said when he grunted.
“This is going to be one of those nights when all I want to do is sleep, and you’re wound up like a spinning top, isn’t it?” he said.
I ignored him. “There are two possibilities to explain the witches’ arrival. The first is that they found out that Sherwood is here—we’ve been getting a lot of press and Sherwood was in at least one of the pictures that hit the AP.”
“Sleep, that blessed state . . .” intoned Adam, but he was listening to me.
“Sherwood is witchborn, I think, though his magic feels a little more wild than theirs. Still, they used him as a power source for who knows how long.” No one had actually told me that, but what else would they have been doing with him? “Maybe they want him back. That would explain most of the rest.”
“I listened to your messages,” Adam said. “Thank you for doing