“Worth the theft?” Soren asks, grinning.
“Redistribution of resources,” I correct him, passing the bottle to Lucien. “Your turn, Your Lordship.”
Lucien accepts it with obvious reluctance, but he takes a drink. His eyebrows lift slightly, in other words, the Lucien equivalent of jumping up and down with excitement.
“Not bad,” he admits, passing the bottle back to Soren.
“I thought you didn’t eat?” I say.
“I can appreciate the taste, though it does nothing for me. Old habits die hard.”
Soren raises his eyebrows. “Is that so? I always figured you just sat around brooding and drinking the tears of your enemies.”
“I do not brood.” Lucien says, almost primly. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
We pass the bottle between us, and Soren launches into a story about ancient Yule rituals he’s witnessed over the centuries. “You think modern witches are wild? You should have seen the winter solstice ceremonies in medieval Europe. Naked dancing around bonfires, potions that would make your modern drugslook like sugar pills.” He takes another swig of wine. “There was this coven in what’s now Germany. They had a ritual where the high priestess would select a partner for each witch. The whole night was devoted to, let’s say, honoring the fertility of the earth.”
I feel heat rising to my cheeks. “You mean they just had a massive orgy?”
“Such a crude word for a sacred ritual,” Soren teases. “But yes. And let me tell you, those witches knew things that would make a succubus blush.”
Lucien sighs. “Must you always reduce everything to sex?”
“I’m an incubus, Lucien. It’s literally what I do.” Soren stretches out, his long legs taking up way too much of my limited floor space. “Besides, Rose isn’t complaining about my stories.”
I’m about to shoot back with something snarky when I feel a familiar coldness wash over me.
Drake materializes beside me on the bed, his hand immediately finding mine. But something’s different. He’s not the translucent presence I’m used to seeing. He’s solid and warm. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was almost alive. His skin has color, his eyes are bright, and when he squeezes my hand, it’s as real as my own.
“Drake,” I grin, unable to hide my surprise and joy.
His smile is soft, just for me. “Hey.”
Soren and Lucien stare, clearly shocked by Drake’s appearance. The ghost they’re used to seeing was a pale imitation of the man now sitting beside me.
“Well, well,” Soren recovers first, tilting his head in appraisal. “Look who’s joining the land of the living. Temporarily, at least.”
Drake ignores him, his attention entirely on me. “You okay?”
I nod, still marveling at how solid he feels. It’s working better than I ever hoped. “I’m good. Great, now that you’re here.”
Soren catches my eye across the room, his expression questioning, but he doesn’t push, just raises the wine bottle in Drake’s direction. “Drink? If you can, that is.”
Drake hesitates, then reaches for the bottle. He takes a small sip, and his eyes widen in surprise. “I can drink it,” he says, sounding almost awed. “It’s incredible.”
“The benefits of having a corporeal form,” Soren observes, watching Drake closely. “However fleeting.”
Lucien remains silent, but his eyes track every movement Drake makes, cataloging the changes, analyzing what they might mean.
Drake passes the bottle back to me, his fingers lingering against mine. “What are we celebrating?”
“Surviving,” I tell him, taking another sip. “And the start of Yule break. And having nowhere else to be.”
“I can think of worse company,” Drake says, his arm slipping around my waist, pulling me closer.
Twenty-Three
Rose
