Page 82 of Fallen Court

“Nope.” I sighed, turning my head before I gave in to that base need building inside me. “But forget it. The ring is more important.”

He shook his head. “No, you’re right. The spirits won’t cross the veil until midnight. That leaves plenty of time.”

“Spirits?” I blinked. “You make that sound so normal.”

“I grew up with wraiths,” he reminded me.

I shivered. Good point.

“Okay, so we’re going trick-or-treating,” he decided.

I snorted as I took another drink from the bottle. Why had I even bothered with a glass? “I think I’m too old to trick-or-treat. I just assumed Ciara would force me into a sexy costume and drag me to a bar.”

“We’re going trick-or-treating. My city. My rules,” he said firmly. “And after, we’ll go to the séance.”

“Everything sounded so ordinary and fun until the last bit.”

“Welcome to my life.” He hesitated. “About Samhain. It might be dangerous.”

“Why?” I wasn’t even sure I believed it was possible.

“Not only will the veil between the living and the dead be thin, but you’ll be in a space between worlds.”

Like we were the last time we nipped. The wine in my stomach started to churn.

“Do you think it’s worth the risk?” I asked him.

A tattoo twisted down his arm. “That’s up for you to decide, but I should be there in case…”

…things went south.

“Willow already suggested that you come. She said the dead wish to speak with you,” I added in a quiet voice.

“They can get in line.” His lips flattened. That would be a very long line. But he didn’t ask what else she’d said about him. Instead, he reached for my foot and began to massage it. “Now tell me about this sexy costume.”

“Suggestions?” I moaned as he worked on a tender spot.

He zeroed in on my lips, and I preened when his throat slid. “This is a nice look.”

I rolled my eyes as I took a drink. “Children will be present.”

“Not our children.”

“What a low bar.” A giggle slipped from my lips—the conversation and the ambrosia were finally lightening my mood.

“You have no idea how low I can go, princess.”

Even the nickname didn’t bother me as much as it had since I’d found out about the ring. I held the bottle out to him. Maybe we both needed to let loose and just live.

While we still could.

I shook the last bit from my mind. I wasn’t spiraling into that line of thinking.

Lach took the ambrosia, checking to find the bottle still half full. “Are you trying to have your way with me?”

“Maybe.” I tried to move my other foot to his groin to determine his level of interest in cutting this conversation short.

He batted it away, taking a drink before returning the bottle to the floor. “Because you don’t have to try so hard.”