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I told the others to do their business in the woods for the night and that I’d put the force-field dome over us for warmth and protection. That kind of one-time wish I had it in me to do, I argued with Starling. It worked well too—letting out the smoke and carbon dioxide, allowing oxygen to filter in, but nothing else.
I confess I crashed immediately afterward, however. Never had I used so much magical energy—and gone so long without sexual stimulation—and the combination of the two took its toll. I hoped that was all it was.
Despite my exhaustion, I dreamed.
Instead of treading through the sand or climbing those impossible peaks, though, I lay in bed, weeping. And a hand with familiar long fingers brushed my cheek.
“Don’t cry, lovely Gwynn,” Rogue said.
He sat beside me on the bed, brushing his thumbs over my cheekbones, murmuring affectionate nonsense.
“I needed you with me today,” I accused him.
The left side of his mouth turned up in a half smile. “No, you didn’t. You did just fine without me.”
“That’s debatable.”
He smoothed my hair back from my face. “So brave. Sometimes I think you don’t need me at all.”
“I do,” I whispered. “And even if I don’t, I want you, Rogue.”
With a heartbreaking smile, he leaned over me, his inky hair curtaining us, and brushed his lips against mine. “I’ve missed you—and our kisses.”
“Yes,” I whispered against his mouth.
“So much.” He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding down my throat to rest on my breast. With a little cry of longing, I threaded my fingers through his silky hair and clung to him while my clothes vanished. He kissed me, stroking my naked flesh with avid touches, now teasing, now painfully demanding, now gathering me against him so we slid, skin against skin.
I gasped at the intense pleasure of it.
Gasped again. “No. No, we can’t.”
Rogue pulled back, amusement quirking his lips, damp and darker red from kissing me. “Silly Gwynn, this is only a dream.” He slid a hand between us and laid it over my belly. “This isn’t about the child.”
My heart lurched, picturing that little person and what could happen. “Am I pregnant? Tell me the truth.”
He kissed me softly, a sweet, tender, seeking touch. “You would know, better than anyone.”
“But I don’t know.”
He sat up and framed my face with his hands. “I made you a promise, my Gwynn. You, of all people, know I would never break my faith with you.”
“Why did you leave me then?”
“I’ve tried to tell you—even I am constrained.” A deep sorrow crossed his face. “Now more than ever.”
“You could have told me. I would have helped.”
“The details don’t matter. You cannot save me. It’s too late for that. Save yourself. Promise you won’t look for me.”
“No. I won’t promise that.”
His jaw flexed, betraying that he gritted his teeth. Perversely that pleased me.
“Stubborn.”
“Back at you.”
I woke up, blinking against the dark. Not even a hint of sandalwood in the air.
