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“Yes, through your magic, I think,” she replied in the same reverent tone. “Now, wrap your magic around me as you wind your free hand in my hair.”
“Show me,” he whispered hoarsely.
Leaning closer to him, the tips of her stiff nipples brushing his chest, she wound his hair around her hand. “Lucky yours is long enough for this,” she said, wetting her lips, eyes fulgent. “If you had short hair, I don’t know how we’d produce a mirror effect.”
She’d said that, that first night, about how she couldn’t cut her hair. Was this why? He imitated her, winding the long, silky length of her curls around his hand, trying to ignore the way he hardened at the feel of her. He’d been at half-mast or more for hours anyway, so the rush of blood came with excruciating intensity.
“Wrap your magic around me, too,” he coaxed her, sending the water and moon-magic tendrils to embrace her as they always longed to do anyway.
With her gaze fastened to his, she released her magic, allowing it to suffuse the space between them with the heady, rich scent of roses. As it had when they’d made love that night, the magics intertwined, filling the other’s spaces. This would work, he felt sure of it.
“You have to pull,” she whispered. “Drink me in.”
He did, feeling the rush of her essence filling every internal pore. “Is that enough?”
“More than,” she breathed, a smile of utter sensuous delight illuminating her face. “Now kiss me, and as you do, cut off my hair.”
Though he’d suspected, remorse spiked through him at the thought. “Your beautiful hair.”
“It will grow back,” she promised solemnly. “Take my power with the severing of my hair, wizard, so that I may be bound to you while you live.”
“Then you do the same. Take my power with the severing of my hair, beloved familiar, so that I may be bound to you while you live.”
“Gabriel,” she gasped, eyes widening. “That isn’t—”
“Do it,” he ordered ruthlessly, willing to force at least this. Fastening his mouth to hers, he took it with a drugging kiss, their magic flaring into a blazing silver inferno where water fed the flames and billowed with steam. Her grip on his hair dragged his head back, a searing counterpoint to the driving need to drown in her kiss.
He waited for her athame to bite at his hair before setting his own to hers, mourning the loss of the glorious length of it. But she was right—it would grow back. And, for better or worse, she would belong to him now, irrevocably and for all their lives. He would be with her to watch it grow—to watch their child grow in her belly and beyond—and the thought filled him with an emotion so incandescent he had no words for it.
As the last of his hair came free, and as the thick tail of hers came away in his grip, the magic leapt to a keening new level, as if the water transcended to something beyond even steam, and moonlight solidified, chiming as it fell on the tiles.
They shuddered in each other’s arms as the magic gripped them, forging the bond that resonated through realms he hadn’t imagined. Nic let out a cry, the sound guttural and sexual, her mouth feeding on his with fierce need, her body slick against his. He needed to bury himself in her with a ferocity that seemed to come from beyond him. “Is it done?” he asked, almost begging.
“Yes,” she said on a moan. “It’s done. I’m yours.”
~23~
Gabriel broke thekiss, and Nic nearly wailed her frustration. He stared down at her, eyes wild. “Be more specific,” he demanded. “Did it work?”
“I’m definitely bonded to you.” And she was, the silver links of his magic firmly connected to hers. “We’ll have to experiment to determine how reciprocal it is. Our magics work differently, so if you are bonded to me, it won’t be in the same way.”
He dipped his chin in a crisp nod. “All right, let’s conduct some experiments. We can—”
“We can start tomorrow,” she interrupted firmly, deliberately sliding against him, using the movement to tantalize that cock thrusting hot and hard against her belly. “Tonight,” she purred, pursing her lips to draw his gaze, “we celebrate.”
His expression softened with yearning. “Is that traditional?”
Breathing a laugh, she shook her head, so light without the weight of her hair. His silver locks curled with unruly abandon around his face, freed of the length. “I don’t care, do you?”
“No,” he replied, considering. “I don’t think I care. I want you, Nic, more than I can bear.”
Her whole body shivered with anticipation. “Take, Gabriel. Have.”
“Yes.” His mouth quirked in a smile as he showed her the bundle of her severed hair. “Can I keep this?”
“I believe it’s traditional,” she answered on a laugh.
“We can’t defy tradition.” Setting the hair carefully to the side, he laid his athame beside it. She laid her own prize—shorter but glittering silver—and athame beside hers. They made a picture, blending with the pattern of the arcanium floor. Gabriel smoothed his hands over her shoulders, drawing her attention as he gazed at her.
