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Leif released him, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, until he saw white starbursts behind his closed lids. When he lowered his hands, he was surrounded by the depths of the Inglewood, and all its attendant sights, scents, and sounds. Night birds flitted in the high branches, calling to one another. The sky gradually lightening through the gaps in the canopy.
But each time he blinked, he saw Amelia Drake, her hand outstretched toward him.Hello, there.
She’d offered her name, heedless of the risk. Offered her hand, though he might have bitten it off at the wrist. Gods, but she’d been incautious. Or stupidly brave. Lovely, too, up close this time, with her dark, gleaming hair, and her fine features, and her eyes the same blue as Tessa’s and Oliver’s.
She’d known his name.
She’d been frightened, but she hadn’t shown it dramatically; if he hadn’t been able to smell her fear, and feel the quick pounding of her pulse, he might not have known.
But none of that was the reasonhispulse was pounding, filling his ears with a roar like the sea at high tide.
“Fuck,” Ragnar muttered, pushing upright so they were sitting across from one another in their nest of tree roots. He grimaced, plucked a twig from his hair, and worked a crick from his neck. “Good gods, why did I fall asleep like that?”
Leif didn’t point out that it likely had something to do with having come all over Leif’s foot while Leif’s cock was down his throat. It turned out four times apiece was all they could manage before they passed out. Instead, he said, “Ragnar,” and the scraped-rough sound of his voice drew Ragnar’s attention.
“What?” he asked, abandoning his hair – it was a lost cause, truly – and squinting at Leif through the dimness. “What do you–” It must have hit him, then, because his eyes went wide, and his face went slack.
“Her,” he said. “It was her – it was bloody her! In the flesh. Well, in the dream – that wasn’t a dream, or, not really, it was that place. Things get a little muddy for me, after a time. Oliver was there, and then–”
“Shut up,” Leif ordered, and earned a whine.
Rough hands gripped his thighs. “Leif, it washer.”
Leif knew that it was. Knew it well – was shaking because of it.
Weeks ago, he’d forced Ragnar to venture out to the Selesee general’s tent, and find the bowl and the strange, black elixir the Sels had used to show Ragnar the wonder and horror of Seles, and convince him to become a skinwalker. Together, they’d poured in the viscous black liquid, and leaned over the bowl; had stared down into its depths together. The vision they found there had involved sweat-slick skin, and low, animal sounds, heat, and effort, and a hunger unlike anything he’d known. There’d been a woman, there, walking toward him, and a strong arm around his waist, holding him back, possessive and uncertain.
The woman in that vision had been the spitting image of Amelia Drake.
“Leif,” Ragnar prompted, leaning in closer, his breath rapid and heated, striking Leif’s face.
“Shut up,” Leif growled, put a palm on his face and shoved him away.
Ragnar backed off, but he insisted, “That was her. That was the woman we saw in the bowl.”
“I know that,” Leif finally said. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”
“What? Of course it does.”
He knew the look he shot Ragnar fell short of stern; he was too rattled for that. “It wasn’t necessarily her,” he reasoned – pathetically; he’d felt that awful, breathless tug in his gut, something like destiny, something that had felt huge and inescapable. “I don’t recall exactly what the woman in the bowl looked like.”
“Yes, you do,” Ragnar accused.
“And the vision in the bowl could have been a lie. A trick some Sel shaman was playing on us.”
Ragnar snorted. “You know it wasn’t.”
“Explain it, then,” Leif snarled.
Ragnar sat back, hands stretched behind him, rolling his neck and shrugging his shoulders. One of them popped audibly, and he winced. “It means we were destined to meet her.” A grin stole over his face, sharp and devious. “Maybe even destined to fuck her.”
Leif kicked him, but he only laughed.
“Come now, cousin. Don’t tell me you misinterpreted that vision.”
“It wasn’t clear.”
“It was nothingbutfucking. Which…” He trailed off, and gestured between them.
