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“Deal,” I say. “I’ll give you a head start, sweetling.”
She raises a brow but doesn’t protest special treatment.
Instead, she runs.
I watch with amusement as she weaves gracefully through vines, deftly perusing her selections.
I’m tempted to give her more than a few seconds’ head start, but this is a rare opportunity.
We’ll only be making a safe word once. It will not change. There’s a training period to make sure she knows how and when to use it, and also for my mind to react enough to be pulled out of lust.
Ishara Doyle has the potential to take me under and drive me to dark places I’ve never visited before—a safe word is very much a necessity for my new mate.
I know the garden better than Issy does, but she’s had no trouble finding the healthiest section closer to the sun where I’ve recently fertilized.
My nose guides me where to go, but Issy works on instinct.
We both find the perfect rose at the same time, and even with my vampiric speed, she beats me to it.
Maybe I let her, or maybe she was just faster than me.
I smile when she holds it up in victory.
“Ah, you’ve won,” I say, surprised that I’m not more disappointed. “What safe word have you chosen, then?”
She twirls the rose as her silver eyes glitter with magic. For a death witch, she has so much life to give. “Whenever I’m in danger, there’s only one word that comes to mind. It’s a name, actually.”
I’m not surprised she’s chosen her sister’s name. “Fallon?” I guess.
She grins. “Yes, it seems fitting. And it’s not a name I’m going to want to say during sex, trust me.”
I chuckle. It’s a good compromise. “Very well. ‘Fallon’ it is.”
She makes a face. “Is it really necessary to attach a spell to the word?”
I nod. “Very.” If she pushes me into bloodlust, I’m going to need more than willpower to stop.
“All right, then. I need your blood,” she says, holding out her palm. “Just a drop will do.”
Making a show of pricking my thumb with the tip of my fang, I squeeze it and offer her the growing drop. My wound will close within seconds, so I allow her to squeeze my finger to drop the blood onto the rose.
She reaches up then and trails her finger over my jawline, sending tingles over my skin, especially when she presses her finger against my fang.
Her blood lingers on my senses when she adds her droplet of blood to the rose, then begins to chant a spell.
It only takes a few moments.
“Fallon,” she whispers, naming the safe word and finishing the job. The rose puffs into energy, sending ruby-red motes into both of us.
A ripple curls through my body, securing the word to a sense of restraint.
I sigh, glad that’s done.
“So,” she says, slipping into me as she wraps her arms around my middle. “What word would you have picked? I’m curious.”
She stands on her tiptoes, eager to kiss me, but she’s waiting for my response.
“Oh, that’s easy,” I say, yearning to devour her, to begin the rest of our lives as bonded mates. “The word I would have chosen is a name, too. But one of my siblings, not yours. Probably Jasper, just because he’s an ass.”
