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Lore was now his “one and only.” Something he craved more with every second that passed. They deserved a chance to become an indestructible unit. Would she appear today?
Eager to see her, he flashed to their throne room. The underground sanctuary was fortified in a thousand different ways, surrounded by enough traps to stop a hundred immortal armies at once.No oneentered without his permission.
“Lore,” he called, stalking toward her throne. His combat boots thumped against the marble floor, creating an audible heartbeat. “Show yourself, my sweet.” A command as much as an entreaty.
This budding desire for Neeka would fade as soon as his wife appeared. He was certain of it.
The barest outline of Lore’s form developed near the royal dais. Fresh tears cascaded down her pale cheeks as she reached for him.
Chest tight, he raced closer. Too late. She vanished as he ascended the top of the platform. A curse exploded from him.
Would the addition of the next bone increase her strength, allowing her to stay for longer periods? There was only one way to find out.
Determined, Rathbone flashed to Neeka’s chosen bedroom. No oracle, yet her incredible scent lingered. He compressed his lips. Ignoring an internal cloudburst of heat, he tuned his ears to sounds arising throughout the palace. There. Muttering in the kitchen.
He appeared at the entrance and scanned. Spotting her, Rathbone blinked, thunderstruck. The oracle had piled her curls into a tower of elaborate braids. A beaded bustier barely covered her breasts. Matching underwear and transparent pantaloons displayed the rest of her luscious curves. The sheer half mask hanging from her nose to her chin hid nothing while accentuating everything. Crystals dangled over her forehead, mimicking bangs. Golden armbands circled each of her biceps.
He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. She faced his direction, but she hadn’t noticed him yet. Too busy kicking the refrigerator door closed while balancing multiple dishes in her arms and mumbling, “This is mine. All mine. I’ve earned every bite by breathing. Scarlet Fury said so. So Imma power up and get down to bees wax. Yes sir. That’s what I’m gonna do.”
Perhaps she’d spoken to herself yesterday?
To gain her attention, he flipped the kitchen light switch twice.
“Fried and dipped in sugar!” she shrieked as she dropped the dishes. Glass shattered, food spilling in every direction. Her gaze flipped up. Pressing a hand over her heart, she frowned. “Oh. Hello, Rathbone.”
Lust punched his midsection. Because she’d spoken his name with those red, red lips? A reaction he didn’t understand and refused to explore.
“What did you choose to eat?” A ridiculous question, but he didn’t snatch it back. The refrigerator produced whatever the opener wished. At his dinner table, she’d loaded her plate with every dish but had only consumed the vegetables.
“That’s none of your business,” she rushed out, punting as many morsels as possible under the counter.
“Everything is my business.”
“What are you doing here?” The color in her cheeks darkened. “Our meeting isn’t scheduled for another one to six hours, depending on when I decide to pencil you in.”
He flashed closer and looked over the food, confusion sprouting. Vegetables again. Very muchnotfried or sugared.
“A plain, vegetable medley? Squash. Asparagus. Broccoli. So many carrots.”
“The butter and salt are invisible. Did you ever think of that?” The defensiveness in her tone doubled his confusion and even sparked amusement.
A shocking turn, considering his present mood.
She stepped over the mess, approaching the counter where an overstuffed backpack waited. Planning an extended trip without him?
He flicked his tongue over an incisor. “If you intend to escape me—”
“I’m not intending anything of the sort,” she interjected. “You see my outfit, yes? Clearly, I’m ready for our next mission.”
Tension seeped from his muscles. “What does your outfit have to do with our task?” He didn’t allow himself the luxury of giving her curves a more thorough examination. His frayed control might snap.
“Only everything,” she said, spreading her arms. “You’ll carry the backpack, obviously. Your life depends on it... I think. I have a feeling.”
“Explain.”
“Well, the pack is stuffed with the essentials, and you’ve got the brawn.”
“I didn’t mean—never mind. Explain why you’re dressed so...”
