The fact was neither of them was the exact person they’d been ten years ago. They weren’t strangers, but they weren’t much more than that, either.
Yet, weren’t they?
In ways, it felt like no amount of time had passed. It was the same as when they’d first met—as if they’d always known each other. Feelings of awareness and connection, of knowing and being known, that transcended inconsequential notions like time.
That was how it had always been with Artemis.
What was four blissful months—or even ten wretched years—to the scope of eternity?
Dangerous thoughts, these.
Three light raps sounded on the door.
Bran didn’t bother opening his eyes as he called out, “All’s well here.”
A few seconds later came the creak of door hinges turning.
Annoyance fired through Bran as he opened his eyes and turned his head. “There’s no need—” The completion of the sentence froze in his mouth.
Artemis.
There was high-minded timelessness and eternity, but there was also the physical world ofnowwith its drives and pulls.
Dressed in an ivory silk robe, her feet bare, she held a candle aloft, bathing her in a wash of warm golden light. A feeling very much at odds with the relaxation of seconds ago fired through Bran—readiness.
Readiness for whatever it was this woman had come for.
No longer was her hair tied back in a neat braid, but rather it hung loose about her shoulders. She’d readied herself for bed before coming here. Perhaps a night chemise lay beneath her robe—perhaps not.
Here she was, looking like every dream he’d ever had of her—and every nightmare.
“Artemis,” he said, for something needed to be said. Many somethings, in fact. But what they might be escaped his mind.
Her dark eyes shone bright with a complex stirring of emotion—shyness, curiosity, and determination. And something else, too. Something Bran wished he couldn’t see.
Need.
She moved to the table where they’d taken their meal and set her candlestick down. “I wanted to make sure the water is to your satisfaction.”
Satisfaction.
What a word.
“It is,” he said, as if biting off each syllable. He could only hope his tone was firm enough to subdue whatever was happening in this room.
“I can have more hot water brought in.” She reached for the shirt he’d draped over the back of a chair.
“There is no need.”
Mindlessly, she began folding the shirt. “And your leg? Is it feeling better?” She placed the garment on the table.
“Much.”
And still she didn’t look inclined to leave.
In fact, she’d drawn closer.
Another sort of tension entered his body. One he’d come to know well over the last two years.
