“Theoretically, presuming your wife was here with you now, how would you answer?”
“Theoretically, I would say two to four. Big families do run in my line, but I am of a mind to spend my time with the woman I love rather than running after a full gaggle of children.” Theintensity in his gaze increased, and I resisted the urge to rub my arms. “What of yourself?”
“Still speaking theoretically, I would say my branch of the Aodhán line has never been overly blessed with fertility, thanks to gifts the gods gave us, so if I conceived more than one, I would consider it a win.” I quickly finished my wine, though it did little to ease the sudden dryness in my throat, then added with forced lightness, “But it’s pointless me worrying about such things, because my continuing lack of good judgement when it comes to men suggests that’s an option that might never be on the table for me.”
And definitelywouldn’tbe if the gods had their way and the current game did end with my death.
“Perhaps your luck is changing,” he mused lightly. “The gods did throw me in your path, after all.”
“To cause chaos,” I replied, “not babies.”
He laughed. “A truth I cannot dispute. But, speaking of babies, or at least, the practice of making them—” He gulped down the remainder of his red, plucked my glass from my hand, placed both in the basket, then moved it to the floor. “—we should make the most of our limited time together tonight before sleep steals us away.”
“Meaning we cannot sleep in this place?”
“No. The magic requires awareness. If we sleep, it will automatically return us to whence we came and shut down until required again.”
“That’s damnably inconvenient.”
“Consider it similar to a power-saving feature.”
He slipped under the blankets and then tugged me on top of him. I wriggled to make myself comfortable and felt his instinctive response.
“Are you sure we’re not pushing your virility right now? Because that’s a pretty lackluster response?—”
The rest was lost in a yelp of surprise as he flipped our positions and, over the course of the next few hours, proceeded to prove just how virile a Myrkálfar heir could be.
Mathi pickedme up at seven as promised, and I yawned all the way across to the private airfield.
“Hard night?” he asked as we both climbed out of the car.
Henrick collected my overnight bag containing a spare set of clothes from the trunk. I nodded my thanks and said, “Could say that. I hope there’s coffee on board.”
“Coffeeandcake. No bacon butties, I’m afraid.”
“I’m devastated.”
My voice was dry, and he chuckled softly, pressing a hand against my spine and guiding me over to the small plane. “Anyone I know? Or should I mind my own business?”
“I bet you can guess the answer tothatquestion.”
“Oh, I bet Ican—Cynwrig?”
My gaze shot to his. “He’s in mourning?—”
“And you’re wearing a Bruadar.”
My eyebrows rose. “When did you see it?”
“Saw the base of it when you absently pushed your sleeves up the other day. They’re very distinctive.”
“Yeah, well,” I muttered, “it’s a good way to communicate?—”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” he cut in dryly. “‘Communication’?”
I nudged him. “Idiot.”
A pretty stewardess waited at the base of the stairs and welcomed us both warmly before adding, “Your three other guests are already aboard, sir.”
