“Well,”she said.“Thank you for helping me, in any case.”
“Sure,”he said, still gazing into the fire.
“Isaac.”
Helooked over to her.She was sitting up straight, her rear on the bench, herhands on her knees, her elbows pushing her breasts together, her wet furhanging like blades of grass across her body.
“Thanksfor helping me,” she said.“I know you went out your way to do so.”
Heshrugged, with what he hoped was nonchalance.“I was just doing my duty.Someone had to stop her from tossing bombs.I mean, think of the archaeology.All the history we lost.”
“Weren’tnothing else to it, was there?”
“Notparticularly.”
“Youdon’t care that it did me a good turn?”
“Iwould never aid the cutthroat who took me hostage.”
Shebroke into a sly grin, her teeth catching the firelight.“Oh, aye.Course not.Just spill your wantinside her.”
Hetucked his legs against himself, suddenly aware of his nakedness.
Shestood up from the bench.“Xotra’s spewin’ cunt, wouldyou stop bein’ so sullen, already?We’re close now.We fought our way throughmore shite than anyone could’ve expected us to.We’realive.Fuckme, we should be celebrating.”
“Westill have to kill the necromancer,” Isaac said.“And even she seems afraid ofthe puppeteer.That means we should be afraid of them, too.”
“Shutyour mouth.”
“What?”
“Whatdo you mean, what?”
“Imean—what?”
“Isaac!”
Heflinched.
“Godsabove,” Zaria said.“You’re even bringin’ me down,and I’ve gotta temperament like farts in a tub.”
“Well ...sorry.”
“Whatdo I gotta do to cheer you up, Isaac?Just tell me.”
Helooked over to her, ready to say something.
Thewords stopped in his throat.
She wasstanding next to the fire, and the shadows of the flames danced across herbody.The light illuminated the curve of her breasts, the fur of her neck, thetaut muscle of her abdomen, the trail of spots on her hips and thighs.Betweenher legs, cast in deep shadow, he could faintly see the folds of her sex.Itwas a thin hint of pink.It sent his mind racing.
Like aflood, he remembered the chapel.
Heat.Wetness.Pressure.
Sliding.
Pounding.
