I look up from my work and try not to act too overly moved by this news. Internally, my stomach flips. I’ve prepared for this day. Took a scouring bath this morning. Dabbed lavender oil behind my ears and ran it through my hair. Found a lovely set of undergarments at a shop in the village yesterday. It’s time.
This time I throw on my red longcoatanda cloak, and head out into the cold day. The snow has turned to flurries, and the wind has died down, thankfully.
I don’t expect to see Neri upon a horse, but there he is, perched on the back of a stallion that has a coat as shimmery white as the snow around us.
My wolf reaches for my hand as I stare up at him in disbelief. “How?”
He just shakes his head and laughs. “Magick.”
In minutes, we’re riding through the forest, his arms around me, his big body curled around mine. We’re both quiet for the entire trip, just enjoying one another’s heat and presence and the silence of the snowy wood.
When the cottage comes into view, I gasp. It’s a small affair, made of stone with square glazed windows, an arched doorway, and a tall chimney where tendrils of gray smoke curl toward the sky.
Neri swings down from the horse and leads us to the stables. Once the animal is put away from the cold, he walks me into his home.
Comfortable isn’t a good enough word. It’s cozy and tidy and warm, a home where a family might live, not a god.
I smile at the books that line the shelves. The blankets stacked by a long, well-cushioned divan. Elias’s memories sitting on the mantle above the hearth, safe and sound and under a wolf’s care.
And the table where a meal awaits.
I blink up at him. “You cook?”
He helps me out of my cloak and coat, hanging them by the door. “I do many things you might find mundane for a god. I suppose I was more human when I lived here than even I remember.”
We sit and eat, a brunch of bread and warm winterberry compote along with salted meat he attained from the village butcher. We talk, like normal people, about his journey here, how he hunted to stay strong. I tell him about the veil and how the villagers took the news about him and Thamaos, and about those from Hampstead Loch staying at the castle. I also tell him what I’ve worked on at Winterhold for the last month, the research and reading, the war talk, and defense planning.
“I can help you,” he says. “With whatever you need. Your leadership here is much appreciated, I’m sure.”
I know it is. And I’m glad I can be of service. But I don’t want to talk about Thamaos or duty anymore.
I get up and sit on Neri’s lap, folding my arms around his neck.
He gazes up at me as I drag my fingers through his silky, white hair. “Is this a goodbye?” he asks. “The temporary queen must return to business?”
“Does it feel like a goodbye?” I say with a grin. “I mean, Ishouldprobably go.”
He drapes his arms around my waist. “Why?”
“Because I have work to do today and a meeting with the blacksmith later, and you’re already making me disoriented enough to consider doing nothing but you.”
His lips quirk up on one side, wolfish as ever. “Just by sitting here? Barely touching you?”
I arch my brow. “As if that isn’t enough.”
Still smiling, he tugs my arm down and threads his fingers with mine. “But you don’t want to go.” He presses his nose against my ear. My heart begins a gentle pounding as he inhales the scent of this impossible desire I feel. “Mmm.” He draws back to look me in the eyes. “You very much want to stay, little bird. And I want you here. All night.” Tenderly, he lifts my hand to his lips for a kiss. “So stay.”
I do stay. And for most of the day, we simply lie together on the divan and rest by the fire, sharing gentle touches and soft kisses, easy caresses amid stories of our lives and memories shared. I even sleep for a while, nestled against his chest.
When I wake, I’m in his bed, a massive affair to suit Neri’s big body, made of twisted tree limbs. It looks like somethingIwould build.
I curl up under the covers, realizing that the late-day sun is splitting the last of its rays through the window.
Neri appears in the doorway, leaning there like the sexy god he is. His shirt is soft but fitted, his trousers snug in all the right places.
“Come here,” I say to him.
With that smirk I’m beginning to love, he stalks across the room and sits on the edge of the bed beside me. I pull the covers back and draw his hand to my breast.
