‘Good answer,’ she murmured, beaming at him, as his lips captured hers for a scorching hot kiss.
Hours later, the atmosphere inside Kage Sable’s eponymous restaurant, The BirdKage, was electric.
A chaotic symphony of clinking crystal mingled with the mouthwatering scent of honey-glazed lamb flown in from Dunia and the boisterous laughter of the Riders.
Harlow moved with effortless grace between the kitchen, where her husband reigned, and the massive, horseshoe-shaped booth.
She brought platters of steaming delicacies that disappeared almost as soon as they hit the table.
‘If Zane eats one more of those savory tarts, I’m charging his tab double,’ Kage shouted from the bar.
He flashed a wicked grin as he waved his chef’s knives with theatrical flair.
‘Blame the baby,’ Zane countered, nudging his pregnant wife, Illanna, with his shoulder. ‘She’s the one with the appetite of a wild Xalaxian ox.’
‘Laying fault on an innocent child, Zane, shame on you. Issa, pass the wine you’re hogging,’ Katya joked, leaning over her husband Xion to snag the bottle in question.
Sheba sat tucked into Idan’s side, his massive arm a protective heft across the back of her chair.
She basked in the rare, fierce joy of spending time with her Rider family.
She leaned toward Selene, their shoulders touching, whispering about the sheer absurdity of the men’s appetites, her heart full.
For a moment, their cares seemed a galaxy away.
At some point, the doors to the eatery swung open, and a sinuous, feminine creature floated in.
Her luminosity is what drew Sheba’s eye, and she arched a brow as the beautifully sculpted woman approached.
The newcomer appeared almost doll-like, moving with seductive confidence through the space.
Her hair, silver and swept over one shoulder, gleamed with micro-diamonds. Her dress was a daring slip of midnight silk. It left her entire back bare, pale and shimmering, while the front was deep-cut, defying the laws of both modesty and physics.
Her skin pulsed with a rhythmic radiance, and the ancient sigils etched into her flesh announced her as a Sacran of high blood.
‘Fokkme,’ Idan cursed under his breath.
Sheba shot him a glance. ‘You know her?’ she asked.
‘Wish I didn’t,salkia,’ he gritted. ‘What the hellshe’s after is more my worry.’
The creature in question was at that moment sweeping past the Riders’ table.
She slowed and backed up, turning her radiant eyes to the group, honing in on Idan.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t the most handsome mercenary and Commander in all Sacra. Fancy seeing you here.’
The party fell silent.
Idan’s gut roiled, and his hackles went up, his internal sensors spiking to combat-readiness.
Still, he stood and bowed with the ingrained, poetic grace of his people, his utterance a timbred, formal vibration as he greeted her.
‘Princess Artya of the Crystal Firmament, Pale Muse of the Weeping Moon. Radiance of the Third Horizon, Daughter of the Sun-swept Skies. Keeper of the Silvered Mist, and Maiden of the Eternal Echo. It has been an age since we last spoke.’
‘Simi’Ren Idan Caliostheles,’ the femme fatale intoned. ‘My party is running late. Would it be terribly rude if I joined you to catch up, even if it’s for a few minutes?’
Kainan eyed the goddess, noting her ethereal beauty before offering a polite nod. ‘Any friend of Idan’s is welcome. Join us.’
