Riot stuffs the rest of the bread in his mouth. “Good point,” he mumbles and gestures to the window as he swallows. “But sun’s up, Captain.”
I glare at Riot. “Aye.”
Closing my eyes, I pull at the threads of my magic, feeling them dance along my skin. Like rivers of gleaming gold running through my veins, my power babbles and bobs in its dormancy. I summon it to attention, and the whoosh of rushing energy roars in my ears and rolls like thunder under my skin, power curling and preparing.
And then I fire my magic out across Goreon City to my fellow Hunters in the Central outfit. Their power senses mine, and our magic connects, allowing me to communicate my demands. Their responses trickle in, their magic thrumming and splashing as it washes against mine, each unique signature carrying its own feeling.
Finally, silence answers, and as though a door slams shut, my magic rocks to a faint tremble in my veins.
My chin jerks up, eyes fly open. “It’s done. Lou’s in eight hours.”
Riot nods and stuffs a spoonful of eggs in his mouth as Grace leans her head against my shoulder.
My body sags in exhaustion.
“I’m curious what they’ll make of it,” Grace mutters, yawning and reaching for her teacup.
I drag a hand up her thigh. “Aye. Nothing good.”
After a hearty breakfast, I slog toward the stairs for a nap.
Sam and Rhett are on the sofa, boots kicked off, a deck of cards between them—they’re best friends first, stationmates second.
“Hell no, it’snotyour turn,” Sam says, grabbing the deck.
I shake my head at them, climb the stairs, and then I sleep like the dead before Grace’s arm curls around me. My lips sink into her soft hair, the sweet scent summoning my arousal.
“Time to go, my love,” she whispers, and I tilt her chin up, taking her mouth in mine.
I groan, not wanting to leave this bed now as I grip her hip, and she smiles into my lips, her body pressed against my bare torso.
“Come on, Hunter,” she drawls, trying to pull me with her off the bed, but I’ve got about a hundred more pounds of muscle than she does, and she fails instantly, flopping forward onto my chest. She groans. “Part of me is looking forward to your old age.”
I scowl down at her. “Why?”
“I’ll have a softer landing,” she says, trying to hide her curling lip as she drinks in my abs, but the feral look in her gaze is unmistakable.
I laugh, stomach flexing, and her eyes spark.
She scoots from the bed before I can grab her, and I follow, not wanting to be late, either. I stuff my socked feet into my boots, my hungry gaze dragging down Grace.
She smirks at me. “Later,” she promises, and I snarl, chasing her to the stairs. Her playful scream fires into my heart.
We gather in the foyer with the rest of our party and bundle into cloaks, my wife already rubbing her gloved hands together.
“Ready?” I ask, jerking the stuck door open and the nip of the air sails through the hallway.
Grace groans and then marches onto the snow-covered porch, a fresh layer of thick powder blanketing the land. Our breath billows into the late afternoon, and I wrap an arm over my woman, her cheeks already flushed against the burning cold.
Every winter is the same in Goreon. It always feels like it willneverend.
A bright-red cardinal hops along a snowy branch of Grace’s treasured tree, the mature pine planted by her grandfather long ago. She breathes deeply, her shoulders lifting under my arm as she takes in the smell of fresh pine—her favorite scent in the world.
“You’d think our blood would have adapted to the cold by now,” she grits as we trudge down the stairs. I don’t have the heart to tell her our magic aids us as gold spools under my skin, warmth curling.
“Stop complaining,” Sam says, brushing past his sister, hand skimming the railing to collect snow in his palm.
My arm darts for Grace’s hips, and I scoop her up, spinning us at the base of the stairs, just as Sam’s snowball drills into my back.
