She ignored him, screaming incoherently at the winged interlopers as she attempted and failed to smash them with iron.
He grabbed one of the only things available—a pillow sitting on the bare bed—and smacked one of the bats toward the windows, followed by another. They kept coming back, asthough they were enjoying the game, though he was certain he had begun to beg them verbally to go.Go and be free!
He did not know how long it took. Certainly an hour. Or a second. Or both? But one bat, one genius, blessed bat, finally found the open window.
And it must have called to the others.
Because in just a few moments, they had gone.
They had gone.
And Hattie and Elias were left panting and wild-eyed in the midst of their wreckage.
She stared at him, poker still gripped in her hands, and he stared back, his heart thundering in his chest, blood rushing in a roar in his ears.
She dropped the poker, letting it clatter to the floor, her chest rising and falling as she sucked in ragged gulps of air.
He tossed the pillow aside.
He crossed the room.
And he grabbed her, dragging her to him as he sank a hand into her hair. He claimed that intelligent, little mouth of hers before it could get itself around a single taunting observational word and he did so with relish.
She hesitated for only a second, only half a breath, before her hands came up and wrapped around the lapels of his jacket, her back arching and pressing her body firmer against his as she returned the claim, a soft, little sigh of satisfaction escaping her throat as her lips moved.
He lost himself a little, his tongue flicking out to taste her, to test if he had been right about the sweet, spiced strangeness of her flavor and the complexity of that talented tongue. He curled his fingers in her hair, groaning into her mouth, his body gone feverish and taut with the answers.
Engage or retreat, something whispered in his mind.Choose.
He batted the thought away, sliding his other hand down the curve of her back, dragging her closer, pressing his hips against hers.
Engage or retreat, the voice said again.
And he sighed in frustration, pulling back just a touch, just a breath, and resting his forehead against hers.
“Elias,” she whispered, her lips slick and warm against his, her fingers tripping over the lines of his chest through his clothes.
“The door is open,” he reminded her, reluctant and damned. “There might be more bats.”
“Oh,” she said, licking the taste of him from her mouth. “All right.”
He sighed, taking his time unwrapping himself from her, stroking the back of her neck as he untangled his hand from her hair. Stepping back as slowly as he could muster.
She did not look angry at the interruption, however.
She was wearing that little curving smile she got when she was thoughtful, those amber eyes tilted up at him as she observed every move he made.
“Elias,” she said, almost a whisper. “What is my name?”
“Harriet,” he answered, a little puzzled by the question.
She shook her head, the smile still in place.
“Hattie?” he corrected. A guess.
She showed her teeth then, the little curve of her mouth breaking into something more satisfied, and leaned forward on her toes to claim one more kiss from him, small and quick.
“My name is Harriet,” she reminded him, sounding very much like the girl she’d once been, “but my people call me ‘Hattie.’”
