“Not me!” Carlijn threw a fig at him in protest. He caught it and ate it with gusto, just to hear Hanna laugh.
Lucan uncorked the second jug, offering them all refills. He and Hanna refused, but Carlijn held her tankard out for more. Lucan leaned toward her to refill it, a lock of hair falling across his eyes. She brushed it away, tucking it behind his horns, and his wing drifted open, curving around her side in a casual touch that lingered. Carlijn tilted into its shadow, cozying up to him in degrees until her cup was empty again and she was entirely in his lap.
Hannalinde caught Rikard’s eye, her brows rising fractionally.Are you seeing this?
He nodded and shrugged before tossing back the rest of his mead. Lucan could not be stopped and neither could Carlijn, it seemed. Hanna chuckled, shaking her head, agreeing that there was nothing to be done.
“I’m tired. I think I’ll retire for the evening,” she said, struggling to push herself up from the ground. Rikard rose to help her to her feet. When she was fully upright and had smiled her thanks, he turned to the others.
“I should attend my duties with whatever hours are left in the night. Ladies, I thank you for the evening.”
Lucan scoffed. “And not me, when I was the one who provided all the mead and most of the entertainment?”
“My name provided the mead, remember,” Rikard reminded him, feeling irritable.
“Thank you for the song,” Hannalinde said, tempering his harshness with her easy grace. “It was truly lovely.” The warmth in her voice gave him a pang of irrational jealousy.
“Perhaps you should take your leave now,” he said to Lucan.
“Now? When we still have so many hours for gaiety?” Lucan motioned around, mostly at Carlijn, who had nodded off against his chest.
Hanna chuckled, leaning over her friend to rouse her. Carlijn woke with a jolt, blinking in confusion. “You fell asleep. I think we have wrung all the fun we can out of the evening.”
“Are you going to bed? I think I will, too,” Carlijn said, darting a regretful glance at Lucan.
He pouted at her. “You promised to show me the stonework in your chamber, remember? You said it was beautifully carved.”
Rikard sighed as he helped Carlijn to her feet. Sometimes he was thankful his cock didn’t work, because Lucan was clearly at the mercy of his. “She will show you another night, when you have a little more restraint. You were too generous with your pour this time, so she sleeps alone tonight.”
“I might not fall asleep right away,” Carlijn piped in. “I might open the window to enjoy the fresh night air.”
Lucan tilted his head, a mischievous look in his eye. “Might you?”
Hanna trembled on his arm, and it took Rikard a few beats to realize why. As soon as he did, he barked, “No. The window will remain shut and locked, as will the doors. When I say another night, Lucan, I mean it. Go back to your eyrie and enjoy your right hand.”
Lucan might have harmless intentions when he climbed through Carlijn’s window, but the woman was inebriated, in no shape to receive him, however much he had stoked her interest. And, just as important, the thought of any gargoyle entering their eyrie without permission was Hanna’s worst nightmare.
So, with a human on each arm, Rikard turned his back on his oldest friend and made his way inside.
Chapter 17
Rikard
After they settled Carlijn in her bed and made sure her window was securely locked, they retreated to their shared nesting chamber. He watched in silence while Hanna brushed and braided her pale-gold hair and then removed layers of clothing until she was clad only in a thin chemise, things a gargoyle would normally do for his mate. When she crossed in front of the lamp, her shift turned momentarily translucent, showing the curve of her belly beneath the fine linen, and themead running sweetly in his blood made it harder than usual to look away.
He offered a hand to help her climb into the nest, which she accepted shyly.
“I thought you had to work?” she asked, cheeks flaming as she arranged the furs to her liking. She tucked a bolster behind her head and a cushion between her knees, then drew an extra coverlet around her shoulders.
He climbed to the roost to watch over her. “I do, but it can wait until you’re asleep.”
Her lids fell shut, and he listened to her breathing slow as she tried to drift off. But she tossed and turned, trying and failing to find comfort in the furs. His fingers flexed at his side, longing to reach for her.
“Are you well?” he finally asked, voice stretched thin.
“It’s cold,” she complained. “I think I got a chill out on the balcony and now I can’t seem to shake it.”
The mead had done its work. His mind walls were thinner than usual, their edges softened, and the things he kept behind them were pressing forward, weakening his resolve. “If you wish, I can warm you.”
