Afterward, he held me in his arms until I drifted off to sleep.
When sunlight spilled across the sky, I woke to his lips trailing across my neck. We tumbled together once more before he pulled away to go for a run.
I’d noticed he liked to run. The movement helped him, he’d said, just as he’d been willing to share a great deal more with me.
Were you really suspicious of me, like you said you were in Erisea?I’d asked, my fingers idly tracing the line of his sentence mark, gliding over the gleaming gemstone that never failed to startle me.
Reagan tilted his head on the pillow, his hand continuing its steady, soothing path up and down my spine. I had questions. You not running didn’t make sense with your behaviour. Dare I say you were already fond of me then?
I snorted.Hardly. I debated letting one of the most powerful mageborn in the country get himself out of that.
A chuckle. A kiss.
While he jogged, I trained, my focus still on self-defence. Especially now, with talks of meeting sympathisers of the Order.
Reagan and Finnegan had already tracked down a small faction near Ashenagth Estate’s border. As they expected, the group denied any involvement in the Rite attack, claiming they followed only the permitted channels sanctioned by magisters and the Order leader, Gideon Madden.
Reagan shared the little he knew about the man. According to him, Madden came from a lineage that had long opposed the Shroud, as they had once profited from human labour and their lands.
His bloodline had endured significant losses, both in lives and status, since the war. They had once possessed the wealth and influence to lay claim to half the country. The Order ofScions had been founded by one of his ancestors, and they had long perpetuated the lowest opinions about the human born.
That morning, I knew he was drafting a letter to the Order, requesting an audience with their leader to learn their agenda and, unofficially, uncover their activities in Mountheim.
But I wanted to ask him about a different topic.
He lounged on the edge of the table, leaning back in his chair when he spotted me approaching. His mouth opened, but whatever he was about to say died in his throat the moment I swung a leg over him and settled onto his lap.
A chuckle rumbled from him as his hands instinctively fell to the leather leggings I wore. “Not waiting for later, are we?”
I answered with a soft, noncommittal hum, pressing a trail of glossy kisses along the side of his neck, the kind I knew he liked. His low groan was answer enough, especially when I shifted deliberately, making the tight leather of my pants brush against his cotton trousers.
“Grimoire,” he breathed, his voice rougher. “You’re greedy today. After this morning, I thought you’d at least be satisfied until the afternoon.”
Memories of this morning flashed through my mind—what we had done in my bed, on the rug. Where I had licked him, and he had groaned, a tortured sound I could still hear.
I forced them aside, not letting him distract me. My voice was too serious for the way my lips brushed his ear. “Not sure what you mean, Caedmon. I just want to talk.”
He tilted his head, offering more space for my assault on his neck, an amused grin curving his lips. “Interesting. Do you usually talk with your ass to others or just me?”
I gave him a coy smile. “Just when I need their attention, like I need yours now,” I replied smoothly, knowing full well I had it.And perhaps blur your rational thinking just enough for my questions.
It wasn’t manipulation. It was a tactic. An emissary tactic, as Finn had called it. He hadn’t suggested this exact approach, but he had said that if I wanted information, I should start by giving the other person something they wanted first.
“I’m listening,” Reagan said, his head leaning back against the chair as I pulled away. My hands drifted to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck, slightly mussed.
I started with something trivial, aiming to lower his guard. “You never told me what you think about me calling you Caedmon.”
He shrugged. “What about it?”
“Do you prefer I call you Reagan?” I murmured.
His hands slid to my lower back, pulling me a little closer. He replied easily, “Call me anything you like, as long as it’s with that tone of yours.”
My lips tugged at the corners. I let the name drape with my breath. “Caedmon. Caed. I think I like it.”
A flush crept up my face. Part of me braced for him to laugh. He didn’t. Reagan’s chest rose with a slow, deep inhale.
“I like it when you say it.”
