He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her in disbelief. “You think wearing socks isn’t romantic, but putting a block of ice against a man’s balls is romantic?”

“They weren’t close to your balls,” she muttered. Although, if he hadn’t screamed and leaped out of bed like that, she would have tried to tuck her feet a little higher up. After all, his thighs were a lot warmer than his shins.

Muttering dark things about female logic, he settled down. In a couple of minutes, she was sleepy and toasty warm, even her feet.

“Lucivar?” she said softly.

No response except to try to pull her a little closer.

“Lucivar?”

The arm around her grew heavy. His breathing was slow and even.

For the first time since the rut began, Lucivar was sound asleep.

EIGHTEEN

EIGHTEEN

Encouraged by the heat coming from the stone walls, indicating the warming spells had been renewed, Marian made her way to the kitchen the following morning. This time, she wore socks and slippers, as well as a heavy shawl over her nightgown. If Lucivar snarled at her, she could point out that he didn’t like cold feet, but she didn’t think he’d snarl. After he’d slept for several hours yesterday, he’d been just as hungry for her as he’d been the other days, but it had changed as the day wore on. More of their couplings had been leisurely—not a holding back to prolong the moment of climax, just . . . quieter, sweeter. More like she’d imagined he would be as a lover after his initial hunger was sated.

She paused when she reached the front room. The drapes she’d made to cover the glass doors were pulled back, revealing a clear, sunny day, which meant the storm had finally ended. She hoped the snow piled so high against the glass was due to drifts, but she suspected that wasn’t the case. Which meant Ebon Rih was well and truly buried.

Buried.

She looked around—and felt shaky relief when she saw the bowls near the front door. One held water, the other chunks of meat that might have come from a package of venison she’d had in the freeze box. She hadn’t dared ask about Tassle, hadn’t dared try to contact the wolf on a psychic thread to find out if he was all right for fear Lucivar would sense it and think she was trying to summon another male as a rival to him. There was no other sign of Tassle, but Lucivar must have confirmed the wolf was nearby before he put out food and water.

When she entered the kitchen, she found Lucivar, fully dressed, drinking coffee from one of those plain white mugs he preferred to use. He turned away from the window, gave her one quick look, then turned back to study the world beyond the kitchen.