“Aye.” He leaned down, kept his eyes open and on hers. “Remember this,” he murmured when his lips were a breath from hers. “Remember this, Rowan, if you can.” And his mouth brushed over hers, once, then again. Testing. Then a gentle nip to make her shiver.

When she sighed, one long, quiet breath, he covered her mouth with his, drawing out the moment, the magic, sliding into the taste and texture of her. The warm, slow tangle of tongues thickened his pulse, called to his blood.

On either side of them, the cool blue fire burned bright.

“Hold me. Liam, touch me. I’ve waited so long.”

The sound he made in his throat was caught between growl and groan as he dragged her to him and let his hands roam.

Take her here, take her now, in the circle where we’ll be bound. It would be done. That primal urge to cover her, to bury himself in her, warred viciously with his honor. What did it matter what she knew, what she wanted or believed? What did it matter what he gained or lost? There was now, only now, with her hot and eager in his arms and her mouth like a flame against his.

“Lie with me here.” Her lips tore from his to race wildly over his face, down his throat. “Make love with me here.” She already knew what it would be. Dreams and fantasies danced in her mind, and she knew. Urgent and elemental, fast and potent. And she wanted, wanted, wanted the mad, mindless thrill.

In one rough move, he pushed the robe from her shoulder and set his teeth on that bare flesh. The taste of her swirled through him, drugged wine to cloud the senses. “Do you know who I am?” he demanded.

“Liam.” His name was already pounding in her head.

He jerked her back, stared into her dark eyes. “Do you know what I am?”

“Different.” It was all she could be sure of, though more, much more hovered at the edge of her senses.

“You’re still afraid to know it.” And if she feared that, how much more might she fear her own blood? “When you can say it, you’ll be ready to give yourself to me. And take what I give you.”

Her eyes glowed, deep and blue. Her trembles weren’t from fear or cold, but from desire straining for release. “Why isn’t this enough?”

He stroked a hand over her hair, soothing her, struggling to soothe himself. “Magic has responsibilities. Tonight, the shortest night, it dances in the forest, sings in the hills of my home, it rides the seas and soars in the air. Tonight it celebrates. But tomorrow, always tomorrow it must remember its purpose. Feel the joy of it.”

He kissed her brow, both of her cheeks. “Tonight, Rowan Murray of the O’Mearas, you’ll remember what you will. And tomorrow, the choice is yours.”