His expression flashed into anger, wizard-black eyes going as hard as obsidian. Recalling Quinn’s delighted shivering, Nic reveled in the possessiveness of her wizard. And Gabriel was better than Sylus because—as Gabriel had rightfully pointed out—Sylus was a bit of an asshole to Lyndella, which Gabriel could never be to her. Nic watched him in the mirror as she applied her lip paint and he wrestled with his baser instincts, finally saying in an almost neutral voice, “Is that something you want?”

Utterly charmed, she went to him, straddling his lap and planting a long kiss on him, further satisfied when his hands settled on her waist, clasping her tightly. “Silly wizard,” she murmured. “I’m bonded to you, which means only you have the privilege of accessing my magic, unless I choose to give it to someone else, which I don’t. Or unless you command me to. But that would be highly unusual, given the possessive nature of wizards,” she teased. “Customarily, only unbonded familiars are shared between wizards.”

“Ah,” he breathed, drawing her into another kiss. “It’s probably terrible that knowing that makes me so happy.”

“It’s in a wizard’s nature to be possessive,” she reminded him, threading her fingers through his silken silver-white hair. And perhaps in a familiar’s, too, because she wasn’t inclined to share her wizard with anyone.

He captured her wrists, tugging them down to her lap and looking her in the eye. “So you said that just to yank my chain?”

“Yes.” She fluttered her lashes. “Perhaps you should punish me.”

He laughed. “You are incorrigible.”

“You have lip paint on your mouth,” she countered.

She shrieked as he flipped her over, quickly reversing their positions so that she lay beneath him on the chaise, one huge and bulging muscled thigh riding up to part her legs, grinding against her sex as he kissed her with crushing thoroughness. Yielding beneath him, she moaned, writhing in blatant encouragement, dizzy from the sudden passion and lack of breath. Just when she thought she’d have to beg to breathe, he broke the kiss, gazing down at her in smug, masculine satisfaction. His disordered silver curls hung around his striking face, the wayward black lock escaping to hang over one eye.

“Do you want me?” he asked, voice hoarse with desire, his thigh insistent between her legs.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Oh yes, Gabriel, please.”

He smiled, giving her a soft kiss. “Too bad.” Face breaking into a wicked grin, he leapt up, leaving her bereft. “There’s your punishment, naughty familiar.”

“Gabriel!”

He only laughed, going to the mirror to wipe off her lip paint. “Just yanking your chain, my heart.”

She pushed herself up. “You wrinkled my dress.” Steam scented the air, and her dress magically refreshed with Gabriel’s easy use of water wizardry, the low-level sort he’d said most of the folk of Meresin could wield. A nifty household trick.

Turning to eye her, he grinned, completely without remorse. “Better fix your lip paint. The workroom awaits.” And he strode out of the bathing chamber, whistling merrily.