I abruptly tried to shift, putting everything I had into it, but I didn’t go anywhere. But that didn’t necessarily mean that I was wrong. I’d started out exhausted from yesterday, had traded breakfast for crawling around Romanian hillsides with Gertie, and had then come here. The most sustenance I’d had all day was a pot of tea.

And I couldn’t channel magic when I was exhausted and starving to death!

But something smelled good, all of a sudden; something smelt amazing, like sun warmed skin and fruity drinks and hot dogs being grilled on the barbecue. And steaks, I thought, putting a hand around Arsen’s neck, and barely registering that one was free now. And chicken—God, yes, some barbequed chicken, I thought, and kissed him.

He kissed me back, immediately, which didn’t surprise me at all. I looked like hell, if that brief glimpse in his bedroom mirror had been accurate, with a dirt-streaked face from falling on it one too many times, bruises blooming everywhere from Guinn’s slap fest, a torn lace blouse, and a pair of sadly soiled bloomers that hadn’t been great to start out with, and were now approaching tragic. Not to mention a number of cuts and scratches and a bleeding arm.

But incubus magic overrode all of that, which suddenly seemed trivial—even irrelevant. Like the damned codpiece pressing into me when I twined a leg around his, and pulled him close. Or the hard arms encircling me, or the experienced tongue plundering me, or the knowing hands—

Okay, getting better, I thought, deepening the kiss.

Much better, because something was tasting familiar. Something was tasting sweet. Something was flowing out of him and into me and it was everything, everything I’d wanted. And unlike with Zeus, this power didn’t burn.

It didn’t bite or tear or hurt. It was soft and gentle, and made me think of that little boy again, running across the terrace with his kite, watching it fly into the air, soaring high on the perpetual winds that blew across his city. The kite had been shaped like a bird, a beautiful eagle, and in his joy in its delicate craftsmanship I thought I saw the seeds of the adult’s gryphon obsession.

And then I saw that adult, scaling a frighteningly high peak under soaring, bright blue skies. He stopped for a moment to stare about at the unfamiliar territory, and to catch his breath. Caedmon’s lands spread out below him, beautiful, strange, and shockingly green. And forbidden—he could be killed just for venturing here. But there was no one around for miles, no person, at any rate. And the nest he sought was just ahead.

He laughed, and tucked his silver hair back under his hood, in case any of Caedmon’s people flew by. He’d be flying himself, soon enough. He’d be flying—