“Great. If we decide to make love, we might as well just get down to it in the hallway. Half of the castle will know about it anyway.”

Curran closed the distance between us. His voice was a quiet whisper in my ear. “There are no peepholes that I can see, but someone is listening to us. I heard him breathing through the wall.”

So we were trapped in this stone cage, with a pack of unstable shapeshifters, trying to protect a woman in need of urgent psychological help, and spies were listening to our every breath.

I put my arms around Curran and leaned my head against his shoulder. “Have I ever told you how much I like the Keep?”

“No.”

“I love it.”

He grinned. “Even the stairs?”

“Especially the stairs.” The stairs separated our top floor from everybody else, and the walls were soundproof.

He kissed me. His lips sealed my mouth and the world stopped for a long moment. When we came up for air, I didn’t care if anybody was listening to us. Little golden sparks danced in Curran’s eyes. He didn’t care either.

“Do we have time?” he asked.

I looked at the clock. Twenty before ten. “No. We’ll be late.”

“Tonight, then.”

I grinned at him. “It’s a date.”

Guard Desandra, get the panacea, go home. A simple plan. All we had to do was get through it.

* * *

The dinner took place in a colossal great hall, and I walked into it with my hand on Curran’s arm. The Beast Lord wore a black suit and a gray shirt. Curran always stopped me in my tracks, whether he wore jeans and a T-shirt, sweatpants, or nothing at all, but this was new. Custom-cut, the suit flattered him while allowing for freedom of movement, and if he had to change shape, the weak seams ensured that the suit would come apart with minimal effort.

In all of our time together I had seen him in a formal suit exactly twice, including today. Curran could be described in many ways: dangerous, powerful . . . insufferable. “Elegant” usually wasn’t one of the adjectives used, and as he walked next to me, I wished I had a camera so I could commemorate the moment. And then blackmail him with it.

He shrugged again.

“You keep doing it, the suit will fall apart.”

“I should’ve worn jeans.”

“Then I’d look ridiculous next to you.” I should’ve worn jeans, too.

“Baby, you never look ridiculous.”

“Smart man,” Aunt B volunteered behind us.