Deep inside him the ancient ones hissed furiously and recoiled. They hadn’t liked that at all, he brooded darkly. Good.

“That was beautiful,” Chloe murmured. “What was it?” She poked her head up and peered over her shoulder at him. In the pearly moonlight her skin shimmered translucent, her aquamarine eyes were sleepy and sexy, sparkling. Her lips were still swollen from his kisses, achingly lush. Her tousled curls fell in a tumble about her face and he could feel himself growing hard again, yet knew it would be the morrow at least before he could have her again. Were he a patient man, he should give her a sennight to recover. He’d be lucky if he made it a few more hours. Now that he’d tasted her, tasted how sweet it was to make love to a woman he loved, he was starved for more.

“Och, lass, you are so lovely. You fair take my breath away.” Trite words, he scorned himself, such weak words compared to what he felt.

She flushed with pleasure. “Was that some kind of poem you recited?”

“Aye, something like that,” he purred, rolling her over in his arms so she was facing him.

“I liked it. It sounded . . . romantic.” She peered at him curiously, nibbling her lower lip. “What was it again?”

When he didn’t repeat it, she mused a moment then said, “Oh! I think I’ve got it! You said ‘if aught must be lost—’”

“Nay, lass,” he shouted, going rigid. Och, Christ, what had he done? He dare not let her give the vows back. If aught happened to him, she would be bound to him forever. And if something terrible happened, if—God forbid—he actually turned dark, would she then be bound to him, a beast from hell? She might be tied for all eternity to the rage and fury that was the Draghar! Nay. Never.

Chloe blinked, looking wounded. “I just wanted to repeat it so I could remember it.” The little poem had made her feel funny, strangely compelled to say it back for some reason. They were the sweetest words he’d ever spoken, even if only a bit of a poem, and she’d like it safely tucked away in her memory. He wasn’t a man who bandied idle words about. He’d meant something by it. Was that how Dageus MacKeltar spoke of his feelings? By reciting a few lines of a poem?

Though she’d been drowsy when he’d spoken, she was pretty certain he’d said something like “my life for yours.” If only he might love her like that! She no longer wanted merely to be the woman who got inside Dageus MacKeltar, she wanted to be the one who stayed inside him. Forever. The last woman he ever made love to. She wanted it so fiercely that the mere wanting was a kind of pain.