“We need to join with our pack,” Jarod growls, and Aislinn can sense the strength of the Forest rising in him, as well.

“I’m ready,” she affirms as the wild force of the pack-bond thrums inside her. She bares her canines and looks to Jarod. “I’m ready to fight.”

CHAPTER FOUR

BOOKS AND WANDS

Lucretia Quillen

Xishlon night, twenty-second hour

Lucretia finishes her tea, the bittersweet taste of the Sanjire root lingering on her tongue like a bright, reckless note of promise.

A match lit.

Her eyes lock on to Jules where he stands, leaning against his kitchenette’s counter, heatedly watching her, the Xishlon moon’s jeweled-purple light washing over them both.

Strains of music filter in from outside, the erotic rhythm quickening Lucretia’s desire for her longtime secret love. She glances out his open window at the countless rune-orb-decorated boats crowding the docks, a mix of laughter and festive conversation bright on the air.

Everything is so lush this eve, Lucretia considers, reveling in it. Even Jules’s cramped dwelling is lush in its own way. With books. She affectionately marvels at how Jules collects books so rapidly, two shelves already overfull. It charms her. It always has. It’s as if they love him and swarm to him, swept up in a draw to match Lucretia’s own.

Brimming with love, she sets her teacup on Jules’s scuffed, secondhand wooden table, the sound a final thing, and she can see the brazenness of her decision reflected in the glaze of steady want in his eyes.

She holds his gaze for a long, delicious moment, and she can feel it—the amorous pull of Xishlon’s glorious moon. Coaxing all her affection and love for Jules Kristian with its dreamy purple light, the words she’s never voiced falling easily from her tongue.

“I love that your glasses are always splotched and you only half notice it.” Her mouth tilts into a besotted smile as she gives in to Xishlon. “And I love how your clothes are always wrinkled because you’re so busy aiding people fleeing east that you have no time to iron them.”

Jules’s head bobs in a subtle, silent laugh as he returns her ardent look.

Her smile fades, a more serious passion rising. “I love that you have bad eyesight from staying up much too late for years now, painstakingly forging documents to help so many. And I love how you always smell of walnut ink and parchment and strong tea.”

Jules’s subtle smile turns serious as he steps forward, closing the distance between them. Lucretia’s pulse quickens at having him suddenly so near, after they’ve been so careful, for so many years, to maintain a polite distance. She takes an unsteady breath as he reaches up to trace a fingertip along the edge of her tunic’s neat collar, a current of warmth trailing his careful touch.