Page 79 of Shield of Fire

He sniffed, a disparaging sound if I ever heard one. “You should concentrate on the possible rather than the impossible. I’d hate to see you hurt.”

“Like you hurt me?” I said mildly.

He waved a hand. “We were different.”

He wasn’t really wrong there, given I’d never been in any danger of falling in love with him. I’d enjoyed his company, and I’d certainly enjoyed the sex, but I’d known from the outset he wasn’t the one. That he could never be the one.

Of course, I’d known all that going into the relationship with Cynwrig, too. And yet, somehow, it felt totally and utterly different. Possibilities sang brightly between us, but they were dark promises that could never be fulfilled.

“Does it say anything else?” I asked in an effort to redirect the conversation back to a safer subject.

“No,” Mathi said after a few moments. “It does say ‘beware of that which protects’ or something along those lines, but the rest is illegible.”

“I’ll hand it over to restorations and tell them we need it restored ASAP,” Lugh said, “but I’m not sure they’ll be able to salvage much.”

“Even with an urgency order, it could take months if not years, given the poor state it’s in. We haven’t that much time.” Mathi pushed upright and stretched his back. “We might as well check the rest of them while we’re here. There’s only a couple more to go.”

I glanced at my phone and saw it was close to five thirty. No wonder I’d fallen asleep on the damn chair. “You do that, and I’ll follow up our lead with Cynwrig.”

“If he does happen to know where Gruama is,” Lugh said. “Don’t head there without us.”

“Cynwrig is more than capable?—”

“But he’s not impervious. The more of us there are, the greater our chances of success.”

I hesitated and then nodded. “I’ll let you know what he says.”

“Make sure that you do, or I won’t be happy.”

I smiled, kissed his cheek, then headed upstairs to grab my purse and call an Uber. Ten minutes, it said. I sent a text to Cynwrig to check if he was there and received a simple “yes” a few seconds later.

The Uber arrived right on time, but I directed it over to the tavern first so I could grab a quick shower and the essential toiletries, plus enough clothes to last three or four days, just in case Cynwrig knew where our mysterious location was and we had to head straight out.

It didn’t take long to reach the address Cynwrig had sent. I climbed out of the car and studied the building as I made my way up the long steps. Overall, it was circular in shape, but wide paths divided the four separate and curving sections. A grassed courtyard lay in the middle of these sections and contained seating and a fountain, while another concrete path ringed the inner perimeter of the buildings and linked all four. There were six stories in each, with the top floor being penthouses—at least, that’s what the security unit on Cynwrig’s building said. I typed in the code he’d sent, then made my way across the simple but elegant foyer and called down the elevator. It arrived within seconds and, once I’d punched in the code, headed back up.

It came to a rather unnerving bouncy stop before the doors swished open, revealing a wide expanse of curving glass that revealed sweeping views over the racecourse. The room itself was a kitchen and living space combined, with four rooms leading off it. On the left, at the end of the kitchen, was what looked to be a pantry and laundry. Farther along that wall was another door that led into a massive-looking bedroom. On the other side was a second bedroom and a bathroom. It was a simple but effective layout, and perfect for short-term holiday stays.

Cynwrig wasn’t in the kitchen, but the warm smell of cinnamon rode the air, and the dining table had been set with a mix of strawberries, caramelized bananas, and maple syrup. I stripped off my jacket, placed my bag down, and then walked over and snared a piece of banana.

“Keep doing that and there won’t be enough for the pancakes,” Cynwrig noted, as he came out of the main bedroom. His short dark hair was damp, and he was wearing loose jeans and a baggy sweater that did absolutely nothing to enhance his physique. Just as well my imagination was up to the task of imagining the gloriousness of the flesh underneath.

“You’ve cooked them?”

“They’re in the warmer.” He caught my hand and pulled me close. His kiss was soft and passionate, demanding and yet not.

A somewhat regretful sigh left my lips when he finally pulled away, and he chuckled softly. “Says the woman who demanded food before other pleasures.”

“Perhaps I’m rethinking that demand.”

“To which I’d reply, I have not slaved over a hot cooktop for you to change your mind. Sit, woman.”

I laughed and sat, watching as he made us both coffee and brought them and a large platter of pancakes over to the table.

“You’re going to make someone a mighty fine husband one day,” I said as he sat down.

“I aim to please, though I hope it’s a task my wife will share.”

I plucked a couple of pancakes from the platter, then scooped on bananas, strawberries, and maple syrup before dolloping clotted cream on top. “If you feed her like this every day, I’m sure she’ll find an excuse not to cook. Besides, haven’t you got personal chefs at the palace?”

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