Page 53 of Never the Roses

She fixed him with a pointed glare. “I didn’t care for how it ended.”

“I guessed you wouldn’t.” Neither of them were talking about the novel anymore.

“Yes, well. It’s easy enough to begin. The challenge is in the execution and culmination.”

“Are we talking about sex again?” He’d tried for a teasing jest—and regretted his attempt immediately.

Oneira was one of those who grew cold with anger, her face paling and tightening. “You are no fool, Stearanos, so don’t play the role. It sits ill on you. We cannot continue this thing we’ve begun. It must stop now.”

A hiss of unheard magic allowed the tendrils of the Dream into the room, that sense of the edges of things blurring, thescent with no name—though he didn’t see the portal light yet. He still had a chance. “Don’t let this be the end,” he said, nearly begging. “You promised that I could come see the roses.”

The onrushing Dream backed off somewhat. “I neverpromised,” she hissed.

“You said so, and for people like us, our words bind us.”

She visibly seethed, unable to deny the truth of it. “They won’t bloom until midwinter,” she said stiffly.

“I’ll come then. Or before, to see the progress of the bushes themselves. Just drop me a note. You know where to find me.” He rethought that. What if he’d embarked on the conquest and wasn’t here?

She read it in him. “Via the Dream, I can find you anywhere, Stormbreaker. Something you should remember, lest it be your downfall.”

“You don’t frighten me, Oneira,” he said softly.

“Then you’re a fool,” she replied with ice in her tone. The portal to the Dream opened wide, with no warning from her, a flexing of her power.

“Oneira.” He had to fight not to look in the open doorway. Unobscured by her body, the landscape beyond swirled in unnatural shapes, scents, sounds, and colors, enthralling, disturbing, and alluring.

She stepped in to block his view of the Dream, giving him a look both exasperated and ever so slightly apologetic. “What?” she asked, putting a world of weariness into the single word.

He picked up the rose where she’d discarded it, replacing it in its box, closing the lid, and handing it to her wordlessly. “It would be grievous indeed to refuse a gift already accepted.”

Putting out a hand, she took it, then gave him a long, considering look. “Goodbye, Stormbreaker.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he said on impulse.

She cocked her head, predictably curious. “Why not?”

“It’s not accurate, not a name I chose. Call me Em, instead. For just between us.”

“There is no just between us,” she replied on a sigh.

“Until next time, Oneira.” He bowed and, by the time he straightened, she’d disappeared, vanishing like a dream upon awakening.

27

Oneira stepped out of the Dream and into the room under her crystal dome, pressed a hand to her stomach, and fell to her knees. None of her animals were about, the night sky still thick as it curved against the transparent sphere. Stretching out her senses, she verified that Tristan slept soundly, sadly alone in his bed, dreaming inconsequential fragments of things.

“Curse Stearanos,” she muttered to herself. All of her problems had begun when she’d succumbed to the temptation to visit his library. She’d been so much better off when she’d kept to her white walls and silences.

One opening had led to another. Trading notes leading to her thinking flirtatious thoughts, opening her wards to Tristan and thinking about bedding him, Stearanos arriving on her doorstep and then asking her what she liked in bed! She pressed her hands to her still-hot cheeks. A woman her age shouldn’t feel this way. She’d been the one to make the joke about true love’s kiss, but Stearanos had awakened something in her she’d long thought dead, something that Tristan, for all his skilled seductions, had failed to arouse.

She hadn’t even touched Stearanos this time and her body pulsed with desire, her mind swirling with erotic thoughts. He’d been so compelling, with his thoughtful questions, his sharp face alive with intelligence, those long fingers inviting fantasies of how they might feel on her. And the memory of their singular kiss making her think of nothing else but asking for another.

Almost not believing she could feel so aroused from nothingbut a conversation, she slipped a hand beneath her skirts, her skin sparking to her own touch. Her sex throbbed with need and she cupped herself, her tissues swollen and slick as they had never been any time she could recall. Pressing her fingers into that sweet ache, she shocked herself by immediately climaxing, the orgasm wrenching her with sharp, convulsing pleasure, so she ended up face down, curled around her hand, out of breath.

With Stearanos filling her mind.Sorcerer.

She huffed out a laugh, and kept laughing. That release, too, feeling as necessary a purging as the other. Flopping onto her back, oddly at peace now, she watched the slow turning of the wheel of stars until she fell asleep.

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