Page 48 of Which Witch Is Wicked?
Moira released her. “One mess of fried chicken, coming up faster than a greased pole cat.”
Aerin nearly quivered with anticipation. “Wash your hands first.” She motioned to some zombie gunk that had splattered onto Moira’s hands.
“We should both wash up.” Moira gestured at the front of Aerin’s cream blouse, also splattered with gore.
Ew.
They turned toward the house. “And just so you know,” Moira continued, “Skunk McQuee’s pontoon cost a whole bunch on account of the gilded horns he had made special in Kentucky…”
Moira’s voice faded as an easterly wind gathered strength, bringing a portent of danger and caution. They needed to ward their house against the undead likeyesterday, and pray to whatever god hadn’t forsaken them that it worked.
So this was their lives now… Before today, the only blood on her hands had been proverbial.
Maybe it still was, but it certainly didn’t feel like it.
7
Rhythm, he had it.
Julian Roarke rode a horse like Fred Astaire danced. Like Shakespeare wrote. Like Michael Jordan basketballed. Before the underwear commercials, of course.
Light from a nearly-full waxing moon cast the glade at the end of Leighton road in an ambient silver that lent the witching hour an enchanted feel. Aerin stood next to the lush meadow and watched the two sleek, dark beings, horse and rider, race through the night toward her.
Julian's black hair would have matched that of his horse if not for the strands of silver laced throughout. Tonight, his tresses flowed free of their usual restraint of a slick queue at the nape of his neck that hid its tendency to curl.
Pale eyes, burnished with excitement, flashed down at her from the immense prancing stallion. Muscles flexed beneath the thin linen shirt he wore as he reined in his beast.
"Aerin de Moray." He said her name with an edge of anticipation that thrilled her like a jolt from a Taser. Sidling his horse sideways, he held his hand out in invitation.
She took it without hesitation, and using his preternatural strength, he pulled her astride behind him. Her arms automatically locked around his lean waist, and she rested her chin against the cords of his strong back.
"I have some information to share with you," he said lightly.
"Ride first. Talk later," Aerin demanded.
She felt, rather than saw him smile. "As you wish."
Julian didn't have to kick Archimedes into a gallop so much as allow him some slack in the reins. The horse knew what his riders wanted, could taste the reckless frenzy on the air and the need to race it until they ran out of land.
It amazed Aerin that riding a horse was so similar to riding a man. The roll of her hips synchronized with the beast’s rhythmic strides, the clench of her thighs, the thrill low in her belly, it was all familiar.
The wind on her face coaxed an elated smile from her and she couldn't hold back the small, very unfamiliar squeal that escaped her when Julian had ordered her to hold on tight before they went sailing over a fence.
They could have ridden for a couple minutes or a couple hours for all Aerin knew. Eventually they both ducked low as trees and branches whizzed past them through a forest, and then they broke onto the clearing that rose above the water. Not quite a cliff, but tall enough to give Aerin vertigo.
This wastheirplace. A moonlit meadow where the sparkling Puget Sound stretched below grass that laconically twitched in the ever-present ocean breeze.
"This place reminds me of a fairy land," Aerin breathed. Then stalled, embarrassed for vocalizing something so trite. "Does that make me sound ridiculous?"
"A little," Julian rumbled, as though amused. "But only because you've never actually met a Faerie."
Julian kicked his leg over Archimedes's back and jumped down, turning to reach for Aerin.
"You mean there's such things as—" The moment she was in his arms, he melded his mouth to hers. The kiss was nearly unbearable in its intensity, but Aerin instantly locked her arms around his neck, levering herself closer to him. Their blood was high at the thrill of the swift ride, and their desires more illicit because of their forbidden nature.
This was why they needed to meet. This was what they'd come here for tonight. After she got him naked, after she took him inside her, then they'd talk. Then they'd worry about the future. But first she would claim him. She would allow him to claim her, because if anything was destined, it was their joining.
She was suddenly consumed with the feel of him, his broadness, his strength, his careful deference. Even now, with need and lust rolling between them like a violent storm, he was gentle, painstakingly so.
