Belladonna

Belladonna.
    That truth had brought him to the Island in the Mist. That truth was now manifested in plants and stone.
    "This is your home landscape," Glorianna said quietly.
    "I know," Michael replied. "I knew from the moment I set foot here."
    "I left a note for Yoshani, telling him I was leaving the garden in your care because you can keep the landscapes balanced until they resonate with someone else. And I told him I was giving you the Island in the Mist and the house here. You'll take care of it, won't you?"
    "I'll tend to all of it. That's a promise."
    He stepped behind her, put his arms around her, drew her back against his chest.
    Her breath caught as her hands settled over his.
    "When?" he asked.
    "With the dawn."
    He rested his cheek against her hair. "Then I want I this evening. Invite me to your bed, Glorianna Belladonna. Let me love you tonight with all my heart."
    "I won't remember you," she whispered.
    The pain cut deep. "I know. I'll remember for both of us."
    She turned in his arms and rested her hands on his chest as she looked into his eyes. Her lips brushed his I once, twice.
    "Come to my bed, Magician. Show me the magic of love."

Chapter Twenty-nine
    I n the pale gray light, that herald of the dawn, Michael reached for the woman who filled his heart and his dreams — and woke up, alone.
    He lit the lamp on the bedside table, plumped up the pillows behind him, then looked at the painting on the wall near the bed.
    Sebastian painted that for me, Glorianna had said.
    Quite a jolt to see himself in a painting that came from an incubus's imagination — and to wonder if his dreams had influenced the image Sebastian had chosen for Glorianna's moonlight lover or if the painting had, somehow, been the source of his own dreams and yearnings. Just as much of a jolt to look past the romantic costumes and realize he and Glorianna had stood exactly that way in the garden yesterday after discovering the new bed that represented his home landscape.
    They'd had their night of lovemaking, and he'd taken extra care to please her, to pleasure her. He had wanted to absorb the music of their lovemaking, had needed to fill his heart with the song of her when passion and love climaxed and shone with a fierce Light.
    Now ...
    He pushed back the covers, went into the bathroom, and ran water for a bath. As he waited for the tub to fill, he closed his eyes, turned his head toward his shoulder, and breathed in the scent of her on his skin. He didn't want to wash off that mingling of scents, but there was no telling what was going to happen in the days ahead or when he'd have another chance at taking a full bath.
    So he soaked in the hot water and tried not to think about what was to come.
    She'd been hesitant at first, almost shy when she brought him to her bedroom last night. It made him wonder how long it had been since she'd had a lover. Then he'd stopped wondering and just enjoyed the way her mouth had opened for him, the butterfly touch of her tongue against his. The feel of her skin beneath his hands. Her moan of pleasure when he'd suckled her breasts. The way her strong fingers had gripped his shoulders the first time he'd stroked her body over the edge of pleasure. And the way ...
    Michael blew out a breath and sat up in the cooling water.
    "Maybe you don't need to be remembering quite so much right now," he muttered as he picked up soap and washcloth.
    Keeping his mind on the mechanics of what he was doing, he got washed and dressed, and walked into the kitchen. That's when his heart got the first of what, he knew, would be many bruises.
    His pack was still by the door. He'd removed his clothing and personal gear last evening while she'd been putting together a bit of dinner for the two of them. The pack was too big and heavy for a woman to carry for long, but it had everything she would need to set up a camp — sleeping bag, pots and pans, candles, matches, lantern. Plenty of room for her clothing and female things. A camp, that's what he'd been thinking. And she hadn't argued with him, hadn't disagreed.
    But she hadn't taken it with her, had turned away from even that much comfort. Had turned away from even that much of a reminder of him.
    The perk pot still held koffee, so he heated that up instead of making the tea he would have preferred.
    He didn't have an appetite, and lost most of his interest in food when he realized she hadn't taken any of that with her either, but he ate one of the eggs she had