Dreams Made Flesh

figure out was the clothing signaled an attempt to leave him. Coming to the kitchen now might provoke another attack, even though a nightgown was hardly sufficient clothing if she tried to leave the eyrie in this storm, but he'd been gone so long, she'd become worried about him.
    Apparently, she'd worried for nothing. He was standing at the stove, tending the skillets filled with food, looking much the way he did on other mornings when he insisted on cooking breakfast…if she discounted the fact that he was naked, half aroused, and didn't seem to notice the warming spells had faded to the point where the eyrie was chilly, almost cold.
    Lucivar had put the warming spells on the eyrie the morning the storm started and told her they would last two days before he'd have to replenish the power in the spells. Which meant they were starting the third day of the rut. Maybe it was over, or at least easing. Should she mention the warming spells?
    She shifted from one foot to the other as the cold seeping up from the stone floor bit into her bare feet.
    Lucivar gave her a slashing look before turning his attention back to the food. "Go back to bed."
    "I could—"
    He charged. She stumbled back and hit the wall. His hands slapped the stone on either side of her head.
    She stared into those wild, glazed eyes. No, the rut hadn't eased.
    "You need to eat," he snarled. "I'll bring you food."
    She swallowed hard. "I could—"
    "You're not going anywhere! There's a damn blizzard out there. Nothing is going anvwhere until it blows out. And the only thing you're doing is getting back into bed." He pushed away from the wall and went back to the stove. "Get out of here before I take you where you stand."
    She recognized a threat when she heard one, so she slipped out of the kitchen while he watched her with eyes that held more cold fury than hot lust. She kept her movements slow until she was on the other side of the wall, out of his sight. Then she ran back to the bedroom.
    The fires in the other rooms had burned out, but Lucivar had fed the one in the bedroom. A small table and two chairs were set before the hearth. They usually sat under one of the bedroom windows. He had moved them before going into the kitchen. Had she, on some level, taken that gesture to mean a return of the man she knew? An error on her part. Maybe he had some lucid moments, but the rut was still driving Lucivar…and she couldn't even guess what he would do when he returned to the bedroom.
    Chilled inside and out, Marian sat in a chair close to the fire. That helped warm her, but her feet were freezing. Before she could decide if wrapping herself in a blanket would provoke a violent response, he was back in the bedroom, setting two plates of food on the table.
    The look in his eyes… Any man facing him on a battlefield would look at those eyes and see death. All she could do was hope she would survive whatever mood was riding him now.
    "Eat," he said, sitting down in the other chair.
    Silverware and two mugs of coffee appeared on the table.
    Steak, scrambled eggs, and thick pieces of toasted bread spread with butter and some of the berry jam she'd made.
    He made no move to begin his own meal. Just watched her.
    Eat, he'd said. The first bite of meat stuck in her throat, but she sensed something in him relax as she accepted the food he'd provided. When she tried the toast, his attention turned to his own meal.
    Despite the fire and the hot food, she was still so chilled, she didn't hesitate to scramble back into bed when Lucivar told her to. But even with the covers tucked around her, she couldn't warm up, and she waited impatiently for him to get back from whatever cleanup he was doing in the kitchen.
    The moment he slipped into bed, she felt that wonderful heat that pumped out of him and didn't hesitate to snuggle up against him. So warm. So wonderfully warm and…
    The sound he made fell between a scream and a roar as he lifted straight up out of bed, flinging the covers every which way. The next moment, he was standing beside the bed, his Eyrien war blade in his hand, his eyes scanning the room.
    Marian scrambled to the head of the bed and crouched there, her heart pounding. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm sorry."
    "Get over here," Lucivar said. "There's something in the room. Something in the bed."
    "There's nothing…"
    "Something touched me," he snapped. "Something icy."
    "My feet." Her teeth started to chatter. She wasn't sure if it was from fear or