Dreams Made Flesh

cold.
    His eyes stopped scanning the room. His head turned slowly until he looked at her. "What?"
    "My feet are cold and…"
    "Your feet? That was your feet?' He swore with obscene creativity as he vanished the war blade, plopped her back down on the bed, pulled up the covers, and got in with her. He sucked in a breath and let it out in a hiss as he wrapped himself around her and pressed her feet against his legs. "Why aren't you wearing socks?"
    She didn't want to tell him she'd been afraid of provoking his temper, so she said the first thing that came to mind. "It didn't seem romantic,"
    He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her in disbelief. "You think wearing socks isn't romantic, but putting a block of ice against a man's balls is romantic?"
    "They weren't close to your balls," she muttered. Although, if he hadn't screamed and leaped out of bed like that, she would have tried to tuck her feet a little higher up. After all, his thighs were a lot warmer than his shins.
    Muttering dark things about female logic, he settled down. In a couple of minutes, she was sleepy and toasty warm, even her feet.
    "Lucivar?" she said softly.
    No response except to try to pull her a little closer.
    "Lucivar?"
    The arm around her grew heavy. His breathing was slow and even.
    For the first time since the rut began, Lucivar was sound asleep.
----
    EIGHTEEN
    « ^ »
    Encouraged by the heat coming from the stone walls, indicating the warming spells had been renewed, Marian made her way to the kitchen the following morning. This time, she wore socks and slippers, as well as a heavy shawl over her nightgown. If Lucivar snarled at her, she could point out that he didn't like cold feet, but she didn't think he'd snarl. After he'd slept for several hours yesterday, he'd been just as hungry for her as he'd been the other days, but it had changed as the day wore on. More of their couplings had been leisurely…not a holding back to prolong the moment of climax, just… quieter, sweeter. More like she'd imagined he would be as a lover after his initial hunger was sated.
    She paused when she reached the front room. The drapes she'd made to cover the glass doors were pulled back, revealing a clear, sunny day, which meant the storm had finally ended. She hoped the snow piled so high against the glass was due to drifts, but she suspected that wasn't the case. Which meant Ebon Rih was well and truly buried.
    Buried.
    She looked around…and felt shaky relief when she saw the bowls near the front door. One held water, the other chunks of meat that might have come from a package of venison she'd had in the freeze box. She hadn't dared ask about Tassle, hadn't dared try to contact the wolf on a psychic thread to find out if he was all right for fear Lucivar would sense it and think she was trying to summon another male as a rival to him. There was no other sign of Tassle, but Lucivar must have confirmed the wolf was nearby before he put out food and water.
    When she entered the kitchen, she found Lucivar, fully dressed, drinking coffee from one of those plain white mugs he preferred to use. He turned away from the window, gave her one quick look, then turned back to study the world beyond the kitchen.
    His eyes were no longer wild and glazed, but there was no warmth in them, either. If anything, he seemed… uneasy.
    Uncertain about what he expected from her, she tried to smile. "Good morning."
    "Storm's finally blown out."
    She wondered if he meant the blizzard or the storm inside himself.
    He moved away from the window, then stopped, as if he didn't want to get too close to her. And he wouldn't look at her.
    He took a swallow of coffee, then set the mug on the counter. "Do you need a Healer?"
    The abrupt question startled her. She wasn't sure what she'd expected when the rut finally ended, but she hadn't expected him to act like she was a stranger he'd given shelter to during the storm. "No, I don't need a Healer."
    He took a step toward her…and she could have sworn he cringed before he backed away.
    "I need to check on the villages, make sure everyone got through the storm all right."
    "Do you want some breakfast before you go?" she asked.
    "No," he replied too quickly. "I don't want—" He hesitated, then shook his head. "I have to go." He gave her one more glance before he hurried down the domestic corridor that led to the side door.
    A moment later, she heard the door slam behind him.
    Stunned, Marian sank into a chair and