Dreams Made Flesh

response would be less than friendly.
    Work. Hard labor would keep her thoughts from wandering toward things that wouldn't be.
    She dug in and started flinging shovelfuls of snow as far as she could, ignoring Tassle's repeated offers to use Craft to clear the path for her. Why should he care if the path was cleared. He , and a certain Eyrien Warlord Prince, could just walk above the snow. *Marian?*
    The only person who was trapped in the eyrie by the snow was the female, who was only good for mating and… making puppies. *Marian!*
    The whine in that sending finally made her stop and look at the wolf…who looked back at her with woeful eyes, his head and shoulders covered with the snow she'd flung in that direction.
    Then someone quietly cleared his throat to gain her attention. Marian looked to her left…and considered flinging herself into the deepest drift and just staying there.
    The High Lord, standing on air, looked down at her. A snow goatee hung from his chin, and his clothes were liberally spattered with the snow she'd thrown at him. Unknowingly, to be sure, but still… "Good morning, High Lord," Marian said.
    He brushed the snow from his chin and clothes. "Good morning, Lady Marian."
    She couldn't tell by his tone if he was amused or annoyed. "Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked meekly. "That would be welcome."
    Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. Could the day get any worse?
    Of course, watching him walk down the snow as if he were descending stairs only he could see produced a spurt of resentment that she quickly tamped down. It wasn't his fault Lucivar hadn't thought to teach her anything as useful as air walking.
    Pushing that thought aside, she vanished the shovel and her cape and boots as she hurried to the kitchen. Saetan paused in the front room long enough to hang his cape on the coat tree before joining her.
    As she filled the teakettle, she said, "Prince Yaslana isn't here at the moment."
    "I know," Saetan replied, leaning against the counter. "I came to see you." He paused. "Do you need a Healer?"
    "Do I look like I need a Healer?" she snapped, slamming the kettle down on the stove. Witchfire flared up beneath it. Cursing silently, she pulled the fire back to its proper level.
    "Nooo," Saetan replied dryly, "but the question has to be asked."
    She turned on him. "I can't be the only woman who spent most of the past three days in bed. Are they going to be asked if they need a Healer?"
    "Probably not. But they didn't spend that time with a Warlord Prince in rut."
    She turned away to get out cups and saucers. "I'm all right."
    "Physically, I tend to agree. But you're not all right, Marian. You're upset about something, and most likely, it has to do with the rut."
    She kept silent while she made the tea and set a cup in front of him when he took a seat at the pine table. She didn't join him. A week ago, she would have. But right now, she felt more like a paid servant than she'd felt in all the months she'd worked for Lucivar.
    "He ran away," she said, feeling her heart ache as she said the words. "He could barely stand to look at me before he… bolted out of the eyrie."
    "He's afraid," Saetan said quietly.
    Baffled, she studied the man watching her. "Of what?"
    Temper flashed in Saetan's eyes. "You have no idea what it's like to be caught in the rut, to be driven by something that eclipses everything else, to lose the veneer of civilized behavior that makes it possible for Warlord Princes to live with other people."
    "I know what it's like to be with that kind of man," Marian flashed back.
    "Do you remember everything that happened from the time the rut began until it ended?"
    "Of course I do!"
    "He doesn't."
    She watched Saetan rein in his temper, watched the visible effort to chain strong feelings.
    "He doesn't," Saetan said again. "Warlord Princes are not held accountable for anything they do during the rut, but that doesn't mean we don't have… regrets… about things that happen."
    We. It hit her like a fist. Saetan was a Warlord Prince, too, and had gone through the rut.
    Her nerves danced. She licked her dry lips. "How can a woman know what it's like for you if you never tell her?"
    He shuddered. The High Lord of Hell actually shuddered. That, more than anything, made her wonder what Lucivar remembered about the past three days.
    Setting the tea aside, Saetan rose. "Well. I have things to see to." Another strong man tucking his tail between his legs and