On the Prowl

border?”
    “Let’s hope we are.”
    I nodded and tried to focus on something other than the interest in his eyes. He was clearly examining my face and seemed to like what he saw. I could only assume he had peculiar tastes, since my hair was frizzing into a big red ball as it dried, and my dress was torn and muddy. But he wasn’t looking away even as he saw me recognize his interest for what it was. A particularly charming smile lit up not only his features, but also his eyes.
    “I keep thinking of you as ‘that beautiful redhead who landed me in so much trouble,’ but it’s a bit of a mouthful. What should I call you?”
    I blinked in surprise, both at the unfairness of the accusation, and at the compliment. I also had no idea what to say. Normally, when dealing with humans the Fey use a false name or a title. Anything personal is reserved for those they hold a lot more intimate. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be on that kind of footing with him, but he could hardly call me “hey you” for what might be a long trip. And I didn’t feel like making something up and then trying to remember to answer to it.
    “I’m Claire,” I finally said, throwing caution to the wind.
    He nodded thoughtfully. “And if I may ask, what does that mean?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know. I never looked it up.”
    He arched a brow. “You bear a name,” he said slowly, “and do not know what it means?”
    “A lot of people do.”
    “Not in Faerie.”
    “So what’s yours?”
    “That is a very personal question among the Fey. It is better to ask what people call one. It’s considered more polite, as it doesn’t directly ask for a personal name.”
    “Okay, what do people call you?”
    “Geisli when I was a child—it means sunbeam,” he explained, “or sometimes Haddi, because they said I had too much hair. Asmundir is often used at court, because it is indicative of my function as protector of the people. Alarr means general, but I have never yet led an army in battle so it’s somewhat misleading. I believe Father gave it to me to impress the Svarestri. And sometimes I’m referred to as Huitserkir, because my armor is white and gold—”
    “What do you like to be called?” I asked, desperate to get away from the warm press of his fingers. The touch was light, but a lot more disturbing than it should have been. And he was right—he talked too much.
    He looked puzzled. “Others give us our names.”
    “Then you don’t care?”
    “I didn’t say that.” He thought about it for a ridiculously long time. “Some of my shield brothers gifted me with the name Heidar,” he finally said. “It means ‘bright lord.’ They say my hair is easy to see in battle.”
    “Okay. Heidar it is, then.” I felt like I’d won some sort of major victory, just getting his name. Now maybe he’d let me go.
    “I am glad to be known to you, Claire,” he said, sounding formal all of a sudden. Then strong arms circled me and a warm mouth closed over mine.
    Or maybe not.
    The kiss started out tender and brain-meltingly sweet, but didn’t stay that way. That was mainly my fault. My hands came up, one grabbing Heidar’s shoulder, the other curling around the back of his neck, threading its way through his hair and pulling him close. My tongue darted desperately against his as I thoughtlessly drove the kiss deep. He responded after a moment’s startled hesitation, clasping me gently, while running a hand down my bare back to cup one of my hips. His hands on my body felt shockingly, achingly good, and he tasted sweet—of spices and some indefinable sunny flavor. I couldn’t get enough of the taste, the scent, the feel of him—it was like I was drunk on it.
    When we broke apart for air, I found my tongue tracing the vein throbbing in his neck. I had somehow ended up on his lap, my thighs straddling his, and I could feel him firming against me. Someone made a soft exclamation of need and the sound broke through a little of my haze. I stared at him, wide-eyed and suddenly frightened. I felt vulnerable—I needed this too much and it worried what little part of my mind was still capable of thought.
    He noticed my expression and frowned. “What is it?”
    “I don’t know,” I whispered, from a throat half closed with panic. “I think something’s wrong with me.”
    “You were injured?” Two large hands began running over me, looking for wounds I suppose, but I almost screamed from the sensation. I was oversensitized, raw