Shalador's Lady

stomping, thrusting, whirling. The scars on Gray’s back silvered in the firelight, and Cassidy had the feeling those scars would no longer be a source of shame; they would be a testimony of courage.
    Round and round. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, following his progression around the circle even when the fire hid him from sight.
    Round and round until the drums were a thrumming in her blood.
    The drums stopped without warning, and the silence was a painful scraping over her senses, over her skin.
    “Cassie.” A voice roughened by lust, by need, by something more than both.
    Her legs trembled, but she forced herself to stand and look Gray in the eyes.
    “Cassie.” His hands cupped her face. The slight tremble in his fingers helped settle her own nerves.
    Until he kissed her.
    Heat. Drums. A hot, grinding dance. A firestorm of feelings as his tongue swept into her mouth, asking and demanding.
    “Gray.” Ranon’s voice sounded just as rough. “Put some pants on and let’s go home.”
    How am I supposed to keep my hands off him long enough to get home? Cassidy wondered as she watched Gray call in a pair of trousers and put them on.
    The air was cool at this time of year, but Gray didn’t bother with a shirt or shoes. He just grabbed her hand and headed for one of the archways, followed by Ranon and Shira.
    She didn’t know who, if any of them, had contacted the silver twins to bring the horse and pony cart, but Lloyd and Kief were waiting for them. They piled in, Ranon and Shira on the driver’s seat while she and Gray shared the back bench seats with the Scelties.
    They piled out again in front of the Queen’s Residence. The silver twins headed back to the stables with the horse. Ranon and Shira headed around the back of the house while Gray grabbed Cassidy’s hand again and headed into the house.
    Ranon and Shira hadn’t moved into their own place yet, but it seemed they were going to spend the night there. Probably just as well, considering the way Gray hustled her up the stairs and into her room.
    He took her in his arms and pressed a soft kiss on her temple—a kiss that trembled with tenderness as well as the violence inherent in a Warlord Prince.
    “Cassie,” he whispered. “Let me love you. Let me be your partner in this dance.”
    She shifted enough to look at his face, to look into his eyes. The Fire Dance had burned out what was left of the scarred boy he had been. A man stood before her, waiting for her answer.
    “What about Lucivar’s rules?” Not that she gave a damn about Lucivar’s rules right now, but she had to ask while she could still think.
    “A useful leash that kept us both safe. But a man doesn’t need someone else to hold the leash. This has nothing to do with Lucivar. Not anymore. Just you and me, Cassie. Now it’s just you and me.”
    “Yes,” she said. “I’ll take you as my partner, as my lover.”
    “Cassie.” That was all he said. All he needed to say.
    Soft. Sweet. Hot. Hard. They touched and tasted, learning each other’s bodies as sweat-slicked skin slid across skin. He surrounded her—and she surrounded him—a claiming that went beyond the body. When he brought her up and over the crest a final time and poured himself into her, she knew everything had changed.

    Gray woke instantly, his arm tightening over Cassie as he listened for whatever had snapped him out of a sound sleep.
    Nothing. And yet, something kept scratching at his senses, demanding acknowledgment.
    He slipped out of bed and pulled on a robe. Whatever he was sensing wasn’t in this room.
    He reached for the door that opened onto the hallway. The scratchy, demanding feeling faded. When he stepped back from the door, the feeling returned.
    He probed the room again—and felt his temper sharpen, felt himself rising to the killing edge as a natural response to a potential threat to his Queen.
    That something wasn’t in Cassie’s room and it wasn’t beyond her room either. That left . . .
    He slipped into the adjoining bedroom. His room.
    A glint of light near the dresser caught his attention. Despite the scratchy feeling, he sensed nothing dangerous, so he walked over to the dresser, then used Craft to form a small ball of witchlight.
    He stared for a long time as his temper eased back from the killing edge. Then he extinguished the witchlight and went back to Cassie’s room.
    “You okay?” Cassie murmured when he slipped back into bed.
    “I’m fine.” He wrapped an arm