* * *
Ton-Kel woke from troubled dreams to stare up into darkness. The floor felt hard and unyielding, even under the blankets she'd piled up for cushioning. She sat up, wondering why she hadn't commandeered one of the beds. Certainly it was her turn. Do you have a secret desire to be a martyr? she asked herself crossly.
The air was warm and slightly stale. She could hear Paulo's light snore buzzing across the room. She leaned toward the bed beside her and, after a while, she caught the soft, deep breaths that told her Baraccus, too, had no trouble sleeping. And well he shouldn't; he had a nice, soft bed.
And so could you. The thought came from nowhere, a whisper in her mind. She shivered as she recalled Galen's invitation. She wondered what time it was. It had to be close to midnight.
She lay back down and pulled her cloak up to her chin. Go to sleep. You have enough to do tomorrow without wasting time thinking about foolishness.
But the thought wouldn't go away. She remembered his smile, the glow in his eyes when he looked at her. The warmth of his touch. The strength in his hands.
The feel of his skin against hers. The breadth of his shoulders.
She gave a muffled snort and scowled up at the ceiling. It was not an option. This was not the time or place to go scurrying off by herself. She was safe in her room with her Cavalier and her Ranger, and here she would stay.
As if she had no will of her own and no say in her own life.
Her Triad was sound asleep. They would stay asleep until morning. Morning was a long way off.
She rose silently and pulled her boots on, draping her cloak around her shoulders, opened the door and closed it behind her without a sound. There was no one about in the hallway, no one in the darkened common room. She padded across the floor, lifted the latch, and slipped outside.
The fresh air revived her, filling her lungs and sending her blood singing through her veins. The moon, full and silver, lit the night like a lamp. She looked up and smiled; her sense of time was perfect. Midnight was all around her.
She fled lightly down the path and into Westmere proper. Galen's house was one of the few good ones, a large, comfortable-looking stone building with a snug roof and a clean, lived-in look. A light burned in the window, flickering through the slats of the shutters. Silent as a ghost, she reached the door and raised her hand to knock…
…and paused. What am I doing? I must be out of my mind. I belong back in that room with Paulo and Baraccus.
Listening to them snore. Lying alone on a cold, hard floor. Feeling her life slip away without even a goodbye.
Hadn't she heard all her life that Triad service was almost always brief and fatal? What was she waiting for?
She swallowed hard and tapped her knuckles lightly against the wood.
As if he'd been waiting just on the other side, Galen opened it and stood looking down at her, a smile like the sun warming his face. "Ton-Kel," he breathed. "You've come."
She tossed her head and smiled up at him. "I almost didn't. I don't know why I did, in fact."
"I do." His eyes lit with laughter and he reached for her, pulled her inside, held her close against him. For a moment his sheer size intimidated her. It was like holding onto an oak, a boulder. She could feel the power in his body, power held tightly in check for her sake. His heart pounded in her ears like thunder.
He pulled back and cradled her face in his hands, gazing at her as though memorizing her every feature. "I knew it the moment I saw you," he murmured. "And God, how I wanted you. You with the gypsy in your smile and the devil in your eyes…."
His mouth found hers, devouring it, and the fire in her blood rose to match his. She returned his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. She felt more than heard the sound he made as it rumbled through his body and, as he broke the kiss to shut the door, she laughed up at him. "You promised me some more of that wondrous wine."
His eyes burned hotter than the coals in his hearth. "Later," he said, and picked her up. Ton-Kel again felt a small flicker of concern over his size, then discarded it with a laugh. After all, she was strong for her size. And she'd always been limber.
Much later, they lay beside one another, listening to the soft crackling and popping of the dying fire. Galen half-raised himself and brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting it curl like a vine around his finger. "Ton-Kel," he whispered, "Ton-Kel." He smiled down into her eyes. "What sort of name is that? Nilkan?"
She shrugged lazily, watching the firelight pick flecks of gold in his hair, highlight the contours of his body. "I never knew. My mother died when I was very little — I barely remember her. I was just always called that." She stretched, enjoying the way his eyes followed the movement. "I suppose some Nilkan could have wandered through Tir at some point."
He shook his head. "You don't look it. Except perhaps in the darkness of your eyes, or the hint of sun in your skin. Do you know, at this very moment, you look as though someone has painted you with bronze patina?"
She laughed. "That's just the fire, silly."
"No, it isn't." His smile was teasing. "You look much the same by light of day. There's just less of you displaying the effect." He shifted and propped his head on one hand, the other still toying with her hair, drawing the curls lightly back and forth across her skin. "All this perfection, laid out in a banquet just for me."
She shifted to her side, propping her head on her hand to face him. "And I've never met a man more determined to gorge himself." She smiled as she ran her free hand over his shoulder and down his body, enjoying the play of muscle beneath the skin.
"I could never get enough of you, Ton-Kel. Not in a hundred lifetimes." His face grew grave as he studied her. He ran a fingertip over her cheek. "Triads have been stationed in places before. You're meant to be here. You would do well."