Rhys kept his eyes on the road and tried not to notice Meera’s gaze on him as he drove northwest toward the Atchafalaya Bird Research Center and Becki, the very nice avian biologist whom he’d been emailing the day before.

He tried to ignore her, but he felt her eyes on him, could almost hear her brilliant mind calculating. What? He couldn’t say. He didn’t know what Meera was thinking of him.

She was attracted to him, or she wouldn’t have kissed him. He was certain of that.

Rhys was also fairly sure she didn’t want to be attracted to him. It could have been a result of her own reluctance toward Irin men or because of too many interfering guardians. He couldn’t imagine a life as prescribed as hers. She’d been raised for a very specific role, and he could tell her personality bucked against it even as she recognized the value of it.

You could be her rebellion.

It was a tempting thought, to be the wild fling of her “vacation” as she referred to her time in Louisiana. To be her rebellion would be to indulge her whims and explore his own. They could be lovers. There could be naked chess. She could tell him more about these scrolls of sacred congress, and he would be her very happy pupil. When they had tired of each other, they could part with burning memories and no regrets.

You idiot. You’d never be satisfied with that.

Rhys wasn’t delusional enough to fool himself that way. He didn’t want to be her rebellion. He wanted more. But more was complicated. Very complicated. More meant considering Meera as a potential mate and a move across the world. More meant navigating political spheres he’d left behind in England. More meant a life as the partner of one of the most prominent—and most targeted—singers in the Irin world.

If she even wanted that, which she probably didn’t. He was being presumptuous even thinking that far ahead. Maybe she was only looking for a lover.

She probably didn’t even want that.

“Am I losing the shine yet?”

“What?”

Roch was snoring in the back seat, and Meera’s eyes were hidden behind dark shades, but he could still feel her gaze.

“This is why I don’t tell people who I am,” she said blithely. “One of the reasons anyway. It’s always too much.”

Heaven above, she was perceptive. “Nothing about you is too much.”

Her lips twitched and she turned to face the highway. “That’s kind.”

“No, it’s a fact.”

“Rhys, you don’t need to flatter—”

“I don’t flatter. I don’t flirt. I’m often a cranky arsehole, and I’m too impressed with my own opinion because I’m smarter than the vast majority of the world. That’s a fact too.”

She gave a sharp laugh. “No false modesty for you.”

“So believe me when I say nothing about you is too much. You are exactly who you should be. And you’re going to need every bit of stubbornness, caution, and vigilance when you take your place in the Irin world. I didn’t understand it before; I’m starting to now.”

Her voice was softer. “Thank you.”

“As a point of curiosity, is that why your parents are trying to arrange a mating for you? To find a suitable candidate for the heir who’ll understand the level of your responsibilities?”

She glanced into the back seat, but Roch was still sleeping. “Yes,” she said quietly. “That’s one reason.”

“And they like me for that role?”

She winced. “I was hoping you hadn’t caught that.”

“I don’t miss much.”

“I know.” She crossed her arms. “You came highly recommended as a scholar, which they knew I would prefer. They approve of your family because, while your mother didn’t have the same role as Anamitra did—”

“She’s still a sage. Elders come to her for council.”

“Yes. And your father is not known to be a scribe whose ego competes with his mate’s. You would understand my role and the role of my future mate better than most warriors.”

“Except the Tomir.” He felt a spike of jealousy. “The Tomir warriors are dedicated to you. They would do anything for you according to my research. You could have your pick of hundreds of highly trained scribes, any of whom would worship you.”

Meera’s lips turned to a hard line. “The Tomir are dedicated to the heir, not to me.”

Rhys understood Maarut’s words far better now. “You need a mate, not another member of your retinue.”

Meera gave a sharp nod.

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No, you meant to imply that I would want a servant instead of a partner for a mate. Who could possibly be offended by that?”

He smiled. “Never fear, princess, I speak fluent sarcasm.”

“Princess?” She curled her lip. “Don’t call me that.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “It’s more than a bit accurate though, don’t you think?”

“Rhys, I’m not some idle figurehead who—”

“Who said princesses are idle? Quite narrow-minded of you, Meera.”

“Don’t turn this around on me. You’re the one trying to minimize—”

“Nothing.” He saw the turnoff for the research center and moved to the right lane. “I’m making a joke.”

“Is that what that was? I’ll keep an eye out for them from now on.” She cleared her throat. “And yes, my parents might have been considering you as a potential mate for me. They believe in arranged mating.”

“Might have been? I think I’m still in the running.” He tapped the steering wheel and muttered, “Fairly sure your mum approves of me.” He couldn’t stop the smug smile.

Meera continued speaking as if he’d said nothing. “Which of course means nothing to me. I make up my own mind about these matters, and right now our focus should be on finding Atawakabiche and healing Sabine, not my mating status.”

“But you did kiss me.”

Her lips twitched.

Rhys smiled. “And you’re thinking about doing it again.”

“Can we focus on this biologist, please?” She sounded flustered. “You said she had information that might narrow the search zone.”

Rhys could live with flustered for a while.

“She tracks bird populations in the basin,” he said, “so they have monitoring stations set up throughout the swamp. They’re remotely operated, and all the recordings are stored here. I have a theory.”

“Which is?”

He spotted a small brown sign for the center nearly hidden behind Spanish moss. “I’ll explain after we see a map of the stations. I don’t want my theory to influence your observations. We’re almost there.”

“Very well.” She opened a small backpack and checked several notebooks she’d tucked inside. “I’ll bring my notes if you don’t mind. This is an avenue I hadn’t considered before.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” He drove slowly down the narrowing road, watching for rough spots as Meera fussed with her backpack and checked the points on her pencils. “I think I might keep calling you princess.”

“Please don’t.”

“I make no promises.” He reached over to the back seat and slapped Roch’s knee. “Wake up, Cajun. We need you to speak to your people so they don’t feed us to the alligators.”

Roch didn’t open his eyes, but he was awake enough to flip Rhys off.

* * *

Becki the bird biologist was, in a word, delightful. It was clear she didn’t often come in contact with people as excited about bird population tracking as she was. Of course, she thought Rhys and Meera were visiting researchers from England and Roch was acting as their guide.

“As far as whooping cranes go, the wild population hasn’t rebounded in the Atchafalaya.” The petite Caucasian woman with a slight Cajun accent ushered Rhys, Meera, and Roch down a hall framed by pictures of researchers in various habitats. Becki was in a few of them, but there were also three men who appeared in many, along with large groups of what looked like community or volunteer groups.

“Where has it rebounded?” Rhys asked.

“Southwest Louisiana right now,” Becki said. “The flock that’s there is a result of a federal reintroduction program. Some success, but it’s been limited. So while we occasionally get excited by a call that might be a whooping crane, for right now we’re focused on monitoring other species.”

Meera was looking at a picture of a large group in narrow boats and kayaks. “You do a lot of work with the local communities about cleaning the swamps?”

“The bayous are where there are more cleanup operations,” Becki said. “Bayous and rivers have more open water, so they get more traffic from people. People equal trash.”

“Indeed.” Rhys stopped to examine one male researcher posing with a metallic-and-plastic contraption with antenna sticking up. “Is this one of the listening stations you utilize?”

Becki walked back to Rhys and nodded. “Sure is. We have these scattered all over the basin. They take weather readings, record birdcalls, and we’re gradually setting all of them up with camera traps.”

“How many?”

Becki blew out a measured breath. “We put a new one out every time we get funding. I’m not sure what the exact number currently is, but I can show you a map.”

Rhys smiled. “That would be helpful. We’re considering setting up a similar program in Yorkshire, and I’m specifically looking at what kind of coverage would be necessary.”

She waved them toward a set of double doors. “Then come on back. I’ll pull up a map.”

Meera walked over to Rhys as Roch chatted with Becki about local news.

“I thought you’d identified the call you heard as a whooping crane,” she said quietly.

“I did, but how sure are you that the Wolf is in the Atchafalaya?”

“Very sure.”

“Then whooping cranes won’t help. But seeing a map of their listening stations might.”

“Why?”

Rhys lifted his chin toward the large computer monitor mounted on one wall. “Because we don’t want to find things that exist. We want to look for things that don’t.”

“Come on over,” Becki said. “Pull up a stool and I’ll bring the map up.” She pointed to the large television on the wall. “We just got this set up. I was working on my laptop for this kind of stuff a year ago. This makes the school kids much more excited.”

Becki’s desktop suddenly appeared on the monitor. She clicked on an icon in the bottom right corner and immediately a map popped up. Rhys only got a quick glance before the biologist clicked on one of the small yellow dots scattered over the satellite image.

“So this is a very active monitoring station. Woodpeckers love this area of the basin. We get lots of activity.” She pointed at the screen. “Weather recordings are down on the left. Do you see?”

“Yes,” Meera said. “How far back to they go?”

“The individual stations rewrite every forty-eight hours, but they back up to the server here every four unless we manually program them otherwise. So we have records of all these stations from the time they were put in. Temperature readings, humidity, rainfall. And then the birdcall recordings, which are all time-stamped.”

“Fascinating,” Rhys said. It was fascinating, but he didn’t want to see how many downy woodpeckers made their home in Louisiana; he wanted to see that map again. “Can you pull it back to the larger map? Maybe give us an idea about the coverage? Ratio of land to listening stations, so to speak.”

“Sure.” Becki double-clicked on a window, closing it and bringing the larger map back up.

“Interesting.” Rhys cocked his head, trying to make sense of the negative space he was seeing. “Can I see a satellite map overlay of this area?”

“Sure.”

There it was.

Once the satellite image was up, Rhys could see the pattern. The yellow dots were fairly regularly placed along the major waterways in the area, but they avoided the small towns and hamlets tucked into the swamps. Rhys could see peaks of roofs through the trees, and boats on the water. In the denser parts of the uninhabited area, the bird researchers had set up listening stations at regular intervals to provide the most coverage. There were little yellow dots scattered all over the swamp.

Except for one area.

“This area here.” Rhys pointed to the screen. “Is there a reason you don’t have any listening stations there?”

Meera’s eyes lit up, but she said nothing.

Becki frowned. “You know… I don’t know. I don’t know that area well, but it’s possible we just haven’t seen much activity there, so it’s not a high priority. Or it might be really hard to get to. That’s pretty dense forest right there.”

I bet it is.

“Okay.” He nodded. “That is very good to know.”

Meera pulled out her notebook and jotted down numbers as Rhys made small talk to distract Becki and keep her from closing the map. He could feel Meera’s excitement vibrating through the room.

“Would it be possible to get a printout of this map? Even just a rough one would give us some guideline about how many pieces of equipment we’re going to need funding for.”

“Of course.” Becki turned back to her computer and clicked the Print icon in the corner. “Give me just a minute and you’ll have it in your hands.”

* * *

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”

Rhys had never seen Meera do a happy dance before, but he immediately decided he wanted to see it again and as often as possible. Especially from the rear.

Roch grabbed the printout from Rhys’s hand and turned it to the side. “Yeah, that narrows it down for sure. Every inch of that basin was covered except for this area. Some serious magic keeping them out. Did you notice that scientist didn’t even question it? This singer is powerful.” He pointed at a small town not far from the unscanned area. “I know this place. It’s a hunting camp more than a town, but we’ll be able to rent a boat there.” He glanced at Rhys up and down. “Why don’t you let me do that part?”

“I bow to your drawl and your plaid flannel wardrobe,” Rhys said graciously. “How far is it?”

Roch shrugged. “A couple of hours.”

“Why don’t we try to find a hotel nearby? Meera and I will gather provisions while you secure a boat. We won’t want to start until morning.”

“Sounds like a plan, except we both need the same truck for that. I’ll stay here until we get all the food, then I’ll take off. We need any more camping gear?”

“No, but we probably need more bug spray.” Rhys glanced over his shoulder. Meera was still dancing. “Do we have any kind of bucket shower for her?”

“Hell yeah, I got a camping shower. Nobody spends a week in the swamp without wanting to get clean, my friend.”

“Good.”

They drove together to Walmart where they bought the few miscellaneous things they hadn’t brought from Havre Hélène, along with enough dried food to last a week and fishing gear for Rhys and Meera.

Roch dropped them off at the hotel before he took off to find a boat.

Meera turned to Rhys. “Do you like biscuits and gravy?”

“I don’t like them, I love them.”

She held out her hand. “Come with me.”

* * *

Rhys licked his fingers. “I don’t understand why this is so good.”

“It’s the flakiness of the biscuits, don’t you think?”

“It can’t be. I’ve had flaky pastry before. It’s the gravy.”

Meera shook her head. “We shall have to agree to disagree.”

“How did you know about this place?” Rhys looked around at the tiny diner in the strip mall where Meera had led him. It was on the highway a few blocks from their hotel, and Rhys had been more than doubtful until he walked inside and smelled whatever was cooking in the kitchen.

“I was in Lafayette for research last year,” she said. “Someone recommended this place—I can’t remember who—but I came. I ate. The rest is history. You have to try the boudin after this.”

“Good?”

“So good. The best I’ve had anywhere.”

Rhys sat back and watched Meera devour her food. It was as delicious to watch her as it was to eat. She relished every bite. She smiled and hummed as she ate, chattering about the spices between long drinks of cold beer.

“What?” She paused. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Because you’re… darling.” Did you actually say darling?

She blinked. “What?” Meera frowned and set down her beer. “Is this a princess thing again, because I really don’t appreciate—”

“Meera.”

“What?”

Don’t do it. Don’t lay yourself bare. Remember the baggage, Rhys. Remember your mission. Remember all the reasons you left England.

Or… fuck it.

Rhys leaned forward. “You are darling. You’re funny and beautiful and you shine so brightly I think I could watch you cut your toenails and still be fascinated. I want you. Very much. I want to learn more about you. I want to show you my favorite places. I want to know yours. I want to pick your mind about everything. And I want to absolutely ravish you.”

Meera set down her beer. She opened her mouth, but she didn’t say anything.

“And I think you’re reluctant because you don’t want to give in to your parents and their ideas about your future mate, but I know you’re attracted to me. I know you are. You kissed me, not the other way round.”

“You kissed me back,” she said quietly.

“And I wanted to do more.” He looked at her mouth. “I want to take your lower lip between my teeth and bite it. I want to get my mouth on your breasts, get my hands on your ass and just—”

Meera slapped a hand over his mouth. “We are in public,” she hissed.

He grabbed her hand, turned her palm over, and sank his teeth into the soft swell of flesh at the base of her thumb. He bit down just hard enough to make Meera gasp, then he kissed the center of her palm and gripped her hand with his as he hooked her ankles between his under the table.

“My attraction to you has nothing to do with your role in the Irin hierarchy,” Rhys said in a low voice. “It has nothing to do with the power you will have. I can’t say it has nothing to do with your magic, because your magic is intoxicating to me and it’s part of who you are. And I want who you are.” He took a shuddering breath. “I want you… far more than is comfortable or well-mannered.”

Her mouth was hanging open. “You bit me.”

He shifted in his seat. “Yes. I like to bite you. Apparently.” He was uncomfortably aroused just thinking about the other parts of her he wanted to bite. “Say something very boring.”

“What?”

“Boring, Meera.” He glared at her. “Otherwise walking to the car might be very awkward.”

“Shall I start reciting from Chomsky’s Aspects of the Theory of Syntax? I always found transformational grammar theory to be a mood killer in past relationships.”

Rhys covered his eyes. “Gabriel’s fist, that just made it worse.”

“You are a very strange man.”

Rhys’s phone rang. “What?”

“Who pissed in your cornflakes, brother?” It was Roch. “Are you two back at the hotel?”

“No.”

“Well, get back. I just talked to a local scribe. There’s some Grigori in Lafayette, and we need to take care of them. Tonight.”