Meera woke early the next morning with a sense of lightness she hadn’t felt since she’d left her cozy home in New Orleans. She felt free. It didn’t make any sense. She was embroiled in a critical search for an Irina elder. She was facing a grueling journey into the Atchafalaya wilderness. She’d just witnessed the deaths of three Grigori. And she had no idea how to feel about the scribe who was sneaking into her dreams.

I am your reshon.

The words should have felt binding, but they didn’t.

She rose and showered, relishing the warm clear water she knew would be her last for days. She washed her thick hair and pressed it dry before she braided it carefully and coiled it around her head. Then she packed her linen trousers and tunics, knowing that her favorite dresses wouldn’t be practical for traveling in the swamps. She might be a woman who enjoyed urban comforts, but she knew how to travel in the wild.

By the time she’d straightened her room and made it down to the truck, Roch was already there, waiting for her with the sweet black coffee she loved.

“Have you seen Rhys yet?”

Roch shook his head.

“Hmm.” Meera walked back up the stairs and toward Rhys’s motel room. She knocked and heard a crashing sound from inside. “Rhys?”

“I’m fine.” He sounded very cross. “Fine. Just… Damn trousers.”

Meera smiled. “Have you had your tea?”

“Don’t—” He pulled open the door, his shirt half unbuttoned. “Don’t yell through the door. I’m almost ready.”

“You don’t look like you slept well.” She walked into the room to see neat piles of maps and notebooks next to a backpack and a duffel bag. The only thing in disorder was the bedsheets.

“I didn’t,” he growled. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Did you dream too?

She bit her lip and walked to the plastic coffeepot. “They don’t have any tea.”

“Yes, I discovered that at three a.m.”

“Why don’t I go to the diner next door and see if they have any while you finish getting ready?”

He grabbed her arm, pulled her to his chest, and brought his mouth down on hers in a hard and thorough kiss. He tasted like mint toothpaste and irritation.

“Hmm.” Rhys buried his face in the curve of her neck and breathed deeply. “You’re not a princess, you’re a goddess,” he said, his voice rough.

“A goddess for fetching tea?” She gently pulled back and placed a soft kiss on his lips before she headed for the door. “I hesitate to imagine the accolades when I make you breakfast someday.”

* * *

They headed south from Lafayette, crossing into smaller towns around New Iberia, and then drove to the small camp where Roch had secured a boat from a contact who didn’t ask many questions. They would use the pontoon boat as a base as they explored Bayou Chene and the area where Rhys was certain the Wolf had been hiding. Smaller kayaks would take them through the narrower channels of the swamp, but Meera was fairly sure the hip-high waders Roch threw onto the back of the truck were also going to come in handy.

They parked the truck off the road, securing most of Rhys and Meera’s electronics in a waterproof toolbox—the exception being their basic recording equipment—and loaded their camping gear onto the pontoon. Then Roch hopped in the back, fired up the outboard engines, and they were on the water.

Meera sat next to Rhys as he nursed his second large cup of tea. She’d gotten him two just to be safe.

“Have you been on the bayous before?” she asked.

“No. Only seen pictures.” He squinted into the morning light shining off the water. “They’re primeval. We’re only a few minutes from paved roads, but it feels very isolated.”

“It is. We’ll see a few fishermen, but this isn’t a highly populated part of the swamp. The one village that used to exist around here was abandoned about seventy years ago.”

“Why?”

“The water changed. Young people moved away.” Meera spied the ruins of an old wooden home on cedar stilts crumbling on the edge of the water. “It’s a hard life out here. The ecosystem is fragile. Rising sea levels will not be kind.”

“But people still live here.”

“A few.” She put on her sunglasses as the boat changed direction and the sun grew brighter. “Not many.”

“At first it seemed preposterous that a thousand-year-old singer could hide in the middle of a reasonably populated area and disappear until she became the equivalent of an urban legend. But once you come out here, it’s not hard to imagine.”

“No, you can get lost quite easily if you don’t know your way around.” She nodded at Roch. “I’d never come here without a guide.”

“Please don’t.”

Meera’s mood hadn’t sunk, even when presented with a cranky British scribe who was apparently the mate heaven had chosen for her. She examined him in the morning light. His hair was thick and still damp from his shower. His skin was alarmingly pale. Was it genetic, or did he spend far too much time at a desk? She needed to make sure he didn’t spend all his time inside. If they had children, she hoped—

Moving that quickly, are we, Meera?

Her mother would be delighted at her train of thought, but despite her continued reservations, Meera couldn’t help but admire him. Rhys was a handsome man. He had a tall, lanky frame padded with lean muscle. His eyes were sharp and deep set, with a strong jaw that would grow a generous beard if he didn’t keep his face shaved. She could see the dense black stubble already growing.

Meera reached across and brushed her thumb across his cheek. “Have you ever grown it?”

“Not for centuries. It’s quite thick, and I always live in warm places. Do you like beards?”

“On some men.”

“On me?”

She smiled. “I’d have to see it.”

“Hmm.” He sipped his tea, then offered it to her.

“No, thank you.”

“You seem better today than you have been.”

“I am.” She frowned a little. “I don’t deal well with uncertainty. I grew up with too much order to be comfortable with it. I choose disorder, but only planned disorder.”

“Planned disorder?”

“Yes. I don’t want my garden to fall in rows, but I do want to be the one who plants it. Does that make sense?”

“Yes. And life has been everything but certain since I showed up, hasn’t it?”

“Putting it mildly.” She leaned into his shoulder. “But now…”

He put his arm around her. “Now we know.”

“Now we know what we are to each other. What we do from here is our choice.”

Rhys’s arm felt steady and secure. Familiar and still thrilling.

“Exactly,” he said. “We focus on the mission. Anything that happens between us from here is up to us. And when the mission here is done, then who knows?”

“Won’t you need to go back to Istanbul?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been their errand boy for several years now. If I asked Malachi for any kind of leave, he’d agree.”

She nodded. “Then we can take our time.”

“There’s no rush.” He stroked long, lazy fingers up and down her arm. “We’ll take all the time we need.”

“You’re very confident that I’m going to choose to be with you, aren’t you?”

“I can be quite charming to people who aren’t idiots.”

“Your generous nature continues to amaze me, Rhys of Glast.”

* * *

They moved slowly from large channels to smaller tributaries, Roch consulting the map that Rhys had brought with the listening stations marked, but they still got turned around more than once. Compasses were brought out once phone signals were lost. Meera tried to keep track of where they were, but every channel looked exactly the same to her.

Thousands of acres of flooded forest, streams, and marshes made up the terrain, and dense mounds of palmetto were the only indication of higher ground. Small birds perched like lazy sentinels in the bald cypress groves, egrets and herons hunted along the shores, and more than once Meera spotted eagles hunting overhead.

Alligators were their constant neighbors, lining the waterways and sliding in and out of the water as they passed. Meera watched for other residents of the bayou—beavers, otters, nutria, and even bear—but they hid from the sound of the motors.

“The first people who lived here,” Rhys asked over the sound of the engine, “what kind of homes did they build?”

“Round houses from wood and mud, mostly.”

“On stilts like the Cajun houses?”

“Not usually. They built on mounds.”

Roch revved the engine.

“What?”

“Mounds. They were built up over years and years. Most used discarded shell as foundation. Eventually silt from the water deposited on them, creating mounds.” Meera pointed to a rise of palmetto in the distance. “See that plant? It doesn’t grow in the water. It needs solid land. So if you see stands of palmetto, you know that area is solid.”

“That’s where we’ll camp once we leave the boat,” Roch yelled. “Find high ground.”

“The leaves also make good roofing material,” Meera said. “Keep an eye out for palmetto. If you follow them, you won’t sink. Probably.”

“Probably?”

Meera shrugged. She didn’t take anything for granted in the bayou. You could be walking on what you thought was solid ground only to have it give out beneath you.

“Good,” Rhys said. “Excellent. And there are hurricanes here as well, yes?”

“Don’t be silly.” She smiled. “That’s not for another few months.”

He grumbled something under his breath.

“I’d make a joke,” Meera said, “but they’re not really a joking matter. The city has suffered too much, and the storms are only getting worse.”

“Indeed.”

Meera walked across the deck toward Roch. “How much farther are we going today?”

He gave her a lazy shrug. “Depends on how far you want to paddle.”

Meera glanced at Rhys, who was slapping at a large bug on his arm. “I’m going to say as little as possible.”

“Then we’ll cut over and around a bit farther down,” Roch said. “Maybe sleep on the boat tonight. Take the kayaks out in the morning.”

She gave him a thumbs-up before she went back to Rhys. “Roch says we’ll camp on the boat tonight.”

“Good,” Rhys said. “You can share my tent.”

She knew he was teasing her for a reaction. But the offer was too tempting. “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

His teasing smile disappeared and a new and far more intense expression came to his eyes. “Not backing away anymore, princess?”

“Does it scare you?”

“Not in the least.”

* * *

“Is the heat bothering you?” Meera had dressed in a thin shirt and a loose pair of pants to sleep, but lying next to Rhys, her temperature was soaring from far more than the muggy air. Was it the knowledge that he was different than others, or just the potent attraction between them?

Rhys rolled to his side, propping his head on his hand. “I can’t say I’m accustomed to it. It’s hotter than Istanbul. But I will say that I’ve adapted. Most of my assignments in the past hundred years have been in hot places. And it’s not the hottest time of year yet. At least there’s that.”

He wore no shirt, and Meera tried not to stare at his chest. “Do you miss cool weather?”

“Constantly.” He reached out and played with the end of her braid. “Tell me about the weather in Udaipur.”

“There are a few months that are quite hot, but it is drier than here. The rains come in the middle of summer and cool everything off. I love the rain.”

“I do too.” He brushed her shoulder with the end of one braid. “Is it in the mountains? A valley? Plains?”

“It’s lake country.” Her heart was racing. “The city is surrounded by lakes, and there are hills.”

He’d dropped her braid and was trailing a single finger up and down her arm.

“I want to kiss you.” He leaned down and whispered, “Actually, I want to do far more than kiss you, but Roch isn’t far away, and I don’t care for an audience.” He bit her earlobe and Meera smiled.

“So kiss me,” she said. “Kissing is too often overlooked.”

But though Meera was expecting a peck on the cheek, she got far more than that. Rhys braced himself over her, lowered himself down, and took her mouth fully with his.

Every time he’d kissed her, it had been different. Their first kiss was a test and a taste. Their second, a careful declaration. The third, hot and hungry.

But this…

He drank her in like a parched man in the desert. Meera lifted her arms and pulled him down until he was caging her body with his. Rhys’s kiss was openmouthed, slow, and deep. His tongue tasted of mint with a hint of the whiskey he and Roch had shared after dinner.

Meera wanted his weight. Wanted the heavy feel of his body on hers. She hooked an ankle around his thighs and pulled him closer, only to have Rhys nudge her knees open so he could settle in the cradle of her body.

She sighed into his mouth.

It was so good.

Years had passed since Meera had taken any lover, and she hadn’t felt the touch of an Irin male for over a century. His carefully contained power was stronger than any aphrodisiac.

His lips were firm and his hand rested carefully on her hip, but she wanted more. She ran her hands up his sides and along the ridges of muscle that framed his lower abdomen. She scraped her fingernails along his skin until his careful mouth lost its patience and nipped her jaw in rebuke.

Meera laughed. “Don’t you like it?” She’d felt the quick shiver on his skin. The raised flesh against her thigh. She dipped her fingers beneath his waistband, teasing him for a second before she ran them up the center of his belly, playing with the fine black line of hair. She brushed her thumbs over his flat nipples and felt him groan against her neck.

“Princess, you’re tempting me.”

She arched her hips up. “Good.”

His mouth took hers again, and she couldn’t say a word. He kept their lips fused together as he began to move, pressing his arousal between her legs. She could feel her flesh heating, growing damp and hungry for him.

Meera reached for his pants, but Rhys grabbed her hand and knit their fingers together.

He didn’t mean to—

“Oooh!”

Rhys covered Meera’s lips with his own and swallowed her moan as the line of his erection stroked at a perfect angle between her thighs. The cloth between them was thin, and Meera felt everything. The act felt illicit. Forbidden. He was teasing her to orgasm fully clothed, only a few feet away from another scribe.

Meera arched up when she was close, but Rhys kept right on going, not stopping for a second until the tension gathering in her belly snapped and she came hard and long, shuddering beneath him. She felt a burst of magic release from her body and fill the tent, reaching for Rhys and surrounding him.

He lifted his mouth and arched up, red riding high on his cheekbones and his lips swollen from her kisses. He locked his eyes with hers and let out a long breath as he reached for her knee and angled it up until he pressed long and hard between her thighs.

Meera saw a flash of silver in the darkness, and Rhys swallowed a guttural groan of pleasure as he came. He released her knee and rested on top of her, pressing his cheek to hers. His breath was hot on her neck.

“Meera,” he whispered, kissing her neck. “Sha ne’ev reshon.”

The tender words nearly brought her to tears.

My beloved reshon.

His skin was damp with sweat. He placed one more kiss on her mouth before he rolled to the side and stripped off the loose shorts he’d been wearing, cleaning himself before he rolled them into a ball he tucked into the corner of his duffel bag.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Enjoying the view?”

“Yes.” She ran a hand down the intricate tattoos on his back. “Your family marks are long.”

“That’s not the compliment I was looking for.”

Meera rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to tell you things you already know.”

Rhys laughed, pulled on a clean pair of shorts, then stretched out beside her, pushing up her shirt to place his hand over her abdomen.

Meera smiled and tried to move him. “I have a belly.” It was the one part of her body she was a bit self-conscious about.

Rhys said not a word, but his hand slowed and he moved it deliberately over the soft rise. He pressed a kiss over her belly button and whispered, “Perfect.”

The gesture was so unexpectedly tender her breath stopped for a moment. She reached down and traced the arch of his eyebrow and the line of his nose, wanting to explore every inch of him.

Who are you, Rhys of Glast? Who is the man the Creator designed for me?

He stretched out next to her, scooting his sleeping bag closer to hers, and tucked her into the curve of his arm.

“Tell me more about Udaipur,” he said sleepily.

“Are you going to fall asleep?”

“Yes.” He yawned. “But I want to hear your voice while I do.”

“Okay.”

* * *

She woke in the blue light before dawn. Something was waiting for her in the darkness. Meera untangled herself from Rhys’s arms and crept out of the tent.

The pontoon rocked slightly on the gently moving water, and the moon was full, hanging low in the sky. Meera walked to the edge of the boat and looked out toward the forest. A flash of green eyes met hers before they disappeared.

Come with me.

It was an animal. Animals couldn’t talk. But there was something out there, and it was calling her.

Meera opened every sense and searched in the night. She heard the souls of the two scribes resting peacefully on the boat. She felt the hum of plant and animal life verdant in the bayou.

But there was something else. Someone else.

Anya niyah…

The whisper of a children’s song carried in the wind.

Mashak tamak…

“She’s old.” A voice came from the edge of the pontoon. Vasu was sitting in child form, swinging his legs back and forth from the railing of the pontoon.

“What are you doing here?”

“Did you miss me?”

“Not particularly.”

He frowned. “She’s old. Older than you. Older than Anamitra.”

Meera frowned and slipped on the rubber boots Roch had set out for her, then she grabbed a headlamp and stuck it in her pocket. She whispered a spell for night vision before she slid the wooden planks over the edge of the water and into the trees.

Vasu walked beside her, a child with ancient eyes. “Do you know who you seek, Meera Bai?”

“No.” She glanced down. “And neither do you.”

“That’s true. She is an enigma. The singer who can slay an angel with her voice. So many others tried. She was the only Irina who won. Is that why you want her magic?”

“It’s not about winning.”

“It is for him.”

Meera turned to reply, but Vasu had disappeared.

Annoying creature.

Walking carefully across the boards and balancing herself on the knees of bald cypress near the shore, Meera entered the forest. She picked each step with care but followed the memory of the green eyes and the whispered song.

Cicadas and crickets sang around her, adding to the wild cacophony of life that surrounded her. The magic of the bayou filled her up and spilled over. She could feel the threshold as she crossed it, a magical boundary redolent with moss and the earthy scent of pine.

A fox jumped on a log and perched there, watching Meera as she came closer. It was so intelligent-looking, she almost wondered if Vasu had shifted again. Perhaps it was some other creature.

“Do you understand me?” she asked, coming closer. She tried French. Did foxes speak French? “Are you a true animal or something else?”

“No.”

Meera raised her shields and spun around to see a lean woman squatting next to a fallen cypress log. She was dark-skinned even in the moonlight, and intricate black tattoos covered most of her body. Her hair was knotted at the top of her head, and a thick necklace of shells hung around her neck. She wore no clothes save for a skirt made of animal skin wrapped around her waist.

“It’s just a fox,” the woman said in French, and the animal went to her. “My fox.” It curled around her arm and settled next to the woman after an affectionate scratch behind the ears.

“Atawakabiche.” Meera stepped toward her. This had to be the legendary Irina. There was no hint of evil around her, no sense of illusion or Fallen trickery. Though she was difficult to see in the darkness, there was a heady power that lay within her like a banked fire.

“I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

“You found us.” Meera fell to her knees before the legendary Irina. “We were looking for you, but you found us.”

The Wolf cocked her head, not unlike the foxes that gathered around her. Two more had come and stood at attention as she spoke. “You called me.”

“We did?”

“Something did.” The Wolf brushed away the animals. “Is your mate with you?”

“My mate?”

“I felt mating magic,” the woman said, standing to her full height. “I haven’t felt that for a very long time.” She was tall and lean with the muscles of an archer. She reminded Meera of her mother. “Stand up. Is your mate near?”

Meera rose. “I… I’m not mated.”

“Are you sure?” She frowned. “Come closer.”

Meera did, lowering the shields she’d thrown up at the first hint of danger.

Atawakabiche, legendary warrior of the Irina, breathed out a long string of words in a language Meera couldn’t translate, then she fell to her knees.

“What are you doing?” Meera asked.

“Somasikara.” The Wolf breathed out the name with reverence. “Sha somasikara. You are a keeper.”

Of all the things Meera had expected, this one hadn’t even crossed her mind. “You remember the keepers?”

“I know the magic of a somasikara when I feel it.”

“It’s been a long time since anyone called me by that name.” As always, Meera’s heart was humbled by the use of her title in the Old Language. The somasikara were the keepers of memory, and it was rare for younger Irina to even know the word. “Please.” Meera held out her hand. “Mother, I come to ask your wisdom.”

“I thought I would never see another keeper on the earth. I thought they had all been taken.” Atawakabiche looked up, weariness written on the planes of her face. “Surely Uriel has sent you so I can finally die.”