With an exasperated sigh, he turned his head to kiss my fingers. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m impractical, improbable, but never impossible.” I rose to my toes and pressed my lips to his. Shaking his head, chuckling despite himself, he bent low to fold me in his arms and deepen the kiss. Delicious heat washed through me, and it took considerable self-restraint not to tackle him to the ground and have my wicked way with him.

“My God,” Beau said, voice thick with disgust. “It looks like he’s eating her face.”

But Madame Labelle wasn’t listening. Her eyes—so familiar and blue—shone with anger. “Answer the question, Louise.” I stiffened at her sharp tone. To my surprise, Reid did too. He turned to look at her slowly. “Did you leave camp?”

For Reid’s sake, I kept my own voice pleasant.

“I didn’t steal anything. At least”—I shrugged, forcing myself to maintain an easy smile—“I didn’t steal the wine. I bought it from a peddler on the road this morning with a few of Reid’s couronnes.”

“You stole from my son?”

Reid held out a calming hand. “Easy. She didn’t steal anything from—”

“He’s my husband.” My jaw ached from smiling so hard, and I lifted my left hand for emphasis. Her own mother-of-pearl stone still gleamed on my ring finger. “What’s mine is his, and what’s his is mine. Isn’t that part of the vows we took?”

“Yes, it is.” Reid nodded swiftly, shooting me a reassuring look, before glaring at Madame Labelle. “She’s welcome to anything I own.”

“Of course, son.” She flashed her own tight-lipped smile. “Though I do feel obligated to point out the two of you were never legally wed. Louise used a false name on the marriage license, therefore nullifying the contract. Of course, if you still choose to share your possessions with her, you are free to do so, but do not feel obligated in any way. Especially if she insists on endangering your life—all our lives—with her impulsive, reckless behavior.”

My smile finally slipped. “The hood of your cloak hid my face. The woman didn’t recognize me.”

“And if she did? If the Chasseurs or Dames Blanches ambush us tonight? What then?” When I made no move to answer her, she sighed and continued softly, “I understand your reluctance to confront this, Louise, but closing your eyes will not make it so the monsters can’t see you. It will only make you blind.” Then, softer still: “You’ve hidden long enough.”

Suddenly unable to look at anyone, I dropped my arms from Reid’s neck. They immediately missed his warmth. Though he stepped closer as if to draw me back to him, I took another drink of wine instead. “All right,” I finally said, forcing myself to meet her flinty gaze, “I shouldn’t have left camp, but I couldn’t ask Ansel to buy his own birthday present. Birthdays are sacred. We’ll strategize tomorrow.”

“Really,” Ansel said earnestly, “it isn’t my birthday until next month. This isn’t necessary.”

“It is necessary. We might not be here—” I stopped short, biting my errant tongue, but it was too late. Though I hadn’t spoken the words aloud, they reverberated through camp all the same. We might not be here next month. Shoving the wine back at him, I tried again. “Let us celebrate you, Ansel. It’s not every day you turn seventeen.”

His eyes cut to Madame Labelle’s as if seeking permission. She nodded stiffly. “Tomorrow, Louise.”

“Of course.” I accepted Reid’s hand, allowing him to pull me close as I feigned another horrible smile. “Tomorrow.”

Reid kissed me again—harder, fiercer this time, like he had something to prove. Or something to lose. “Tonight, we celebrate.”

The wind picked up as the sun dipped below the trees, and the clouds continued to thicken.

Stolen Moments

Reid

Lou slept like the dead. Cheek pressed to my chest and hair sprawled across my shoulder, she breathed deeply. Rhythmically. It was a peace she rarely achieved while awake. I stroked her spine. Savored her warmth. Willed my mind to remain blank, my eyes to remain open. I didn’t even blink. Just stared, unending, as the trees swayed overhead. Seeing nothing. Feeling nothing. Numb.

Sleep had evaded me since Modraniht. When it didn’t, I wished it had.

My dreams had twisted into dark and disturbing things.

A small shadow detached from the pines to sit beside me, tail flicking. Absalon, Lou had named him. I’d once thought him a simple black cat. She’d quickly corrected me. He wasn’t a cat at all, but a matagot. A restless spirit, unable to pass on, that took the shape of an animal. “They’re drawn to like creatures,” Lou had informed me, frowning. “Troubled souls. Someone here must have attracted him.”

Her pointed look had made it clear who she thought that someone was.

“Go away.” I nudged the unnatural creature with my elbow now. “Shoo.”

He blinked baleful amber eyes at me. When I sighed, relenting, he curled into my side and slept.

Absalon. I stroked a finger down his back, disgruntled when he began to purr. I am not troubled.

I stared up at the trees once more, convincing no one.

Lost in the paralysis of my thoughts, I didn’t notice when Lou began to stir several moments later. Her hair tickled my face as she rose up on an elbow, leaning over me. Her voice was low. Soft with sleep, sweet from wine. “You’re awake.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes searched mine—hesitant, concerned—and my throat tightened inexplicably. When she opened her mouth to speak, to ask, I interrupted with the first words that popped into my head. “What happened to your mother?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Was she always so . . . ?”

With a sigh, she rested her chin on my chest. Twisted the mother-of-pearl ring around her finger. “No. I don’t know. Can people be born evil?” I shook my head. “I don’t think so either. I think she lost herself somewhere along the way. It’s easy to do with magic.” When I tensed, she turned to face me. “It’s not like you think. Magic isn’t . . . well, it’s like anything else. Too much of a good thing is a bad thing. It can be addictive. My mother, she—she loved the power, I suppose.” She chuckled once. It was bitter. “And when everything is a matter of life and death for us, the stakes are higher. The more we gain, the more we lose.”

The more we gain, the more we lose.

“I see,” I said, but I didn’t. Nothing about this canon appealed to me. Why risk magic at all?

As if sensing my distaste, she rose again to better see me. “It’s a gift, Reid. There’s so much more to it than what you’ve seen. Magic is beautiful and wild and free. I understand your reluctance, but you can’t hide from it forever. It’s part of you.”

I couldn’t form a reply. The words caught in my throat.

“Are you ready to talk about what happened?” she asked softly.

I brushed my fingers through her hair, my lips against her forehead. “Not tonight.”

“Reid . . .”

“Tomorrow.”

She heaved another sigh, but thankfully didn’t press the issue. After reaching over to scratch Absalon’s head, she lay back down, and together, we stared up at the patches of sky through the trees. I drifted back into my mind, into its careful, empty silence. Whether moments or hours passed, I didn’t know.

“Do you think . . .” Lou’s soft voice startled me back to the present. “Do you think there’ll be a funeral?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t ask whose she meant. I didn’t need to.

“Even with everything at the end?”

A beautiful witch, cloaked in guise of damsel, soon lured the man down the path to Hell. My chest ached as I remembered Ye Olde Sisters’ performance. The fair-haired narrator. Thirteen, fourteen at most—the devil herself, cloaked not as a damsel, but a maiden. She’d looked so innocent as she’d delivered our sentence. Almost angelic.

A visit soon came from the witch he reviled with the worst news of all . . . she’d borne his child.

“Yes.”

“But . . . he was my father.” Hearing her swallow, I turned, wrapped a hand around the nape of her neck. Held her close as emotion threatened to choke me. Desperately, I struggled to reclaim the fortress I’d constructed, to retreat back into its blissfully hollow depths. “He slept with La Dame des Sorcières. A witch. The king can’t possibly honor him.”

“No one will be able to prove anything. King Auguste won’t condemn a dead man on the word of a witch.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. A dead man. My grip tightened on Lou, and she cupped my cheek—not to coerce me into facing her, but simply to touch me. To tether me. I leaned into her palm.

She stared at me for a long moment, her touch infinitely gentle. Infinitely patient. “Reid.”

The word was heavy. Expectant.

I couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t face the devotion I’d see in those familiar eyes. His eyes. Even if she didn’t yet realize—even if she didn’t yet care—she would someday hate me for what I’d done. He was her father.

And I’d killed him.