KINLEY WOKE AT dawn, wrapped in a tangle of heavy limbs and shredded bed linens. Lachlan had her gathered against him, with one arm around her shoulders and one long leg thrown over hers. It felt odd to see his face so close to hers. She’d never slept with any of her past lovers, but sex in a war zone tended to be quick and furtive and almost impersonal.

Last night had been anything but that.

Watching Lachlan sleep gave her some time to contemplate what had happened between them in bed. She’d expected it to be good, but from the delicious foreplay to the serpent spirit stepping in it had been like the sexiest, wettest dream she’d never had. She’d also never be able look at his ink again without getting hot and bothered. Even now she wanted to give it another kiss.

The laird opened his eyes. “Dinnae wake the snake.”

Kinley suppressed a smile as she glanced down at his morning erection. “Too late for that. It’s good to be the snake. I like the snake.”

“You are too tender to take us again,” he chided, and climbed out of the bed to pull on a robe and open the curtains.

Kinley was sore, but that was to be expected after spending most of the night under and on top of the man, taking his inexhaustible cock in her hungry little pussy and partying with his tattoo, which was just as earthy and lusty and kind of kinky, too. She wasn’t lying about her new affection for his snake, either. The snake could come out and play any time it wanted.

It perplexed her, however. If all the clansmen were like Lachlan—which they were—then they should have been beating the women away. Instead they had maybe a couple dozen female retainers, most of whom were married or old enough to be grandmothers.

As Lachlan returned with one of his shirts for her, Kinley suddenly understood.

“It’s because you’re immortal,” she said, taking the shirt from him. “That’s why you don’t have wives or children. You’d outlive them.”

“In the first years, we didnae ken how greatly we were changed,” he said, and idly stroked his hand over her hair. “Some of the clan went back to their families for a time. But the Pritani tribes remained mortal, and the clan couldnae sire new bairns. They suffered as they watched grow old and die their wives, and the sons and daughters sired before the awakening. We couldnae tell our people what had happened—we promised the druids we wouldnae—and so when we didnae age, some called us demons and tried to kill us.”

Kinley winced. “Which only made matters worse when you didn’t die.”

He nodded. “In time all the tribes drove away my clansmen. ’Tis why we came back to Skye, and built Dun Aran.”

“I always thought immortality would be amazing,” Kinley said, frowning. “I never considered the cost of outliving everyone else.”

“To live forever seems like a boon beyond imagining, but after a thousand and two hundred years the clan has begun to lose heart. If not for fighting the undead, we would have nothing but an empty eternity of watching everyone and everything we love die again and again. ’Tis why we dinnae take wives.” He hesitated before he added, “And why some of my men are ending their lives.”

She sat up. “You mean there’s a way you can be killed?”

“Aye, more than one,” he said nodding. “It can be done in battle, but ’tis difficult.” He drew her hand to the back of his head, pressing her fingers against the top of his spine. “A sword thrust here, or burning our bodies to ash, or giving ourselves to the loch, and we are no more.”

She gripped his strong neck. “That’s why the undead were going to stab you from behind. They know how to kill you and the clan.” Shaking now, she folded her arms around him to hold him close. “Oh, Lachlan. Those assholes.”

“Fast as Raen is, he couldnae have reached me in time. So now you see, you truly did save my life that night.” He drew back a little to study her face. “What is it?”

Kinley could do some of the math. She was a combat search and rescue officer who just happened to drop into the middle of a battle where the McDonnel laird would have been killed. Then she had been changed into a living flame-thrower. Fate covered a lot, but not that much. She’d been brought here for this man. She’d swear to it.

“Lass?”

“Sorry.” Although he’d been completely candid with her, Kinley wasn’t yet ready to tell him her story. “This is why you had me take the oath.”

“All mortals entrusted with our secrets do, or they cannae share them.” He tipped up her chin. “Do you regret it now?”

“No, and even if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t tell anyone about the clan.” She heard a knock on the door and quickly pulled his shirt over her head as Raen came in with a tray, followed by Evander.

“My lord,” Evander said, “we have received word that–” The seneschal went silent and still as he saw Kinley.

She almost felt like shimmying her boobs at him, trollop that she was, but instead she settled for a nice, though slightly snide smile. “Morning.”

His composure held, just barely, but his dark green eyes flared with ire. “I will return later.”

Evander slammed the door on his way out, while Raen handed her a mug of Meg’s morning brew. “Will you teach me how you do that, Kinley?”

“It’s easy.” She glanced at the door. “Just change into a woman and breathe.”