Mistrals Kiss   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

Doyle — of course it was Doyle — walked toward us. He gleamed black and shining, water dripping down his nakedness. The light caught blue and purple gleams from his skin as he moved toward us. The light seemed to dazzle on his skin and on the water — reflected brilliance. My skin was warm in the light. Sunlight, it was sunlight again. Like noonday come to this shadowy place.

There was a green haze to the bare rock where Sholto and I lay. That haze took the shape of tiny stems, reaching out over the rock, anchoring themselves as Doyle came to stand beside us.

His face struggled for an expression, and finally settled on that stern face, the one that had frightened me as a child when he stood at my aunt’s side. Somehow the expression wasn’t nearly as frightening with him naked, and given my now so intimate knowledge of him. The Queen’s Darkness was my lover, and I could never again see him as that threatening figure, simply the queen’s assassin, her black dog to fetch and kill.

I stared up at him, still pressed tight in Sholto’s arms. I sat up, and his arms fell away from me, reluctantly. Since I was still riding his body, it wasn’t as if he stopped touching me. His hands slid down my arms, staying in contact. I glanced at Sholto’s face and found him looking not at me, but at Doyle.

Sholto’s face was defiant, almost triumphant. I didn’t understand the look. I glanced at Doyle, and saw behind that stern face a flash of anger. For the first time in weeks I remembered how they had both found me in Los Angeles. They had fought, both convinced that the queen had sent each of them to kill me.

But there had been something personal about that fight. I couldn’t remember what they had said to each other that made me think they had some kind of bad history, but I had felt it. The looks they gave each other now confirmed that I was missing something. Some disagreement, or challenge, or even grudge between these two men. Not good.

Rhys came up the slope of the rock, dripping like wet ivory. He stopped short of us all, as if he also sensed, or saw, the tension.

What do you do when you’re naked with one lover, and another lover is standing there? Sholto was not my king, or husband. I took my hand from him and offered it to Doyle. Doyle hesitated a moment, his gaze on his rival and not on me. Then those black eyes moved to me. His expression never truly changed, but some breath of harshness left him. Or perhaps some touch of gentleness returned to him.

There was movement behind him, and Frost and Mistral struggled up the slope. They were dressed, and weapons bulged everywhere.