“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Rocks bit into her knees as she crouched down beside him, her arm brushing his. Maybe she shouldn’t have followed him. Maybe she was acting like a creep. Then again, she wasn’t the one who’d decided to lurk in Estelle’s shrubs.
She lifted her head, peeking into Estelle’s window. The werewolf queen stood before the fireplace, her hands hovering above a copper cauldron. Steam rose from the pot. Estelle threw back her head and shut her eyes. Her body swayed gently from side to side as she chanted something Celia didn’t understand.
Celia leaned into Oswald, so close she could feel the warmth coming off his skin. “Why are we here?”
“I don’t trust her. She’s acting monstrous strange with Tobias.”
“She has the hots for him. It makes people act weird.” She winced, worried she’d betrayed something more than she meant to.
Falling silent again, she watched as Estelle swayed. In a deep voice the she-wolf intoned, “Tobias,” then opened her eyes, staring into the cauldron. A grin spread over her face.
Celia grabbed Oswald’s arm. “She knows something.”
Estelle’s body tensed, and she cocked her head. Her dark eyes pivoted to the window, and panic gripped Celia’s gut.
“Let’s go.” Oswald tugged her arm, and they hurried through the shadows to the towering oaks.
Before they could get to the the edge of the forest, the house’s back door swung open. Estelle was coming.
“Act natural,” Oswald whispered. “We’re just here to mate.”
“What?”
Estelle stomped through the brush. “Who’s there?”
Oswald wrapped his strong arms around Celia, lifting her up against a tree. God, he smelled amazing. Without thinking, she wrapped her legs around him, her dress hitching up to her thighs. He leaned into her, pressing his warm mouth against hers in a slow, soft kiss. She parted her lips, their tongues brushing. A thrilling heat blazed through her core. Her hands roamed over his back, gripping his shirt. As she arched her back into him, the kiss grew deeper.
When he gently nipped at her lower lip, all rational thought flew from her mind. Running her fingers through his curly hair, she had a burning desire to touch every inch of his skin. She wanted to hear him gasp.
“Oh,” said Estelle. “It’s you two. I was wondering when you’d get down to it. At least someone’s having fun.” She turned, crunching on the path back to town.
Slowly, Oswald pulled away, his eyes still on Celia. “I think it worked,” he whispered.
Celia’s hands remained locked around his neck, and she’d forgotten how to speak. Instead, she just nodded. What had just happened? And how was Oswald able to put a sentence together when she’d forgotten how words worked?
He lowered her to the ground, releasing her from his embrace. For a second she was unsure if her legs would hold her up, and she felt a sharp longing for his touch again, even if he was a cocky Tatter.
She swallowed hard. Maybe the kiss that had knocked the ground out from under her feet was just another tactic.
38
Fiona
Leaning over the Proserpine’s side, Fiona felt the wind caress her bare arms. Even if Lir couldn’t pay her a compliment, she still felt a thrill from yesterday’s win. She’d finally proven herself to Nod. And to herself. She inhaled deeply, staring at the setting sun that dazzled over the rippling water.
“Fiona!” Lir called from behind.
She turned to find him holding a cutlass. The sun’s rays flecked his green eyes with gold. “Have you finished your little protest?”
“What protest?”
“Refusing to train with me this morning.”
“It was just one morning. You need to live a little. You’re going to be dead someday, you know that?”
He stepped closer, a shadow crossing his face. “Don’t presume to teach me about death.”
“Is there something you wanted to speak to me about?”
“You’ve earned yourself some extra practice with the cutlass. Rohan agreed to train with you. I don’t want to see you holding back this time.”
Fiona’s eyes shot to her friend, who sat cross-legged by the mainmast with a sword in his lap. Sheepishly, he raised his hand in a wave.
“Fine.” She took the sword from Lir and paced over to Rohan, who rose and widened his legs in a fighting stance. She did the same, lifting her cutlass as Lir had instructed. A strand of Rohan’s long, black hair fell into his kohl-rimmed eyes. He flashed her a faint smile. Neither of them really wanted to jab the other with a sword, and she had to remind herself that the swords could do no harm.
Lir leaned against the mast, hands on hips. “I’d like to see this start sometime before the death you so helpfully reminded me of.”
Fiona shifted to the right. She and Rohan circled each other. She lunged for him, and he parried.
“Come on,” barked Lir. “You can’t hurt each other. Stop holding back!”
She was holding back. She knew she was holding back, but even though she was certain the swords were protected, it was hard to make yourself jam a piece of metal into your friend’s flesh.