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From the memories.

From the…now.

Watching her, I let go of the sword. She started to turn, and I made my move. Even quieter than a wolven, I was on her before she even had a chance to realize that someone was in the room with her.

Clamping an arm around her waist, I drew her back against me. I dipped my head as she stiffened and caught her scent again. It was fresh. Sweet. “This,” I said, “is unexpected.”

And this didn’t feel like Britta, either.

The maid was of average height for a mortal, barely reaching my chin. But the hip under my hand was fuller, and that scent…

It reminded me of honeydew.

Then again, it wasn’t like I’d committed much about the maid to memory. The amount of whiskey I’d consumed when I met with her last probably hadn’t aided in that. “But it’s a welcome surprise.”

She spun toward me, her right hand lowering to the area of her thigh as she lifted her head and froze. The sharp breath she took was audible.

A long moment stretched as I tried to see within the darkness of the hood. Even with the thick shadows of the candlelit room, my vision surpassed that of a mortal’s; however, I couldn’t make out her features. But I could feel the intensity of her stare, and as foggy as my memories were of the hours spent with Britta, I did not recall her keeping her hood up.

“I wasn’t expecting you tonight,” I admitted, thinking of what Kieran would say if he returned. A half grin appeared on my lips when I heard another soft inhale. “It’s only been a few days, sweetling.”

Her cloaked body gave a little jerk, but she said nothing as she continued watching me from the depths of her hood.

“Did Pence tell you I was here?” I asked, referring to the guard Britta knew that I often worked with on the Rise.

A moment passed, and she shook her head. Britta wouldn’t have known what room I could be found in. Each time I was here, I requested a different one.

“Have you been watching for me, then? Following me?” I asked, tsking softly under my breath as annoyance flared once more. “We’ll have to talk about that, won’t we?” And we would because that could not happen again. But now…? She was here. The memories and the restlessness were at bay for the moment, and she…she smelled so different. Good. “But not tonight, it seems. You’re strangely quiet.”

Which was odd.

I did remember that Britta was the opposite of quiet. A chatterbox. Cute, if a bit overwhelming, especially as the bottle of whiskey had grown lighter. This was an entirely different side to the maid. Perhaps she sought to be more mysterious tonight. If so, I knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“We don’t have to talk.” I reached for the hem of my tunic, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside.

She was incredibly still, but that fresh and sweet scent of hers heightened and became heavier, strengthening with her arousal. The promise of a quiet, primal pleasure was a lure that drew me toward her.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re about tonight.” Gripping the back of her hood, I folded my other arm around her waist, drawing her against me. She gasped, and I liked the breathy little sound. “But I’m willing to find out.”

I lifted her, and her hands—her gloved hands—landed on my shoulders. The tremor I felt course through her heightened my senses. Everything about her felt different, and I was beginning to wonder exactly how much I’d drunk the last time I was with her as I took her to the bed, guiding us down and laying her on her back. Sinking into her, I was suddenly caught off guard by the enticing mixture of hardness and softness beneath me.

That was another thing I didn’t remember.

I recalled Britta being slim, but there were curves here—lush ones I couldn’t wait to unwrap and explore.

And hell, as wrong as it was, a part of me was glad I’d been three sheets to the wind the last time I was with her. Because this…this felt new and not like a chore that was all about the end result. Those moments that washed away the memories. But already, I wasn’t thinking about those cold, bruising hands as I dipped my head, pouring my gratitude into the kiss, showing my thanks the only way I could.

The only way I knew how.

Her mouth was soft and sweet under mine, and when she gasped, I deepened the kiss as much as I could without revealing what I was, slipping between those parted lips the way I hoped I would later between her thighs. I flicked my tongue over hers, drawing the taste of her into my mouth. Her fingers dug into my shoulders as she shuddered against me. And like lightning, it hit me then as the scent of her arousal rose, and I felt what could only be described as a tentative touch of her tongue against mine.