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His voice was deep, velvety smoke, and the urge to turn and kiss him was fierce. Like most dark elves, he was blessed with not only magnificent looks, but an inner magnetism that made him nigh on irresistible. Light elves might be divinely beautiful beings, but dark elves were sex on legs. And very fine legs these ones were, too.

“Sorry,” I said, though a large part of me wasn’t. Standing here encircled by his warmth was a much nicer option than standing alone.

He laughed softly, his breath brushing enticingly past my ear. “Most would consider it a crime to be sleeping when they had you in their bed. I take you didn’t come out to commune with the storm?”

“No.”

Though I technically could if I wanted to. I might be an Aodhán pixie, but my father had been a minor god of storms and lightning, and I’d inherited some of his abilities. Of course, just like the second sight I’d gotten from Mom, I was still very much a novice when it came to using the power that was mine by birth.

The old gods certainly weren’t offering much in the way of help either, even though they were demanding I help them. As for my father, well, he was obviously aware I existed and had even pushed some help my way, but he’d yet to come see me. And it wasn’t like I could question Mom about him, because she was dead. Murdered.

Tears stung my eyes, and I fiercely blinked them away. I would not—could not—allow myself to grieve her loss. Not yet. Not until revenge had been had. To do anything else might well break me.

Not that I take justice into my own hands—shedding blood in any way other than self-defense always went badly for us pixies—but deep down inside me, there was a darkness, an anger, that certainly wanted to.

Once my emotions were under control, I quietly added, “Something down there doesn’t feel right.”

“In what way?”

I hesitated. “I can feel an energy source, a powerful one, but I’m not sure if it’s magically based or something else.”

He didn’t answer for a second, but his tension rose. “There’s someone standing in the deep shadows under the arch.”

I didn’t question his certainty. He was a dark elf and could not only command stone and earth at will, but use it to glean information in much the same manner as I could wood.

“Is there just one person?”

“For the moment, yes.” He paused again. “The distribution of weight suggests a male, but there’s a lightness to his stance that makes me suspect he’s not human.”

“Elf?”

“Or shifter.”

“A bird shifter wouldn’t need to use a shadow shield.” Especially when there were plenty of trees lining the far side of the old wall. A shifter could roost in any of them with no one thinking it odd.

“A rat shifter wouldn’t need one either, but I suspect that’s not what we’re dealing with. Shall we go down to investigate?”

“I think we should.”

Because that caress of power was sharper, and I had a bad feeling we didn’t want to be in the vicinity when it was unleashed.

Cynwrig caught my hand and led me across the patio. Once inside, I hurriedly dressed, then pulled on my socks and boots, glad I’d listened to instinct and gone with waterproof comfort over glamor earlier tonight.

“Ready?” His smokey, silvery gaze swept my length and came up heated. “You should go braless more often. Your breasts are too magnificent to be caged.”

I snorted. “Says the man who never has to hold down unleashed breasts when running or risk black eyes.”

He laughed, a sound as smooth and as rich as honey. “A truer fact has never been uttered, but that does not void the observation.”

I rolled my eyes and motioned toward the stairs. “You can lead.”

He raised a dark eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “So that you can inspect my magnificence in the same manner as I just did yours?”

“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, remember.”

He laughed again, then spun and sauntered toward the stairs, moving with a grace and power that would draw the eye of anyone with a pulse.

It didn’t hurt that he had wide shoulders, arms that were muscular without being overly so, and a classically beautiful V-shaped body. And, from behind, a butt that looked magnificent in jeans.