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KIRHA:

Pregnant and almost ready to give birth, Kirha sleeps through the Unseen/Gyrm attack.

The following day, Cas asks her about Gianna’s whereabouts, and she tells him that she’s likely in Evaemon or close, somewhere in Aegea.

When Kirha meets Poppy for the first time, she’s sorting through some yarn with Kieran. They talk about her pregnancy, and she reveals that she’s only a month from giving birth and that the Healers think it’s a girl. She also mentions her hope that this is their last baby.

Before the group heads out, she tells Poppy that their house is always open to her and Cas and hugs her. She also tells her that Cas’s parents are good people, and once they get over the shock of all that’s happened, they will welcome her with open arms.

After it’s announced that the wolven will accompany Cas and Poppy to the Spessa’s End meeting, she tells them not to worry about her—she isn’t going to have the baby in the next week.

Just after giving birth, she and Jasper make their way to Evaemon to meet with everyone.

DIARY ENTRY ~ THE PORTRAIT OF DESIRE

Oh, Diary, do I have a story to tell you.

I may have mentioned my desire to have my portrait done. I try to have my likeness captured every so often, just to remind myself of the passing of time. It can become a blur occasionally to one who has been around as long as I.

Anyway, I attended a party a few weeks ago where the Lord and Lady had some delightful art on the walls of their keep. I inquired about the talent, and the master of the manor told me about a highly sought-after husband and wife in Spessa’s End. Given their gifts, I could see why people coveted their work.

As I bathed that night, a vision came to me of a stunning couple. As events unfolded, the knowledge of who they were came to me. The wife was Kieran and Vonetta Contou’s aunt, Kirha’s sister, tying them not only to the head of the wolven but also the Atlantian Prince and the Crown.

With that information in mind, and anticipation running high, I made the journey and asked at the local tavern where I might find the couple. The innkeeper pointed me toward the outskirts of town and gave me the general direction of the artists’ abode.

As I rode up, the sights immediately struck me. The cottage sat near the coast of Stygian Bay, the glistening waters casting crystalline shards over the clay and sandstone façade of the dwelling. The Skotos Mountains rose like silent sentinels beyond, framing the area perfectly. It seemed the ideal place for artists to reside, as even one such as I, with no artistic talent to speak of beyond my ability to put words to paper, could see how inspiring it was.

As I dismounted and straightened my gown and cloak, I felt a little shiver run down my spine. My lips tipped in a small smile. I knew that feeling. It was my gift. And while it may not have thrown images into my mind’s eye just yet, my intuition knew that this meeting would be fortuitous indeed—and likely in more ways than one.

Even now, as I write, I remember the feelings coursing through my body. The sense of excitement. The wanton rush of things not yet experienced that I, as a Seer, knew would be memorable.

When I knocked on the door and heard footfalls from within, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and goose bumps peppered my arms. While the chill may have played a part, it was more the exhilaration of what I simply knew would be, combined with the mystery of what I had not yet seen.

As the viewing panel in the door slid to the side, revealing an ice-blue eye surrounded by dark smoky topaz skin, that excitement grew.

In a voice like bells in a cavern, both delicate and resonant, she asked if she could help me.

Already feeling a pull to this gorgeous creature from just the sound of her voice and the view of that glacial eye, I gave her my name and explained how I had learned about them and then subsequently found them.

And then…she smiled. It was like the sun coming out on the dreariest of days and immediately warmed me. It also made me want.

When she opened the door, I beheld more than an eye and a smile in a nearly perfect face. She was like a goddess—and I would know—with curves in all the right places, dips and valleys creating a road map that anyone would want to explore, and hair the color of rich, deep autumn leaves—a deep, burnished brown.

She told me her name was Beryn Moxley and introduced me to her husband, Vanian. The man was at least six and a half feet tall with broad shoulders and powerful thighs. In contrast to his wife’s dark tresses, his hair was a burnished gold, a lock falling across his forehead to partially obscure one flashing gold eye. What struck me the most, however, were his hands. In contrast to his powerful almost warrior-like physique, his hands were almost graceful. The only thing marring their perfection were the splotches of color staining his skin and the dark crescents under his nails. But to me, that only made him more captivating.

When he shook my hand, a spark of electricity made its way through my synapses, sparking a vision of entangled limbs and licentious sighs. I shivered again.

Over a meal, we discussed my commission, talking about setting and light, wardrobe and tone. Both artists were incredibly gifted and knowledgeable, and I knew I was in good hands. I would be in good hands in more ways than one… I simply had to let nature run its course.

The couple offered to let me stay in the loft of their studio, which they had outfitted with comfortable furnishings to accommodate those, like I, who had traveled some distance to have their portraits done.

Over the days as I posed, bedecked in only a chemise, one ruffled strap falling off a delicate shoulder, and reclined seductively on a chaise, the couple and I got to know one another. We spoke of both the mundane, such as history and philosophy, as well as hopes and dreams, connecting us on an intellectual level that I found utterly sexy.

As the days passed, and Beryn adjusted this or that on my person, her silken hands caressing skin, her heated breaths brushing my flesh as she leaned to move me to and fro, I saw—and felt—the changes occurring. Her touches lingered. Her lips got closer. Her breaths became just a bit more labored as she crouched before me to adjust the hem of my chemise or right the neckline.

And as I sat, looking at Vanian as he painted, I saw that he wasn’t unaffected either. I watched his chest rising and falling just a bit more rapidly, his gold eyes darkening as his pupils dilated. I noticed the shift in our dinner conversations as the time wore on.

Even here at my desk, I can feel the weighted heat of his stare and the tremble Beryn’s nearness induced.