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Aurora threw her fist in the air, hopping up and down and nearly choking on the bite of cake in her mouth. It was delicious. Texture, perfect. Flavor, perfect. Magic? Well, only one way to find out. Silently, she’d been injecting spells into her creations for days now.

Sometimes she’d try for luck or protection, but always, always, she’d envision love. Whenever Rhaego was in the room and she was silently focusing on her intention, mixing in sweet adlemia bits to encourage sweet thoughts and cloriticen root powder to attract and bind, she’d blush.

She peered down at her little test cake, then swept her hair behind her ear, listening for any sign of Rhaego upstairs. When she heard nothing, she leaned closer to the cake, circling it with her hands and whispering, “May it come to pass only if hearts are willing.”

Aurora thought his heart was willing and open to the encouragement of her magic. She’d already been serving him food spelled to promote confidence and healing, but whenever love was involved, her gran had warned against forgetting that little disclaimer.

Wiping her hands, she plated her cake, grabbed the pot of deralja she’d packed, and sped up the stairs, searching the den for her demon boyfriend. Love wasn’t the only goal she was working toward today. As she’d discovered new ingredients, another idea had begun forming in her mind. And seeing as the luncheon was tomorrow, she couldn’t waste any more time.

She found him outside, pacing and speaking to someone on his communicator. As though sensing she was there, he turned, eyes lighting when he spotted her. Damn. If his heart wasn’t willing, then her heart would end up shattered.

Picking a soft area of curly creeping moss along their den’s stream, she laid out her items and waited.

“You have the coordinates set?” Rhaego asked, then paused as whoever he spoke to answered. “Who’ll be point?” His scowl deepened and he rubbed his brows before nodding. “Understood.”

Aurora rethought her plan. She didn’t need to pile anymore on him today. He was already dealing with so much. Who was she to think she could help with a mission like this?

He donned a tight smile as he strode toward her, and her heart pinched. “What do you have there?” he asked, peering down at her.

“Um…actually, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Have you perfected your cake?” A large grin spread across his face. He crouched, examining the cake and sniffing. “You did it.” He beamed at her, and she felt as though she were glowing. Scooping up the deralja pipe next to her hip, he asked. “And this?”

Aurora swallowed. “I thought we could smoke together. In celebration,” she added, heart picking up speed.

He glanced up at the sky as though assessing the time with drawn brows. “It’s early,” he commented, not exactly sounding like he was against it.

This was the part Aurora needed to prove, so she scooted closer to him, leaning forward in a way that could be regarded as suggestive or perfectly innocent. “Do you have anything else you need to do today? I’d like for us to share this cake and smoke. Enjoy our last day here together,” she added, throwing in a sad smile for good measure.

Rhaego’s eyes softened. “That would be nice. I have some preparations to make, but I can take a break for a few hours.”

He activated the deralja pipe and handed it to her, but she waved him away. “You first. You need it more than I do today.”

His outstretched hand hovering in place told her he wanted to argue.

“I insist,” she pushed. At length, he brought the pipe to his lips. As soon as he’d taken a small puff she yelled, “Stop!”

His body shot straight, head swiveling to scan for danger. But his eyes turned bewildered when he saw her broad smile. “How is it?” she asked.

Rhaego’s head pulled back at the odd question. He considered it, then hefted a shoulder. “Fine.” He peered down at the pot, creases forming between his brows. “Why? Should it not be?”

She scooted toward him more until their knees touched and grabbed the pipe from him. “Sorry,” she chuckled. “But do you remember those quena leaves I bought at the market last week? The shop owner said they’d help with sleep but to be careful with them. Remember?” she asked again.

Rhaego quirked a brow. “Yes,” he said slowly.

“Well, I packed half the pot with those leaves.”

One fang peaked out as the side of his mouth lifted, confusion etched across his face.

“Can you smell or taste a difference?”

“Aurora,” he began, “I don’t understand—”

“The husbands,” she explained. “All I had to do was ask nicely and you were ready to share this whole pot with me, and I bet if I’d urged you to keep smoking you would have, because”—her cheeks heated a little—“you’re my husband and that’s what you guys seem naturally inclined to do. Sooo…” She licked her lips, heart still pattering. “So if Diana and Maggie asked…”

Understanding had Rhaego’s eyes rounding. He lifted the pot, sniffing it and studying the contents with renewed interest. “You aim to drug them?”

“ Technically I aim for Diana and Maggie to drug them. But yes, in essence, yeah.”

“It won’t render them unconscious,” he gently explained.

Aurora grinned more widely. “No. But you said that the problem with giving them the spray is that the men could catch them before they had the chance to use it. But if they get tired enough and high enough and just a little distracted, then…” In a flourish, she flipped her cake into her palm, showing the hollowed-out bottom where a small canister of sleep spray sat along with a bag of quena leaves. “When they’re all groggy and out of it, then the girls can spray them. I got the idea yesterday morning when my cake collapsed in the center,” she explained.

Rhaego picked up the canister between two claws, and his jaw worked, tensing and untensing. Doubt wriggled through her. He wasn’t saying anything. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“It’s a terrible idea, isn’t it? I just thought if all the men here are so eager to do whatever their wives want and they’re extra eager because the heat is almost here, then maybe…”

“I think it could work. Do you think your friends are capable of something like this?”

“Oh, definitely.” Aurora took in a large breath. “You really think it’s good?”

He grinned at her, taking the upturned cake out of her hand and sniffing it. “There would be no conceivable reason for a male to turn down an offer to smoke with his wife, unless he doesn’t partake.”

“They do,” Aurora quickly confirmed. “The girls talked about it at the luncheon, and they said they use different pipes when they do it, so they wouldn’t even have to fake smoking the dosed deralja.”

“And if they’re anywhere near as distracting as you, this plan should work. Well done, little doe.”

“Great.” She shot up from where she’d been sitting.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To make more cakes. I’ve only made one so far,” she explained.

Aurora was halfway to the door when she turned. “Oh, uh…” She pointed to the cake she’d left with him. “I made that specially for you. I hope you like it.” And I hope you eat it and fall in love with me and admit your everlasting devotion. She turned away to hide the blush on her cheeks and sped back to the kitchen.

***

Rhaego didn’t see Aurora again until dinner that night. He’d spent the day packing his supplies, staring down the cliffside to plan his route, and performing a rigorous stretching regimen to ensure his muscles were prepared for the work ahead.

He picked at his food with a claw, familiar anxious energy seeping in to cool his blood the way it did every time he prepared for a big climb.

“No good?” Aurora asked. She chewed slowly, eyes wrinkled in disappointment.

“Very good,” he disagreed, dutifully inhaling a large bite. The food she’d prepared was not perfect by any stretch, but the fact that she’d seen him work all day and wanted to take a chore off his mind turned any food she served him into the best dish he’d ever had.

“Nervous, then?” she asked, pushing her own food around as though his melancholy had stolen her appetite as well.

He didn’t know how to answer. Was he nervous? He supposed. The next three days would be challenging for a myriad of reasons, and the place from which he’d grown accustomed to drawing comfort—anywhere within Aurora’s orbit—would be far, far away. “It’s unwise to not be nervous before a mission,” he answered noncommittally.

Her critical gaze told him she knew the answer wasn’t entirely truthful, but she didn’t need to be burdened with his worries.

Swallowing the remainder of his food down though he wasn’t hungry, he clapped his hands together. “Shall we try your plan now?”

Drink halfway to her lips, she paused. “My plan?”

Rhaego nodded, sitting back in his chair and producing the deralja pipe she’d cleverly packed with quena leaves. “I was already planning to dose myself with a sleep aid so I could get a solid restful night.” A night without tossing and turning and waking every few hours to relieve his aching cock. “I don’t know how long it’ll be before I’m able to sleep again,” he explained. “Why not test your plan? See if you can dose me.”

“Oh.” Her gaze trailed to the flaming orange horizon. “Now?”

“I’d like to sleep for ten hours at least. Phirdo will arrive in the early afternoon tomorrow. Depending on how long it takes you to catch me unaware, this feels like the right time.” He gestured to her plate. “Once you’re done, of course. Oh.” He pulled a little canister out of his pocket. “Using this spray, if you don’t mind. It’s a low dose. The ones we’ll give the other humans—if this works—is triple the strength.”

“Okay.” Slowly, she took the canister. Her gaze remained fixed on the table, mind working. “Rhaego,” she began, a casual curiosity in her voice, “could I see your room?”

He hadn’t expected her to take him by surprise quite so soon, and he stuttered over his words. “Uh, yes. Sure. Why?”

Gracing him with a pretty smile, she shrugged. “I’ve never seen it before.”

He tried to think like a typical husband. If a wife asked to see their rooms, would they find it odd? Perhaps. But any male with a pulse would be daft to turn down a female asking to enter his bedchamber.

Quietly, they made their way through the house. She’d stashed the canister, but he hadn’t seen where.

She stopped in place, holding up a finger. “Actually I’ll meet you there. Gotta grab something.”

Rhaego was a tidy male by nature, but in his haste to see Aurora each morning, he’d neglected his room. He rushed to straighten the worst of the clutter.

“Very nice.” Her soft voice floated to him from the doorway. He turned just as she took a step inside and stopped, swaying on her feet, eyes slipping shut. “Whoa.” Her chest expanded. “It smells so good in here.”

Rhaego’s shoulders shot back. It stroked his ego to no end whenever Aurora mentioned enjoying his musk.

As if she’d been here a hundred times before, she crossed to his bed and perched atop it, lifting a second deralja pipe she’d brought with her, then lifting a steaming mug. “I made this for you.” She extended the mug toward him. He eyed it. Would that be dosed too for good measure? She’d need to ensure her friends knew how to make tea on their own if so.

“It’s just tea. I promise,” she whispered, hand cupped near her mouth as though sharing a secret.

Slowly, he took the mug. Sniffing it and flicking the knotted yellow ribbon she’d tied around the lip of the mug. It smelled bitter, and the surface glistened as though the brew was a little oily, but nothing smelled off.

Her demeanor shifted back to the nonchalance from a moment ago. “I thought you could drink it while we enjoy a pipe. Would you like to smoke with me?”

Rhaego took a large gulp of the tea. Unusual, but not suspicious. “I would,” he agreed, at length.

She activated her pot, patting the bed beside her.

He knew she was putting on a show, demonstrating how this little ruse—which he hadn’t decided whether or not to go through with yet—could work. But his fever bubbled anyway. He had her on his bed, within his grasp.

Swallowing down another bitter gulp of tea, he powered on his pipe and joined her, sitting a respectable distance away as he imagined the other husbands might unless invited closer.

Aurora clicked her tongue, then scooted toward him, bouncing lusciously with each little scoot. “Cheers,” she said, clinking their pots together before lifting hers to her mouth. He took a reasonable puff, and she laughed. She reached over again, and her breasts brushed firmly against his bicep as she placed one finger under the base of his pot, urging it upward. “Really? You’re so big, that’s not going to do anything.”

The jab was gentle, but the words combined with the feel of her soft bosom were enough to distract him and spike his fever, leaving him absently lifting the pipe to his mouth in order to take a deeper pull. The tea had left a faint slippery coating in his mouth that allowed the smoke to glide down his throat without any irritation.

“Good husband,” she purred, lifting to her knees to kiss his cheek.

Rhaego’s insides short-circuited. Forget misgivings—he was so bewitched he’d happily open the pot and eat the contents if she hinted she might want him to.

Seeming to understand her effect, she grinned. Her gaze drifted around the space. “I like your room.” She gestured to his mug. “Done?”

He swallowed the remainder of the drink and placed the mug in her outstretched hand.

“Thank you,” he croaked, unable to tear his attention away from her as she stood, set the empty mug on the small shelf near the head of his bed, and started exploring.

The room was useful, but nothing spectacular. He hadn’t bothered decorating. Most didn’t since it was customary for husbands to visit their wives’ rooms when they shared a bed, not the other way around.

Gait slow, she sauntered around the space, peering at the collection of equipment spread over every surface. She lifted her deralja pipe to him in a gesture that told him to join her in taking another puff. He did, thinking nothing of it.

Perhaps it was the quena leaves already working, or perhaps her delicate scent moving through the place he’d spent each night pleasuring himself while imagining her was what made his mind go fuzzy. She stopped in place and shot him a probing glance over her shoulder before turning back to whatever it was she’d spotted.

Rhaego’s limbs weighed him down, so he just sighed and watched as she bent at her hips and presented him with her glorious backside. He smoked again, this time to cool his fever.

“You kept this?” When she turned back, she held a broken horn in her hand. He should be feeling embarrassed she’d found that. Logically, he knew that, but he was too relaxed to care.

“It was for you,” he murmured.

Aurora blinked down at the horn, turning it over in her hand. Her mouth quirked up on the side, and she sauntered toward him. Her swaying hips hit him as though he’d taken another puff. On instinct, or perhaps out of hope, he spread his knees at her approach, silently begging the Goddess to urge his bride to step between his legs.

His purr rumbled to life when she did just that.

Her wide hips brushed against his inner thighs, eyes nearly level with his for once. His fingers itched to grab her.

“You said something.” She squinted down at the horn. “I remember just before I passed out, you handed this to me and said…”

“An offering for you,” he recalled, words forming a little slower than normal. “My little wife.”

Pink rose to her cheeks. With a start, he realized he’d actually grabbed her hips, claws retracted and fingertips kneading the soft flesh on either side of her low spine. She didn’t stop him. Instead she took a dainty puff, not inhaling much of anything, then grabbed his discarded pipe and brought it to his lips for him. He inhaled.

Angling the curled horn, she eyed him and pressed the tip against his torso in the spot where he’d been stabbed. “Did it hurt?” she breathed.

Etiquette near forgotten, he let his gaze trail over every inch of her, reveling in her proximity. “It hurt my pride,” he muttered, dipping his nose to her throat and inhaling until his lungs ran out of space.

“Scoot up on the bed,” she directed.

His arms locked around her thighs petulantly, forcing her to fall against his chest.

“You can take me with you,” she crooned into his ear when he refused to move.

His fever built, warming his veins. Pulling away, Rhaego released a growl of frustration. “Little doe, there is no drug potent enough to put me under if you let me do that.”

Smashing his face in the divot between her collarbones—wishing his nose was between her breasts instead—he took in a final inhale, then gently used his grip on her hips to guide her back a few steps.

Limbs heavy and movements clumsy, he dragged himself up the bed, making it just far enough to collapse onto his pillow. The quena leaves were working, but he could still stop her from spraying him if he really wanted.

Aurora reclined next to him. His lids drooped when she brushed her forefinger gently across his brow bone, then down the ridge of his nose, then across his cheeks. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything. Anytime. You never need ask.” His groggy head slumped side to side as he spoke.

“You’re nervous about tomorrow. I can tell. Are you worried about the swim? The climb?”

Rhaego considered it, though his thoughts were difficult to grab onto at the moment. “The swim will be taxing but not worrisome. The climb…” He was about to assure her the climb was also of no consequence—because in reality, it wasn’t—but a different truth emerged in his throat. After a few moments, he spoke it aloud. “My father died climbing.”

Her hand stilled.

“It’s one of the most shameful ways a Tuvastan can die,” he quietly admitted.

“I’m so sorry.” Her palm firmed against his cheek, and as her forehead came to rest on his, he purred. “We can find another way. You don’t have to climb.”

“I always harbor a bit of fear, but it isn’t a logical concern. I’m an excellent climber.” The words sounded smug to his own ears, regardless of whether they were true. Aurora didn’t seem to mind.

“Well, then what? What’s making you the most nervous about tomorrow? Is it me?”

“Do you make me nervous?” He couldn’t hold in his low chuckle. “I can scarce breathe around you.”

Silence rang, and he forced his heavy lids to open, though he hadn’t remembered shutting them. Her head was propped in her hand, face hovering above his. She lay on her hip, and he groaned at the profile of her body, itching to run his palm along the dips and curves.

Rhaego’s head fell as far to the side as it could with his horns pressed against the pillow. She was so beautiful. The Goddess had stolen pieces of the sky to form her eyes and weaved pale morning sunlight through her hair.

“I fear I’ll fail.”

The doubt inside him welled again. He swallowed past a knot in his throat.

“I fear I won’t earn you.”

Aurora’s pale brows knit, and her soft fingers swept across his temple and down his cheek. “Why would you say that?” she whispered.

“I wasn’t supposed to catch you, little doe. It was Diana I was meant to chase. But…” His gaze drifted across her face a longing so deep it pained him building in his chest. “I have a greedy soul,” he whispered. “A blighted soul.” Rhaego couldn’t understand the words falling from his lips. He didn’t believe that. He actively and with years of great effort didn’t believe the nonsense he’d been taught. So then why did the admission feel so true? “I infect those who care for me. I’m the reason he fell.”

“That can’t possibly be true.” She leaned closer, unheedful of his warnings.

He needed to make her understand. He couldn’t have her yet. He wasn’t worthy of her yet.

“Your mother said he was a drunk. Did that have something to do with it?”

“He didn’t drink before I arrived,” Rhaego pressed. “He started because I frightened him.” He blinked, turning to stare at the ceiling. “My mother pretended otherwise. But I could see the truth in her eyes when I asked about him.”

Aurora wrenched his head toward her, forcing him to face her. Her expression was hard. Fierce. “There is nothing wrong with you. His death? It’s correlation, not causation. You’re a good man with a heart of gold.” Her words were vicious, confusing the kind meaning behind them.

Rhaego grinned and brushed his fingers along her jaw, drinking in the sight of her fiery eyes. “Do you have a fever too, little doe?”

Her glare softened, and she took a deep breath. “Only when it comes to you.”

She kissed him then. A sweet, soft kiss that made his heart leap.

“You’ve already earned me, Rhaego,” she whispered, making him shiver though he rejected her words. “I’m already yours.”

Something silver flashed in front of his eyes, and before he could remember what he’d been trying to prevent, his mind went blank.

***

Aurora continued to brush her fingers across Rhaego’s handsome face long after he’d fallen asleep. She hated the harshness with which he judged himself. It seemed to live in him like a cancer he held at bay with acts of service and personal sacrifice.

“What am I gonna do with you?” she whispered.

With a sigh, she twisted and grabbed his empty mug. She pulled off the yellow ribbon she’d tied nine knots in—the number of completion, repeating her enchantment while tying each knot and then again silently in her head as he drank.

Aurora dropped the ribbon into the mug, letting the dregs of the tea soak in. “Let the noise of gossip fade. May only truth and kindness be spoken,” she chanted again, this time above the warm remains of the tea, watching as light brown liquid saturated the yellow fabric.

Her gaze drifted back to Rhaego, brows drawn even in sleep. Maybe one day, with time and a little magic, he’d begin to truly see himself the way she did. “You are a good man,” she breathed into his hair while placing a kiss between his drawn brows.

She repeated the words over and over until the lines on his face relaxed and the sky outside turned black.