She snatched her precious mirror from the bureau. And seeing her own face reminded her why she would keep Midir alive. He’d given her this gift.

“There I am,” she said softly. “So beautiful. The moon pales, yes, yes, it does. I’m right here. I’ll always be here. The rest is ghosts. And here I am.”

Picking up a brush, she began to groom her hair, and to sing. With tears in her eyes.

“D rink this.” Glenna pushed a cup to Cian’s lips, and immediately had it pushed aside.

“I’m fine. I’m not after drinking whiskey, or swooning on you without it.”

“You’re pale.”

His lips quirked. “Part of the whole undead package. Well. That was quite a ride.”

Since he refused it, Glenna took a sip of the whiskey herself, then passed it off to Moira. “E-ticket. She didn’t sense us,” she said to Moira. “I’d like to think my blocks and binding were enough, but I think, in large part, she was just too caught up to feel us.”

“She was so young.” Moira sat now. “So young, and in love with that worthless prick of a man. I don’t know what language they were speaking. I could understand her, strangely enough, but I didn’t know the tongue.”

“Greek. She started out a priestess for some goddess. Virginity’s part of the job description.” Cian wished for blood, settled for water. “And save your pity. She was ripe for what happened.”

“As you were?” Moira shot back. “And don’t pretend you felt nothing for her. We were linked. I felt your pity. Her heart was broken, and moments later, she’s raped and taken by a demon. I can despise what Lilith is and feel pity for Lilia.”

“Lilia was already half mad,” he said flatly. “Maybe the change is what kept her relatively sane all this time.”

“I agree. I’m sorry,” Glenna said to Moira. “And I got no pleasure out of seeing what happened to her. But there was something in her eyes, in her tone—and God, in the way she ultimately responded to Jarl. She wasn’t quite right, Moira, even then.”

“Then she might have died by her own hand, or been executed for killing the man who used her. But she’d have died clean.” She sighed. “And we might not be here, discussing the matter. It all gives you a headache if you think about it hard enough. I have a delicate question, which is more for my own curiosity than anything else.”

She cleared her throat before asking Cian. “How she responded, as Glenna said. Is that not usual?”

“Most fight, or freeze with fear. She, on the other hand, participated after the... delicacy escapes me,” Cian admitted. “After she began to feel pleasure from the rape. It was rape, no mistake, and no sane woman gains pleasure from being brutalized and forced.”

“She was already his before the bite,” Moira murmured. “He knew she would be, recognized that in her. She knew what to do to change—to drink from him. Everything I’ve read has claimed the victim must be forced or told. It must be offered. She took. She understood, and she wanted.”

“We know more than we did, which is always useful,” Cian commented. “And the episode unnerved her, an added benefit. I’ll sleep better having accomplished that. Now it’s past my bedtime. Ladies.”

Moira watched him go. “He feels. Why do you think he goes to such lengths to pretend he doesn’t?”

“Feelings cause pain, a great deal of the time. I think when you’ve seen and done so much, feelings could be like a constant ache.” Glenna laid a hand on Moira’s shoulder. “Denial is just another form of survival.”

“Feelings loosed can be either balm or weapon.”

What would his be, she wondered, if fully freed?

Chapter 9

T he rain slid into a soggy twilight that curled a smoky fog low over the ground. As night crept in, no moon, no stars could break through the gloom.

Moira waded through the river of fog over the courtyard to stand beside Glenna.

“They’re nearly home,” Glenna murmured. “Later than we’d hoped, but nearly home.”

“I’ve had the fires lit in your room and Larkin’s, and baths are being prepared. They’ll be cold and wet.”

“Thanks. I didn’t think of it.”

“When we were in Ireland, you thought of all the comfort details. Now it’s for me.” Like Glenna, Moira watched the skies. “I’ve ordered food for the family parlor, unless you’d rather be private with Hoyt.”

“No. No. They’ll want to report everything at once. Then we’ll be private.” She lifted her hand to grip her cross and the amulet she wore with it. “I didn’t know I’d be so worried. We’ve been in the middle of a fight, outnumbered, and I haven’t obsessed like this.”

“Because you were with him. To love and to wait is worse than a wound.”

“One of the lessons I’ve learned. There have been so many of them. You’d be worried about Larkin, I know. And about Tynan now. He has feelings for you.”

Moira understood Glenna didn’t mean Larkin. “I know. Our mothers hoped we might make a match of it.”

“But?”

“Whatever needs to be there isn’t there for me. And he’s too much a friend. Maybe having no lover to wait for, no lover to lose, makes it easier for me to bear all of this.”

Glenna waited a beat. “But.”

“But,” Moira said with a half laugh. “I envy you the torture of waiting for yours.”

From where she stood Moira saw Cian, the shape of him coming through the gloom. From the stables, she noted. Rather than the cloak the men of Geall would wear against the chill and rain, he wore a coat similar to Blair’s. Long and black and leather.

It billowed in the mists as he crossed to them with barely a sound of his boots against the wet stones.

“They won’t come any sooner for you standing in the damp,” he commented.

“They’re nearly home.” Glenna stared up at the sky as if she could will it to open and send Hoyt down to her. “He’ll know I’m waiting.”

“If you were waiting for me, Red, I wouldn’t have left in the first place.”

With a smile, she tipped her head so it leaned against his shoulder. When he put his arm around Glenna, Moira saw in the gesture the same affection she herself had with Larkin, the kind that came from the heart, through family.