Epilogue

Taran grinned down at Solène, vastly amused by her look of consternation. “No. I will not budge on this. Ten days, Isolde said ten days. It has been seven.”

She let out a groan, rolled her eyes, and kicked a leg in protest. At her ankle, Mercury began to growl. “For the love of the ancestors, Taran, I feel fine. I can’t stand this bed any longer.”

“I know.” Chuckling, Taran sat on the edge of the mattress, mere inches from the cat. Yellow-green eyes met Taran’s. He twitched his tail, but he didn’t hiss. Something Taran was still trying to get used to. He shook his head at the tom and clasped Solène’s hand, lifted it to his lips, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “But I want you healed enough that I can return to the bed with you, when you get up.”

Seven days had passed. Seven days of sheer torture, for he had yet to spend a night by her side. He’d slept in the chair, never far away in case she needed something in the middle of the night, but he had yet to indulge in an entire night of freedom from his curse.

“Why don’t you crawl in beside me now?” She nodded at the window. “The moon is out. We can stargaze in the dark.” She nudged her ankle again, jostling Mercury. Impishness fringed Solène’s smile. “He won’t mind.”

No, Taran was quite certain Mercury wouldn’t care. The day after Solène’s attack, he’d ventured down the alley in search of the misbegotten creature. To Taran’s surprise, the cat followed him home. Ever since, the cat cared more about napping than anything else. He had even taken to laps—Solène’s, despite Taran’s many tuna fish bribes.

But while the cat wouldn’t mind, Taran refused to budge. He shook his head at Solène, determined she would be healed before he gave in to the fierce desire. If he touched her, if she curled that delightfully nude body into his, he would forget every stitch she possessed.

“Taran.” She sighed. “This is ridiculous. Get in the bed, or I’m getting out. One way or the other, I am going to touch you. All over.”

Taken aback by her unexpected confession, he blinked. Desire sparked to life. Dark, hungry, and frighteningly needy.

“For the love of the ancestors, Taran, it is my head that bears stitches still.” She gave his arm a hard tug. “If you are going to be this overprotective, I swear I will not give you children. You’ll suffocate them with your worrying.”

True, quite probably. But he liked to think his constant state of worry would fade the more he became accustomed to the reality that Drandar was dead, that his curse could never affect Solène, and that they were truly free to love as they had longed to do.

Solène gave him a coy bat of her eyelashes. Her voice assumed a husky tone. “How do you propose to enjoy our first full night together, when we will be in America with Belen and Faith? Newborns cry through the night.” She widened her eyes in false innocence. “They are so easy to wake as well.”

Taran grumbled as his control began to slip. He didn’t know how to say no to her. Didn’t want to.

She lifted to her elbows and pressed her lips to the side of his throat, sending the cat to the opposite side of the bed, where he curled up on Taran’s pillow. “Touch me, Taran.”

Her throaty whisper shattered what remained of his restraint. Easing himself over her body, he braced his weight on his hands. She sank into the bed, drawing his mouth down with her. At the languorous stroke of her tongue, pleasure saturated his awareness. A soft groan rumbled in the back of his throat.

But a far more pressing need struck. One he had yet to give in to, though she had been fully conscious since the morning after his sisters healed her. He had wanted to wait until he could put action with word, until the feeling in his heart could spill out through the touch of his hands.

Easing the kiss to a lingering close, Taran smoothed Solène’s silken hair away from her face. His gaze held hers. “I love you.”

“Mm.” A delightful smile spread across her lips. “I thought you’d never say that again.”

“And…” He inhaled deeply. He had given her words of love before. Promised forever with his body. But he had never offered the eternity she most desired. He couldn’t when he knew at any moment he might take her life. Slowly, he released the breath he held. “I would like, very much, to marry you.”

A soft gasp escaped her lips. “Oh, Taran.” Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she levered herself upright, capturing his mouth once more.

Taran indulged in her sweetness.

Drank down the heady flavor that she alone possessed.

He didn’t need her words.

They were nothing but a thin veneer compared to the love that flowed through her kiss.

A word about the author...

Claire Ashgrove has been writing since her early teens and maintained the hobby for twenty years before deciding to leap into the professional world. Her first contemporary novel, Seduction's Stakes, sold to The Wild Rose Press in 2008, where she continues to write steamy, sexy stories for the Champagne and Black Rose lines. Adding to these critically acclaimed romances, Claire’s paranormal romance series, The Curse of the Templars debuted with Tor in January 2012. For those who prefer the more erotic side of romance, she also writes for Berkley Heat as the National Bestselling Author Tori St. Claire.

Claire lives in Missouri with her two toddler sons, fifteen horses, five cats, and five dogs. In her “free” time, she enjoys cooking, winning at Rummy, studying ancient civilizations, and spending quiet moments with her family, including the critters. She credits her success to her family's constant support and endless patience.

To learn more about Claire, visit her on the web at www.claireashgrove.com, or www.toristclaire.com.