I sniffed the air.

“Do we smell better?” He grinned down at me.

“Yes.” I wrinkled my nose back at him. “And I think I smell something cooking. Something yummy.”

His nostrils flared. “Pheasant.” He took a step forward. Instead of moving with him, I tugged at his hand to hold him back. He gave me a questioning look. “I thought you were hungry.”

“I am, but, well, I want to ask you something.” I held his right hand in my left, and with my other hand I plucked nervously at my lip.

“What is it you wish to ask?” His voice was friendly and curious.

“It’s, uh, about this shape-shifting thing.” I tried to meet his eyes, but I kept glancing away like a kid asking about the friggin birds and bees.

“You may ask me anything you wish.”

“Can you really do it?” My voice was a whisper he had to lean toward me to hear.

“Of course I can.” I was looking at his chest, but I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Tonight?”

He paused for a moment. Then his hand touched my chin. Gently he lifted it so my eyes met his. “There is nothing I would like more. But I cannot shape-shift tonight.”

“Why not?”

His thumb brushed across my lips. “Shape-shifting requires an enormous amount of energy. I can only maintain another form for a limited time, and when I regain my normal shape I am in a weakened state.” His smile was bittersweet. “As much as I desire otherwise, we cannot afford that weakness tomorrow.”

“Oh, I understand.” I let my disappointment show and was rewarded by his warm hand traveling down to caress my neck. I shivered, this time not with cold.

“I am sorry.” He lifted my hand and, as he had done on our wedding day, turned it over and took the meaty part of my palm gently between his teeth.

I swear, a rush of electricity shot from his teeth straight to my crotch.

“Be careful,” I purred at him. “I may just bite back.”

“I am counting on it.” His nip turned into a kiss and I loved the way his hot breath felt against my palm.

We walked back to the camp hand in hand. I was cleaner, but decidedly colder—at least some parts of me were colder. I glanced up, enjoying his strong profile and liking the fact that he slowed his pace to mine. Some of my parts were warmer, too. Not that I minded.

The guys had been busy while we were gone. They had two large fires going a few yards in front of the barn entrance, and over both were spitted several chicken-looking things, already sizzling and popping with juices. More bread and cheese appeared. My mouth was watering, and I thanked Dougal with a big grin when he handed me a wineskin and a hunk of bread. The sweet horsies had pulled a fallen log near enough to one of the fires for me to sit comfortably. I took my seat and started running my fingers through my wild hair, attempting to calm it while it dried in the warmth of the fire (between bites of bread and gulps of wine).

“Try this.” ClanFintan offered me the comb he had used earlier on my hair.

“Thank you.” Purposely I let my fingers linger on his. I couldn’t help it—he was just so damn nice to touch. Probably something to do with the horse/guy mixture. It made me want to pet him. A lot.

I worked the comb through my wild hair while the guys cooked and talked. ClanFintan moved between the two campfires, talking to his men and doing guy stuff (like wiping the already spotless blade of his claymore and scratching his privates—no, I’m just kidding, I didn’t actually see him scratch). I felt his gaze continually find me. Every so often I would meet his eyes and a look would pass between the two of us. You know the look—when you first fall in love and you can feel his caress in a gaze. It was nice but a little disconcerting. My powers of concentration (such as they are) felt befuddled and I was glad that I wasn’t going to have to solve any math problems. Well, I mean even more glad than usual.

It seemed that very little time had passed when the centaurs began dividing up the cooked birds. They were so hot the skin was split and sizzling, making me blow on the leg I was trying to eat as well as on my fingers. But it was delicious—and I didn’t hesitate to accept a second piece when it was offered.

After dinner we sat around the fires, digesting and talking. ClanFintan stayed near me. Dougal and Connor shared our fire. Three other centaurs clustered around the other campfire. Dougal explained to me before I could worry (he said with a shy smile) that this time the two “missing” centaurs were taking their turn watching our perimeter.

If I had given it much thought before tonight I would have probably found it bizarre that a creature who was half man and half horse could sit and converse after dinner. But I suppose you wouldn’t really call it “sitting.” Their horse bodies reclined with legs folded under them—which gave their human torsos the appearance of, well, sitting. It sounded strange, but I was beginning to understand that just about everything centaurs did was with an otherworldly grace. Which makes sense because, well, this was another world.

Anyway, we were relaxing and I was beginning to feel warm and dry and maybe a little sleepy. Dougal started humming a tune that sounded very much like one of my favorite Enya melodies, but I couldn’t really place it. It was just vaguely Celtic. Suddenly he stopped humming and smiled expectantly at me.

“I was just wishing our bard was with us—then I remembered we have someone even better.” He had raised his voice and all the centaurs were looking his way. “We have been blessed with the presence of Epona’s Beloved! The best storyteller in Partholon!”

As I blanched, all of the horsies grinned and shouted something that sounded like, “Hear! Hear!” I looked at ClanFintan for rescue, only to find he was beaming proudly and leading the salute.