#da dwc

Summary: Nathaniel lets his mind run off with him.

a/n: The prompt Inglenook—a cozy nook by the hearth was sent to me by @a-song-in-the-stillness for my Cousland and Nathaniel Howe. This was sent for the @dadrunkwriting—I’ve toyed with writing this pairing for a while. I’ve written him and Cousland in a few times but never really focused on a single target for her identity. At least until now. This was not at all what I was intending when this started—really thought it would be fluff or something a little bawdy.

Inglenook

Nathaniel stared at the heart of the fire, where red coals peeked out amongst the dark shadows in the fuel. He plucked absently at a fold in the material folded at his knee. His mind raced. He never set out to invade her privacy. Just moved the papers off the blankets. But he couldn’t get the words he saw out of his head. She’d described them as whispers from a nightmare.

“Return to me my children. Bring the strongest into the darkness. Offer them to my service.”

It didn’t seem too horrible, until he swept up the next slip of parchment bearing only two words and a question mark—the calling?

Like every Warden, he knew the stories. The seneschal was a trove of information that he did not mind sharing. Some of the others, visitors from other orders would offer stories for the younger and newer Wardens of Ferelden. He knew what the words meant, and since finding them in her hand with franticly scrawled ominous phrases, he could not keep his mind from darting into the darkness looming at the edge of his mind.

He’d only just found her. Even so, he knew he could not lose her. Not yet.

The chair with its wings and high back enclosed him from the rest of the world, offered him a private nook where he could rest his chin in his hand and contemplate what he’d found, what he didn’t want to face.

She hadn’t been a Warden that much longer than he had. Surely, it couldn’t happen so quickly. He felt nothing at all. Sure there were nightmares, but no illusions or voices invading his mind.

Could it just be her? Why? Could it be the archdemon she’d killed? Perhaps dispatching one came with more dangers than just fire, teeth, and claws?

Thank you! I’m not sure why this was a struggle, the desire to be a perfectionist is real.

My first prompt for @dadrunkwriting

“I’m just disappointed” and I wrote it for fenders (a sort of with-magic-modern-au)

Oooo thank you! I’m going to combine this with the lovely prompt from @contreparry + a wip that I’ve been sitting on for a while!

Dimitri x Iron Bull | ~1561 words | angst | please don’t skin my alive for this ending

for @dadrunkwriting

--

“A lot of wounds aren’t lethal, Bull.”

“Most of the time when you wound someone, they die Dimitri.”

The conversation filtered in and out of Dimitri’s ears as easily as he breathed and stared down at his blood stained hands. It crackled against his skin, the itch undeniable but the desire to scrub the dryness away was in the back of his mind, too much sitting at the front. The same itch crackled in the joints near his elbows and down the sides of his armor, painting leather and cloth deep, disgusting red.

He rubbed his thumbs against his index fingers, taking a deep breath of sandy air that dried his throat; the back of his throat tasted like ash and burning hair, unsure if it was real or not. It didn’t matter if it was real or not, he still felt it.

Griffin’s Wing Keep bustled not far off, the din sinking through the stone to the infirmary tucked away in the coolest parts below the Keep. His ear bent with the sound of screams and he knew that was his brain playing tricks on him, but he was never sure of it. A pained yell of his name struck like a bell high above the rest and a sharp breath like a cold bucket of water knocked him below the surface.

“Bull...Bull, I-I need you to stay with me!” Dimitri pleaded, throat swelling and tightening against the flood of tears in his already narrow, bloodied vision. It was hot against his hands--oh god there was so much of the red spilling in rivulets welling through his hands to slide down his wrists. It soaked into his sleeves, bloodied his own skin. Shouting pressed against his ears, but the ringing drowned out the sound; the blood stained grey skin, his heart and lungs under grey skin moving too fast. Bull’s eyes rolling his skull face growing too pale too quickly, hands reaching out for something--for someone. Dimitri had pulled his hand in close, holding onto him for dear life. He knew the panic of blood running too fast from one’s body, a feeling he had tasted in his throat—a feeling he had embraced before--touched intimately and knew better than most people.

A feeling like a shot of panic straight into his blood snapped the world back into sharp detail like a broken mirror.

“Dimitri?”

The pieces shattered to dust in his hands and a breath filled his lungs sharply, sand burning deep in his chest, body tightening enough to make his legs cramp. He casted his gaze up, blinking as Solas stood before him. The elf’s hands folded behind his back, something along the lines of sympathy and forlorn in his purple grey eyes.

He swallowed down his dry burlap throat, squeezing his eyes as another wave of tears threatened to spill. His cheeks had already been stung with their salt too many times to count today.

“Yes…?” He managed with a crack in his voice. One Solas could forgive him for.

“Iron Bull is awake now, if you would like to speak with him.” He told and Dimitri blinked, looking back down at his hands. That was right, Bull’s blood had soaked his skin.

Venatori rogue got him, wasn’t looking hard enough. Twice in the gut, but the rogue’s head went falling to the dirt with a slash of a great sword. Bull fell not a second later, blood soaking the thirsty sand below. It drank so much that he didn’t know if he had any left within him; Dimitri had prayed, silently screamed, that it had been enough to satisfy the earth.

He still wondered why the flashes of Bull taking the blow, falling to the dirt, all that blood, still soaked into his head. Watching anyone else fall would be hard to swallow, but none like the haunting this plagued him with. It was akin to the dead ghosts all around, swirling and gripping him tight; old ghosts that spoke of lost love.

“Dimitri.” Solas spoke yet again and Dimitri’s eyes drifted back. He kneeled before him, taking his hands in his. They shook even as his knuckles grew white from squeezing too hard. He watched precious water soak a rag and how Solas wiped the dried iron from his fingers, rolling his copper skin between pale fingers, stretching them out to let them shake fearfully and openly. The itch soothed and a breath left his aching chest as he finished, letting his hands constrict once more to white knuckles.

“Go see him.” Solas didn’t ask, but stated and Dimitri nodded, the command enough to spur him to action. He lumbered to his feet, joints burning in protest but nonetheless they moved. His chest contracted with a breath and he turned on his heel, knowing exactly which tent.

He shoved the tent flap aside, bright light flashing in the dim, and the air brimmed with the stench of healing herbs—elfroot and embrium—hit him right off the bat. His whole face wrinkled and he grimaced, smelling the burn of alcohol and iron underneath. His eyes took naught but a moment to adjust and it was easy to spot the large figure of Bull laying on one the cots.

Dimitri quietly made his way through the other cots filled with those suffering from their own wounds, their own blood having spilled to the dirt or upon their comrades. Such times could never see enough blood; it was enough to drown most men and Dimitri had long since sunk below the surface, waiting for death to take hold. He lazily grabbed a nearby stool and approached, planting it before he came to sit beside Bull. An uncomfortable seat, but he was past the point of caring what was uncomfortable.

Bull’s chest moved steadily, arms draped over his stomach wrapped in bandages, the stench of herbs overwhelming this close. Bull softly turned his head and half opened his eyes, grey eyes looking to Dimitri. His pale lips turned in a weak smile, the look much stronger in his eyes even with the heaviness etched into his features. He looked nearly gaunt in the face, too pale for any good. It caught in the tangled web in Dimitri’s chest and yanked at his heart underneath.

“Hey....” He breathed in his gruff voice and Dimitri quickly hushed him, placing a warm clean hand against his arm. It was almost cool to the touch, almost shaking.

“Don’t...don’t or you’ll make it worse.” He spoke in a trembling voice and Bull grunted, sliding his hand back to lace into Dimitri’s. Hsi grip was weak, but he still held.

“Had worse.” He reminded him and Dimitri huffed, lips curling in distaste as his hand involuntarily squeezed Bull’s.

“That isn't the point.” Dimitri managed to get out and Bull cocked an eyebrow, somehow managing to look utterly unimpressed by him. Dimitri’s jaw clenched, meeting his gaze with a wicked one of his own. “You...you can’t do that again.”

“My job?” Bull inquired with no shortage of questioning and Dimitri bit his lips with his pointed teeth.

“It’s not your job to almost die. You....” He started, a hiccuping breath catching at the blooming sensation in his chest; a mirror to the sensation of the flashbacks earlier. “You are too important to die at this point.”

“Dying in a fight wouldn’t be bad.” Bull told him and Dimitri pulled his hand from Bull’s, snapping his hands to his legs, the sound of them harsh in the muffled sounds of the tent, drawing silence all around.

“I need you alive...” He bit his lip hard, the feeling blooming stronger and stronger in his chest.

“You couldn't take that blow.”

“Watch me.” Dimitri fired back, his tone biting and Bull’s eyes narrowed like the game was up. And Dimitri was tired of the game--tired of bouncing around this, what the two of them were, what they meant to each other. He was tired of the physical, the only thing that bound them beyond duty. They were past duty and he was past fussing on defining what they were.

He was tired of himself, most of all. Decades had slid past since those days and he knew in his bones how the dead begged him to let them die--to let them fall to dirt and ashes to remain that way. They were gone and no holding on, no pain he forced himself through, to contort himself to fit a certain way, was ever going to bring them back. Falon’din had taken them to the Beyond and no amount of curses for his god could bring them back to his arms.  They were ashes and dead lost to the wind and buried beneath the sands they had called home. They had died in the places they loved with the people they loved and....and maybe it was time for Dimitri to do the same. Let them rest to make a new resting place for himself. A new home, new people--a new place to call his own.

He knew why the memories burned and ate in his chest, burning old warm thoughts back to memories to remain in those coffins in his head. He knew the words for it now--the others willing him to let him speak them. Let the dead be dead and the new take hold; let newness grow.

Dimitri sucked in a deep breath--vowing to hold it until the words could come from his mouth--and he spoke.

Cold splattered on the side of his head, falling into the collar of his cloak. Zevran turned on the spot, not seeing who threw it. He knew, just knew it had to be Cyna. He took a step away from the cliff’s edge and only caught the flash of white in his peripheral vision. 

A chill shook through him as snow sneaked beneath his armor and started melting. “Oh you sneaky minx,” he yelled, dashing in the direction the snowball came from. “When I find you my Warden, and I will find you, I will exact my revenge.”

He followed the sound of crunching snow, until it halted. Zevran froze too, his eyes skimming the forest for the least sign of her. But he found none.

Another shot hit him in the back of the head. He spun on his heels, eyes rising to the trees.

“Ah, ha.”

Cyna laughed, a bright, full sound that rang in the cold air. The sound instantly warmed him to the core, as well as the grin she wore. “For an assassin, you’re an easy target.”

“I wasn’t trying to go unseen, my Warden.”

She tossed another snowball in a gloved hand. 

“Don’t you dare,” Zevran warned.

Cyna’s smile broadened. “What are you going to do? Punish me?”

The former Crow’s smile curled with mischief. “Sounds like that’s exactly what you want.”

“And if it is?”

“Then all you had to do was ask, amor.”

Cyna chuckled, her eyes dancing with playfulness. “I thought you enjoyed the thrill of the chance,” she countered.

When she threw the snowball at him, Zevran ducked. When he faced her once more, he noticed she was gone. He knew Cyna was lithe, had seen it in battle more often than he’d like to know, but seeing her launch herself from branch to branch amused him. She seemed to just know where to jump and land to make her way through the trees.

It took him a moment to realize she was getting away and he took off after her. His gaze never left her, either her form or the flutter of her cape. But she never looked back. She wasn’t looking to see how close he was; she focused on where she was headed.

He was sure she was leading him toward something. The thought made him smile as his breathing started to become heavier. He let her lead, never overcoming her, even once she jumped to the ground.

Eventually, she ducked into a cave. He followed, and quickly found himself whirling around. His back slammed into a cold wall, then her lips crashed against his. Zevran’s arms circled her waist and pulled her body against his. 

“Why were you pelting me from the trees?” he asked.

“You weren’t paying attention,” she whispered against his mouth. 

“And this?”

“A surprise,” she said, as she nibbled his neck. 

“I do enjoy the occasional surprise.” He brought her lips to meet his then stuffed a snowball down the back of her cloak.

Cyna broke their kiss with a screeching gasp. “Zevran!”

Summary: In war decisions are made that not all will agree with or like.

a/n: Inspired by a prompt from @katalyna-rose. Thank you so much for this. Though I’m not sure I managed to capture the extra angst. Written for @dadrunkwriting sorry that it took so long. Thank you again for the prompt.

Links:  AO3 | FFnet

Summary: A lazymorning that shouldn’tbe all that lazy.

a/n: Written tofill a prompt from @stargeant. Thank you very much. Sorry it is on the shortside.

Sunrise

The chilly mountain winds sneaked through the flap of thetent, tickling bare flesh and raising goosebumps. Cyna grumbled into the pillowand pulled the blanket over her shoulder, baring Zevran’s pert rear to the cold. The assassin cuddled closer,pulling back a bit of the thick furry cover. The warden growled. Her hand hadfisted tightly, which brought Zevran that much closer. He tugged gently at herwaist and covered part of her back with his own body.

“Zev,”she mumbled beneath him.

He didn’twant to be awake, so kept his eyes closed, despite the hint of sunlightbleeding through the canvas of the tent. Burying his face between her shoulderblades, Zevran attempted to hide from the encroaching day.

Cyna hummed and shifted beneath and beside him. He didn’t know quite what state ofwaking she was in, but he was stoic in his beleif that it was far too early towake. Soft caresses. Twittering birds. The whistle of the wind. Each soundeventually registered in the sleepy fog of his mind. Then her soft laughteraccompanied a tug at the arm looped around her middle.

“Zev,I need to get up.”

“No,you don’t,” he muttered against her back. He pressed a kiss there for goodmeasure.

“Thesun’s up.”

“So?”

Cyna laughed and wiggled. Zevran, true to his role assleeping lover, kept his eyes closed against the sun and its threat to end thatmoment he wanted to extend. “We’vegot to pull up camp if we want to make it to Orzammar.”

“HangOrzammar,” he mumbled, nuzzling into the dark curve of her neck.

She chuckled when his lips teased at her skin. “Zevran Arainai.” Cyna had aknack for speaking his name in that same way a mother might. It was almostlecturing, though still quite loving.

“Yes,my dearest.” He grazed the length of her neck with the tip of his nose. When agentle moan escaped her lips, he pressed a kiss against the thin skin there.

“Wereally should leave as early as possible.”

“Itis very cold out there.” Another kiss, placed inches below the first.

“It’swinter. We’re in the mountains,” she argued, her fingers burying in his hair ashis mouth continued its track toward her collarbone.

“Indeed.You shouldn’t leave without proper warming.”

Finally, his eyes opened, but only once his lips hoveredabove her exposed nipple. Just the waft of his breath brought it to a tautpeak. He stared at her, poised to take it into his mouth.

“Zev,”she said. It was part plea, but held a note of scolding, like she stillcouldn’t decide is she wanted him to set her skin alight or not.

“I’dlike it if you stayed,” he said.

That’sall it took. A simple request. When she shook her head, Zevran latched his lipsaround her nipple and sucked at it fervently. Her back arched in his arms,fingers tightening in his golden hair of spun sunlight. The low moan she letout surely would inform any awake companions that they would be setting outlater than planned.

Summary: Cyna Mahariel is a creature of habit, but Zevran enjoys finding seemingly innocuous ways to interfere with them.

a/n: Writing to fulfill a DA DWC Writing Prompt—”If I was blind I would see you.”— sent by @motherofgriffins (aka @distractthegoddess ). Thank you so much for the wonderful request, and sincerest apologies for taking so long to fill it.

Links: AO3 | FFnet

@dadrunkwriting

-1-

The sun barely crested the walls of the Kirkwall asKnight-Captain Cullen Rutherford strolled into Hightown. Climbing through thecity from the Gallows wasn’ta quick prospect, even so it had taken him weeks to finally make his way here.And for the last several days, he found himself milling around the courtyarduntil just after dusk when he would retreat back to the Circle. Some days hewould detour into the Chantry, beg for the strength that she’d shown when sheasked a templar, who didn’t know her from the next woman in this city to meethim on the docks.

That night changed so many things. She’d entranced himbefore she even whispered the incantation. Those eyes of silvery-blue, likestarlight, held him fast. He’d had no interest in moving, no thought of placinga more proper amount of space between them. Even when her searing fingertipsblazed a trail beneath his breastplate, he hadn’t pushed her away, but pulledher closer. As she eased his fear with a melodic calm, he had stared into herface not knowing why he felt a brimming need to kiss her.

He had, too, once her incantation was complete. At the time,he hadn’t known why,couldn’t understand what drew him to her, despite his better judgment. And forthe six months since her return, since regaining his memory and unlocking thatwhich had been locked away in himself, he’d been trying a way to approach her.Not only to apologize for the pain he caused, but to beg her forgiveness.

At the time, it seemed best. The safest route to ensure sheand her family would remain unaccosted, but that decision haunted him. Evenamong the prominent courtyard of Hightown among the tendrils of sweethoneysuckles and musky roses, he stared at the Amell crest that hung above thedoor to the home she called home.

In shame, like so many other times before, he looked away,staring at his hands, calloused and scarred. She had held his heart in suchgentle hands and he’dthrown that away. True, it was in what he saw as an attempt to protect her. Tokeep her entire family safe, but still he was sure now that he’d broken herheart entirely. His own ached keenly with the separation, with his own uncertainty.

Finally, his wandering halted and he took a seat on thebench that faced the center of Kirkwall. Leaning back on the bench, he staredupwards. Past the stairs toward the keep of the city that loomed over all. 

His fixation left him vulnerable. Staring up towards thekeep drew his attention from anything else, until the ring of wood on stonewhipped his head toward the sudden and foreign sound. He stared at AderynHawke, aghast to find her there within a stretch of his arm.

“Youreally should try to be a bit less conspicuous, Knight-Captain,” she said witha tone that mixed familiarity and propriety in the strangest way.

With the formality of her, of all people, using his title,Cullen looked away. “Perhapsyou are correct, serah. I should have thought this through a bit moreclearly.“ He stood and started to walk past her.

 "Why did you come?” Her eyes were on thebase of her hand holding her father’s staff.

 He stood beside her, looking out into the night.“I’m not sure.”Then he looked at her. Memories he that had been locked away flooded back tohim, making his heart race and ache in a way that was thrilling and bordered ondebilitating. “Things have been—”

Aderyn held up her hand and shrank back into the shadow ofthe statue as a pair of guards walked past on their patrol. They saluted thetemplar when they passed and moved up the stairs toward the keep. Aderynremained in the shadows, her voice wafting out from beyond as she chose tospeak again. “Perhaps this is not a conversation for the street.”

She said nothing more. With a flutter of robes, she movedtoward her family’s estate across the courtyard. He watched her walk past him,even considered reaching out for her, but he did resist the urge against hisbetter judgement. Instead, Cullen merely gawked at her smooth walk and staredat the swish of her hips. 

Passing through the door of the estate, he noticed shestopped and glanced back at him, leaving the door open in an unspokeninvitation to enter the house. The redhead disappeared within, her form fadingin the shadows beyond the foyer. Cullen’s mind raced. His jaw flexed and loosened several times,his decision taking time.

He needed to see this through, perhaps, at least find outwhy. Why had she broken the enchantment before she disappeared into the DeepRoads? Why then? Why at all?

His footsteps, heavy on the stone, rang in his ears andthrough the empty courtyard. The pace quickened as he neared the heavy oakdoor, which he closed behind himself.

-2-

The fire crackled in the fireplace, casting strange,otherworldly shadows throughout the sitting area in the library. She spent agreat deal of time here, felt most comfortable in that part of the house,surrounded by books. Even some of her own collecting.

She sat in herchair, within the circle of warmth cast by the fire. Several books sat atop thetable between the chair that faced that roaring furnace. Aderyn stared at herhands. With the thud of the front door closing, she held her breath. Themetallic ring of footsteps eased tension in her body, replacing it with anothervariety.

She stayed silent as his approach rang off the tile.

“I don’t know why I came.” Cullen leaned againstthe mantle and looked at her. “Why did you come to me before you went intothe Deep Roads?”

Her eyes stayed where they were, on guilty hands which hadstolen the peace of ignorance from him. Silence bloomed and spread as sheconsidered her reply. Finally, she turned her blue eyes upon him. “Iwasn’t sure I would be back.”

 He looked at her quizzically. “So, thinking youmight die, you wanted to give me back my memory?”

“It was selfish, I know.” She stood walked over tothe bookcase father form him and stared at the spines of the tomes on theshelf. “I just wanted there to be someone left who remembered me.”

The ringing sound, far too familiar to her ears, suggestedhe had removed his gauntlets. It wasn’tuntil his hand pulled at her shoulder and turned her face toward his that shewas certain of that change. His warm hands found her cheeks as he looked downinto her eyes.

This time, in his eyes, she saw recognition andunderstanding when his lips met hers. He knew why he was kissing her this timearound, she was certain. Wanting her to know that he understood the reasons whytheir lips met, his arms encircled her and pulled her tightly to him. Aderyndidn’t pull away fromit at all. She’d dreamed about this moment for longer than she could even admitto herself.

Curse this bloodyplate, she thought even as she used it to her own leverage, melting againsthim.

Finally, their deep, consuming kiss broke. Her eyes searchedhis. “Can youforgive such a selfish act?“

"You clearly forgave me mine,” he replied almostinstantly.  He touched her face andsearched her eyes. “Did you have doubts?”

She laid her hands on the cool metal of his breastplate fora moment before stepping back and pacing across the room. “I am still notsure precisely what my father did,” she admitted. “I couldn’t be surehow the reversal will play out. But I tried … because I promised my father.” She stopped andplaced her hands on the back of the chair she’d been sitting in when heentered. Her gaze met his once more. “I held out no hope. I couldn’t.After everything that happened, I couldn’t allow myself to consider anypossibility of success.”

“Aderyn,” Cullen gasped when he saw her cheeksglistening in the firelight. “I didn’t think it through.” The templarfell into the chair opposite the one she stood behind and held his face in hishands as he spoke. “It was my fault. I had to do something to keep yousafe. I didn’t expect Malcolm would tell you what he did.” He turned andlooked at her over his shoulder. “There was no other way. Not withoutputting your entire family at risk.”

“Whydidn’t you ask, at least?” she snapped. “You never spoke to me. Do you thinkI’d have let you suffer on your own? I would have done anything for you.”

“Iknow.” His voice was as clipped as her own as he stood again and stared at her.After a moment, it softened again. “I know you would have. Your entire familymight have encouraged us. Perhaps even run as well. But I couldn’t do that toyou, or them. I couldn’t tear apart everything you had.”

“Iwould have ripped it down with my own bare hands,” Aderyn replied.

“Iknow. I couldn’t let you.”

“Butyou didn’t even talk to me, Cullen. You just made this decision and left methere wondering what happened to you without a word.”

“Don’tyou think I realize that?” he asked, shooting to his feet and staring at her.

“Maybe.But you didn’t have to mourn it. You just forgot. I remembered. And all thistime I carried that heartache. While you …” She didn’t even have the heart tomake the accusation.

“Rememberednothing,” he snapped. “I was just haunted with dreams I couldn’t explain.Suffered from this emptiness I couldn’t explain, except for what the Chantrytold me. I was touched by a demon. Had to overcome my weakness, my deficiency.”His tone was biting, as sharp as her own.

Despite everything she’d convinced herself of over the years, she pitied him. Whatmust it have been like, to have thoughts and memories peek in and makeeverything the templars likely accused him of feel true. As much as she mighthave preferred it not, anger gave way to a kind of sympathy. “My father heldyour secret until he was on his deathbed,” she told him. “Then he told me theremight be a chance. I even went to Lake Calenhad.”

“Aderyn.”

When he stepped toward her, she stepped back.

“Itwasn’t out of kindness. I wanted you to have the chance to grieve for what welost too,” she sobbed. “It wasn’t mercy that brought me there, but spite. Iwanted you to ache like I did. To cry yourself to sleep knowing what you’dlost.” Her voice quivered, but she was angry enough not to care.

“Malcolmtold me it was a mistake,” Cullen countered. “I thought it was best.”

“That’sright,” she snapped again. “Youthought. Why not ask me? Give me a choice rather than forcing me to lose … everything.”

“Doyou think it was easy to give you up? To let it all go?” Cullen barked back ather.

Aderyn stared at him. The mere moments of grief he sufferedin his decision didn’t,in her mind, weigh equal to the years she’d spent grieving him only to find himsafe and secure in Kirkwall after everything that happened.

-3-

The argument continued along the same vein until Cullen feltthey’d reached animpasse. “Perhaps, I was foolish. It might be better that I go,” he suggestedin frustration.

“Ofcourse, make another decision that will affect us both without consideration ofanyone else’s desires or feelings on the matter.”

He sighed, gripping the back of the chair tightly. “What would you rather,Aderyn?”

The silence thrummed against his skin. With every passingsecond, it loomed larger, like a gulf opening between them as they stared atone another.

Aderyn took a step toward him. When her hands took hold ofhis cheeks, he let her pull him into the kiss. Her lips were softer than heremembered. Even with the irritation they had both showed, he dared slip hisarms around her. The kiss deepened, impossibly, by his thinking. She held himtight, as unwilling to relinquish her hold as him.