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He moves forward and takes my hand in his, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss my knuckles, but all he does is raise my hand and bow over it like a courtly gentleman. “I know how to be ingratiating, Faith. Trust me to do this. Give me a few days and I’ll find that anchor.”
What other choice do we have?
Markos tastes all my food for the rest of the day, and Kerren hovers over the cook down in the kitchens to make sure nothing is compromised.
When Aron returns that night, I’m filled with love for him—love and desperation. He’s in his element with the war, the battles, pitting himself against an opponent. His eyes gleam with enthusiasm. Aron’s never been handsomer to me. I don’t care that he’s a god of war, or a god of storms. I just care that he’s mine.
And tonight, I’m feeling more than a little desperate. So I tackle him the moment we’re alone, and we make love three times straight before I collapse in the bed and he pulls me against his chest for snuggling.
“I think we are making headway, Faith,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to my shoulder. “It’s just a matter of time.”
I hold his arm to my stomach and lean back against him. “I hope you’re right.”