Hydromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 4)

“Excuse me.” Tim pecked Maya on the lips. “I’ll be right back.” He turned to Cesar. “Don’t let her touch anything while I’m gone. She’s a kitchen accident waiting to happen.” Shooting her a smile, he walked from the room.

Cesar observed her with a smirk as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

“What?” she asked, leaning her butt against the counter.

“’Bout time a man tames you.”

“You think a good roll between the sheets is going to tame me?”

“Probably not.” He tilted his head and studied her neck. “But I can smell him on you. That’s the kind of taming I’m referring to, the type that changes a woman’s smell.”

In reflex, she touched the tender flesh where Tim had bitten her that was still throbbing softly.

“Yeah,” he said. “He marked you well. Deep.”

“If you can smell it, you’re the same as him. Vampire or dhampir?”

“Dhampir and proud of it,” he said, bringing the mug to his lips.

“I thought there weren’t many of you in the world.”

“There aren’t. I can count them on one hand.”

“Lee?” she asked as the thought suddenly struck her.

“Yep.”

“Three dhampirs in one house. That’s highly unusual.”

He sipped his coffee and shrugged. “I guess like attracts like.”

Or in her and Tim’s case, opposites.

“No.” He shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

She looked at him quickly. “Do what?”

“Regret.”

“I’m not regretting. It’s just complicated.”

“What is? Your happiness will be the most important thing in Tim’s life. It’s not like you have to give up much to be with him. You have a flexible job. You can teach diving anywhere, and even if he’s posted elsewhere, he’ll make sure it’s somewhere on the coast, if that’s what you want.”

It was a good thing Cesar misunderstood her turmoil. Before Maya could formulate a reply, Frida walked back into the kitchen. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, accentuating her eyes and cheekbones. She wore a pale-pink shift dress with matching patent leather heels. As she clacked her way across the floor, she shot Maya a hostile look. She poured two cups of coffee and added sugar to one.

“For Tim,” she said to Maya, motioning to one of the cups. It was her way of showing the boundaries, telling Maya it was her place to pour Tim’s coffee even as Maya warmed his bed. She added creamer to the other cup, presumably hers.

Cesar finished his coffee and straightened. “I’m going for a shower. Tim asked me to pick up your things at the hotel where you checked in. Give me the address. I’ll go over after.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Maya said, keeping her voice steady. “I’ll go later.”

“It’s no trouble.”

“Thanks, but I’m not going to let you pack my underwear.” It was a weak excuse but the only one she could think of. “Or the other things I packed.”

She didn’t say those things were weapons and tracking devices. She was aware of Frida looking between her and Cesar with an amused expression, enjoying the show.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen a woman’s underwear before,” Cesar said. “Or sex toys, for that matter. Nothing you have in your room can shock me.”

If only he knew. “Some things are private, and I’m independent. I won’t change my way of living all of a sudden because Tim marked me. I can pack my own clothes.”

“You’d drain the little energy that’s left in me,” Cesar mumbled. “And after last night, I don’t have much.”

“What happened with Ilano?” Maya asked, suddenly weary.

“Cesar,” Frida said, “it’s none of her business.”

“She’s Tim’s now. He can’t protect her from reality forever.”

Frida’s stance turned rigid. “Go have that shower, Cesar. You need it.”

Cesar gave a mock-salute. “Yes, ma’am.” He put his cup in the dishwasher and left the room.

Frida picked up the two mugs. “You just had to go and do it, didn’t you?”

Maya looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Do what?”

“Let him claim you. You’ll never stay. You’re going to leave him, and when you do, it’ll kill him. It’ll hurt him so badly, he’ll never recover.” She crossed the floor. “I hope you can live with that knowledge,” she said over her shoulder as she walked through the door.

Maya bit her lip. How could she blame Frida for hating her? The woman had a good sixth sense. She was right to be protective of Tim. There was no bigger threat in his life than the woman he’d marked as his.

Tim re-entered the kitchen with the mug of coffee Frida had poured in his hand. His shoulders were tense and his expression dark.

“Everything okay?” Maya asked.

He made a visible effort to relax. “Business, as usual.” Stopping in front of her, he brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “Scrambled, baked, or fried?”

“However they come.”

“Right. Omelets then.” He broke eggs into a bowl and regarded her as he started whisking them. “We have to talk about our future.”