misunderstanding her reaction. “I’m sure my people will accept you, just as they did my mother. In any case, the palace hasn’t seen a misuse of magic incident in years.”
“Magic,” she said.
His brow furrowed before it cleared. “I thought you ... Olivia, I’m a wereseal.
We were both breathing underwater. I told you magic was what shielded the Helike Tunnel from discovery.”
He had told her. She’d simply preferred to deny it.
“Vampires?” she burst out.
“What about them? Oh. You mean are they real? Yes, and a great many other creatures besides. Faeries. Elves. I’ve never met a weretiger; they don’t like water, so they don’t visit Oceana, but I hear they’re wonderfully fierce and charming. Any race is welcome in the Pocket as long as they abide by fae law.
Faeries are top dogs when it comes spells. They created the half-magic territory where most supes live. While the different city-nations rule themselves, the fae have the final say on what goes.”
Because her knees felt a trifle wobbly, Olivia sat on a bright red couch. It was firm and comfortable. “Do they sparkle?”
“Vampires or faeries?” He flashed a grin when she gawked. “I saw that Twilight movie on the Import Channel.”
“Faeries,” she clarified breathlessly.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Quite beautifully, as it happens. Real faerie dust is a sight to see. Vampires don’t sparkle, I’m afraid, though other things Outsiders write about them are true. Outsiders are what Pocket residents call people who live beyond our borders. It’s bit of an insult, but we also call them mundanes.” Olivia pressed her palm to her pounding heart. Anso dropped beside her on the couch, his knee bumping hers as companionably as if they’d been lovers for years. He laid his hand gently on her leg. A warmth she couldn’t control suffused her thigh.
“Wonders abound here, Olivia. More than you can imagine. I hope you’ll open yourself to enjoying them.”
She saw he meant it, which didn’t make him less of a kidnapper.
“Could I speak to my husband now?” she asked politely.
He didn’t wince, but his eyes searched hers. “Of course,” he said. “Just let me grab my clothes.”
When he rose, he was smart enough not to hold out his hand to her.
* * *
As near as Olivia could figure, Anso’s rooms were laid out in a bending line around his octagonal coral garden. The color scheme for his salon was pale blue and silver, the furniture faded old-French in style. The light that shone through the portholes made it look like a normal day outside, if you ignored the wavery reflections. The wereseals must have known how to replicate sunlight. A line of potted palmettos interspersed the round windows, their fronds lush and vigorous.
James was dressed in lace-up buckskin trousers and a full white shirt - which was either piratical or medieval, depending on your perspective. He leaped to his feet from a silver loveseat the instant Olivia and the king came in. He and Olivia hurried to each other and hugged tightly, a response she doubted either of them thought twice about, despite the eyes on them. To her relief, the love that welled up inside her was a strong as ever. This was her man, holding her in his arms. She closed her eyes and laid her cheek on his broad shoulder.
James’s embrace tightened. “God, Olivia. I’m sorry.” This wasn’t the most reassuring greeting he might have uttered, though -
admittedly - Olivia owed her own apologies. She pushed back a little to look at him. His eyes were slumberous beneath their worry, his mouth relaxed. He looked the way he did after they’d had one of their Wild Sex Weekends - a tradition they’d established the first summer their daughter Violet begged them to let her attend band camp. They told their friends they were going out of town but really stayed in bed. Though Violet’s skill with the trumpet never took off, the Wild Sex Weekends did.
To see that pleasured look on her
“Magic,” she said.
His brow furrowed before it cleared. “I thought you ... Olivia, I’m a wereseal.
We were both breathing underwater. I told you magic was what shielded the Helike Tunnel from discovery.”
He had told her. She’d simply preferred to deny it.
“Vampires?” she burst out.
“What about them? Oh. You mean are they real? Yes, and a great many other creatures besides. Faeries. Elves. I’ve never met a weretiger; they don’t like water, so they don’t visit Oceana, but I hear they’re wonderfully fierce and charming. Any race is welcome in the Pocket as long as they abide by fae law.
Faeries are top dogs when it comes spells. They created the half-magic territory where most supes live. While the different city-nations rule themselves, the fae have the final say on what goes.”
Because her knees felt a trifle wobbly, Olivia sat on a bright red couch. It was firm and comfortable. “Do they sparkle?”
“Vampires or faeries?” He flashed a grin when she gawked. “I saw that Twilight movie on the Import Channel.”
“Faeries,” she clarified breathlessly.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Quite beautifully, as it happens. Real faerie dust is a sight to see. Vampires don’t sparkle, I’m afraid, though other things Outsiders write about them are true. Outsiders are what Pocket residents call people who live beyond our borders. It’s bit of an insult, but we also call them mundanes.” Olivia pressed her palm to her pounding heart. Anso dropped beside her on the couch, his knee bumping hers as companionably as if they’d been lovers for years. He laid his hand gently on her leg. A warmth she couldn’t control suffused her thigh.
“Wonders abound here, Olivia. More than you can imagine. I hope you’ll open yourself to enjoying them.”
She saw he meant it, which didn’t make him less of a kidnapper.
“Could I speak to my husband now?” she asked politely.
He didn’t wince, but his eyes searched hers. “Of course,” he said. “Just let me grab my clothes.”
When he rose, he was smart enough not to hold out his hand to her.
* * *
As near as Olivia could figure, Anso’s rooms were laid out in a bending line around his octagonal coral garden. The color scheme for his salon was pale blue and silver, the furniture faded old-French in style. The light that shone through the portholes made it look like a normal day outside, if you ignored the wavery reflections. The wereseals must have known how to replicate sunlight. A line of potted palmettos interspersed the round windows, their fronds lush and vigorous.
James was dressed in lace-up buckskin trousers and a full white shirt - which was either piratical or medieval, depending on your perspective. He leaped to his feet from a silver loveseat the instant Olivia and the king came in. He and Olivia hurried to each other and hugged tightly, a response she doubted either of them thought twice about, despite the eyes on them. To her relief, the love that welled up inside her was a strong as ever. This was her man, holding her in his arms. She closed her eyes and laid her cheek on his broad shoulder.
James’s embrace tightened. “God, Olivia. I’m sorry.” This wasn’t the most reassuring greeting he might have uttered, though -
admittedly - Olivia owed her own apologies. She pushed back a little to look at him. His eyes were slumberous beneath their worry, his mouth relaxed. He looked the way he did after they’d had one of their Wild Sex Weekends - a tradition they’d established the first summer their daughter Violet begged them to let her attend band camp. They told their friends they were going out of town but really stayed in bed. Though Violet’s skill with the trumpet never took off, the Wild Sex Weekends did.
To see that pleasured look on her
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