plasma. Fate might force her to become a diplomat, but no one should ever underestimate her.
He frowned. “I do think so.”
She lifted her hand and blew. The ball swished toward Conn, impacting his chest. He jumped back. A scowl formed grooves in his angled face. “That burned.”
The smirk came easily to her face. “Good. At least I know not to underestimate someone.”
Fast as an arrow he reached out, grasping her elbows and lifting her until they met eye to eye. “Miss Darcy? What’s the Gaelic term for brat?”
“Dailtín.” Darcy leaned against a tree, mirth in her voice.
Conn’s eyes narrowed, his gaze hard on Moira. “You just earned yourself a nickname. Dailtín.”
“I’m not a brat.” His easy strength in holding her aloft caused a humming in her belly. A weakness in her knees.
“You’re most certainly a brat.” His gaze hardened further as one hand lifted to tangle in wet curls. “Don’t ever throw blue energy at me again, Moira. You won’t like the result.”
Any retort stuck like mud in the back of her throat at the look in his eyes, across his sharp face. Her widened eyes searched his for any hint of humor. There was none.
A satisfied glint lit his darkened eyes as he gave one short nod. “I don’t threaten, Moira. You’d do well to remember that.” Then his mouth was on hers—swift, hard, and removed much too quickly. He set her back on her feet. “I’ll see you at the dance tonight.” Rocks scattered as he turned on his heel, returning to the training field without a backward glance.
She put a hand to her tingling lips. Something shifted inside her. She wanted a real kiss from the vampire. That night she’d get it.
Moira was jerked back into the present by a hand playing idly up and down her arm, raising goose bumps. Words. She should say some.
Conn nipped her ear. “Are you all right, Dailtín?”
“Fine.” She snuggled closer into his warmth. “I was remembering when we met.”
“When you fell in the stream.” Amusement filled his voice.
“Aye. You kissed me.”
“Barely. Yet my world halted on its axis.” His breath brushed her skin with heat. “Later that night, when you showed up to the dance in that dress, I almost took you to the floor. In front of everybody.”
The dress had been beautiful. “You probably don’t even remember the color.”
“It was green and it matched your eyes.”
Yes, it had. “If you could rewrite our past, would you?” Why she’d ask a question so full of peril had her shaking her head. Of course he would.
“Hell, no. I wouldn’t mind smoothing out the present however.”
Smoothing her into the role he wanted. Frustration had her clearing her throat. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to fight for us as strongly as you’ve been fighting against us.” He smoothed the hair away from her cheek and dropped a soft kiss on her neck.
Desire flared back to life. “Why do you pretend there’s even an us ? I mean, we had a one-night encounter a century ago that left us both marked. That doesn’t create an us .” Of course, in his world, it probably did.
“We’ve been mated for a century.”
“We haven’t been together, Conn. We haven’t been a couple.” They hadn’t attended weddings, funerals, or parties together.
His hand flexed. “Did you want to be?”
“Sometimes.” Naked and satisfied, only the truth belonged between them.
“Me, too.” He huffed out a breath. “But I signed the treaty, and you needed time. It was the least I could do.” Irritation coated his words. Irritation aimed at himself.
“What do you mean?”
“You were a babe, Moira. A mere twenty-something years old, and I knew it. Yet I took you.” His voice lowered in regret.
She stiffened. “You didn’t want this.” She’d always understood that. Conn wouldn’t have bound himself to a witch tied to the Coven Nine if he’d had a choice. The marking had been an accident.
He rolled her over, covering her
He frowned. “I do think so.”
She lifted her hand and blew. The ball swished toward Conn, impacting his chest. He jumped back. A scowl formed grooves in his angled face. “That burned.”
The smirk came easily to her face. “Good. At least I know not to underestimate someone.”
Fast as an arrow he reached out, grasping her elbows and lifting her until they met eye to eye. “Miss Darcy? What’s the Gaelic term for brat?”
“Dailtín.” Darcy leaned against a tree, mirth in her voice.
Conn’s eyes narrowed, his gaze hard on Moira. “You just earned yourself a nickname. Dailtín.”
“I’m not a brat.” His easy strength in holding her aloft caused a humming in her belly. A weakness in her knees.
“You’re most certainly a brat.” His gaze hardened further as one hand lifted to tangle in wet curls. “Don’t ever throw blue energy at me again, Moira. You won’t like the result.”
Any retort stuck like mud in the back of her throat at the look in his eyes, across his sharp face. Her widened eyes searched his for any hint of humor. There was none.
A satisfied glint lit his darkened eyes as he gave one short nod. “I don’t threaten, Moira. You’d do well to remember that.” Then his mouth was on hers—swift, hard, and removed much too quickly. He set her back on her feet. “I’ll see you at the dance tonight.” Rocks scattered as he turned on his heel, returning to the training field without a backward glance.
She put a hand to her tingling lips. Something shifted inside her. She wanted a real kiss from the vampire. That night she’d get it.
Moira was jerked back into the present by a hand playing idly up and down her arm, raising goose bumps. Words. She should say some.
Conn nipped her ear. “Are you all right, Dailtín?”
“Fine.” She snuggled closer into his warmth. “I was remembering when we met.”
“When you fell in the stream.” Amusement filled his voice.
“Aye. You kissed me.”
“Barely. Yet my world halted on its axis.” His breath brushed her skin with heat. “Later that night, when you showed up to the dance in that dress, I almost took you to the floor. In front of everybody.”
The dress had been beautiful. “You probably don’t even remember the color.”
“It was green and it matched your eyes.”
Yes, it had. “If you could rewrite our past, would you?” Why she’d ask a question so full of peril had her shaking her head. Of course he would.
“Hell, no. I wouldn’t mind smoothing out the present however.”
Smoothing her into the role he wanted. Frustration had her clearing her throat. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to fight for us as strongly as you’ve been fighting against us.” He smoothed the hair away from her cheek and dropped a soft kiss on her neck.
Desire flared back to life. “Why do you pretend there’s even an us ? I mean, we had a one-night encounter a century ago that left us both marked. That doesn’t create an us .” Of course, in his world, it probably did.
“We’ve been mated for a century.”
“We haven’t been together, Conn. We haven’t been a couple.” They hadn’t attended weddings, funerals, or parties together.
His hand flexed. “Did you want to be?”
“Sometimes.” Naked and satisfied, only the truth belonged between them.
“Me, too.” He huffed out a breath. “But I signed the treaty, and you needed time. It was the least I could do.” Irritation coated his words. Irritation aimed at himself.
“What do you mean?”
“You were a babe, Moira. A mere twenty-something years old, and I knew it. Yet I took you.” His voice lowered in regret.
She stiffened. “You didn’t want this.” She’d always understood that. Conn wouldn’t have bound himself to a witch tied to the Coven Nine if he’d had a choice. The marking had been an accident.
He rolled her over, covering her
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