standing water and of lilies carried on the breeze. Not much farther now , he thought.
“What about you?” she asked with friendly interest.
He glanced down in surprise.
“What brings you here?”
His purpose was bitter as brine in his mouth, deep and cold as the sea.
For Morgan was warden of the northern deeps, charged by a lost king to fight a losing battle.
For a thousand years he had served the sea king‟s son, battling demons in the deep, defending his demesne from the sly
encroachments of the sidhe . But his powers had proved useless against the depredations of humankind. For more than a
century, the overflow from this city‟s streets and canals had polluted the sound and the sea, turning the port into a shit house.
Only now, when the humans had finally learned to curb their waste, could Morgan begin the slow process of repair. Recovery
of the seabed would take centuries.
He did not blame this girl—much—for what her kind had done. She was here and female and willing. Under the
circumstances, he was prepared to overlook a great deal.
“Business,” he said.
Her deep brown eyes assessed him. “You don‟t dress like a businessman.”
He wore the black and silver of the finfolk, subtly altered so he could pass for a man of this place and time. “No?”
“No.”
He did not respond. The sky was thick with moisture, glowing with the lights of the city and the promise of dawn. The
moon wore golden vapor like a veil.
“You don‟t want to talk about it,” she guessed.
He smiled, showing the edge of his teeth. “You did not seek my company for my conversation.”
She stopped on the sidewalk, her chin tilted at a challenging angle. Despite her earlier signals, he had been too blunt.
Women, human women, required some preliminaries. Or perhaps her female pride was offended. “Really? What is it you think
I want from you?”
Her cheeks were flushed. Her scent filled his nostrils. Beneath the sharp notes of her annoyance, he could smell the
sweetness of her body readying itself for his. His shaft went hard as stone.
“My protection,” he offered.
She nodded once, her eyes big and wary. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Okay.”
He stepped closer, watching her face carefully. “And perhaps . . . an adventure?”
He heard the betraying intake of her breath. Her small round breasts rose. And suddenly he wanted this, wanted her ,
beyond habit or reason, instinct or expedience. The intensity of his lust surprised him.
She was only human, after all.
Liz inhaled, her breathing no longer under her control, her heart thrumming with nerves and longing. She shouldn‟t . . . She
never . . .
Oh, but she wanted to.
He was right in front of her, adventure personified in moonlight and black leather. Those strange, pale eyes were dark with
promise, his mouth curved in a knowing smile.
She moistened her lips. “I don‟t even know your name.”
He lowered his head, stoking her senses with the heat of his body, the flavor of his breath. “Morgan.”
“Liz.” He was going to kiss her, she realized. And she was going to let him. “Elizabeth Ramsey.”
“Elizabeth,” he repeated, a whisper of flame against her mouth.
Her bones melted. She was tingly and melting all over. Her lids drifted shut in anticipation.
A cold draft replaced the warmth where he had been.
“Come with me,” Morgan said.
Her eyes popped open. “What?”
He stood several feet away, the dark sky haloing his silver hair. Behind him she could see a bridge stretching over a zigzag
moat and the needle of a church spire rising like a scene from some romantic movie.
Except in the movies, the girl always got kissed.