She adored doubling people in interesting relationships. Figuring out how to act in them with limited information reminded her of an improv game. Yes, and. Toying with a cyrokinetic seemed less a challenge, and more an enjoyable aperitif at the end of a joyless evening. In the handful of memories she'd sampled, this man had seemed a capable, but mostly unthreatening gifted human. She looked forward to toying with him, once he'd concluded a ribald retelling of a bus exploit.
Only when he turned his head and she glimpsed the way even the light of the Cirque avoided his face did she start to understand the mistake she'd made. Alarmed but saving face, she continued to playact blindness when his attention turned on her fully. Red Flags sprang up like summer dandelions when he moved on her. His power plowed into her as arms strong as oaks bound her borrowed body. This was no cryokinetic. The cold she'd felt was no magician's trifling. It was ancient and potent and not a toy. She'd been separated from the Court for so long that it took her a disgracefully long time to recognize what she'd chosen to treat like a carnival game. She'd set out honey to draw bees and had summoned a starving bear. This man was of Winter. This was her Queen's Knight.
With his face tucked into her neck, Marlowe squirmed before she could steady herself. Nervously, she laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders. "Sorry, ticklish." Paces behind him, the upended triangle of Maxwell's back receded into the darkness of the labyrinth. She almost called out to him to give up the game and keep a third party around to ensure she didn't lose her head as punishment. Pot committed, her panicked problem solving raced miles ahead of her cooler logic. First, she had to understand the relationship she counterfeited. Observing Cressida in the hall, she'd figured the pair for close friends. The way James clutched her to his body made her doubt.
OK. Get it together. Channel a snarky bitch who has secret hallway breakdowns.
Her fingers carded gently through the hair at his nape. "I'm calling a moratorium on intermissions." Rolling the apple of her cheek over his temple, she hugged him tighter. Her body began to relax, contouring his within the frame of his arms. "I'm so glad you're alright." The bridge of her nose puckered. "But you smell like a raccoon upchucked a trash buffet."