“Liliana lost the battle,” Darcy said. “The moment she tried to enter the fight against the council’s wishes, she lost.”

No one mentioned her horrible death. And Bryn hadn’t asked what had happened to the bodies on the field. She didn’t want to know. “Yes, thank you all,” she said, “but he needs rest now.”

Covered in bits of grass, mud and blood, Ethan sat with a towel over his privates on the edge of the bed. He’d been in too much pain to dress on the field, and Renner and Sigurd had carried him back between them. The journey back had seemed a crawl.

The women stopped to give her hugs as everyone headed out. Bryn’s shoulders lowered. She was exhausted. Beyond tired. And at the back of it, she was also numb. Where did they stand now? Would the men regret the fact they had sunk their futures within the demon realm by siding with them?

“Bryn, come here.”

She hurried over to Ethan. “Do you need help to get into bed?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Radha has me well on my way to healing. And the tea she forced down my throat before she started sewing me like a quilt took away the pain. I’m fine. But you look spent.” He patted his knee. “I need you here.”

Gingerly, she lowered to his knee, careful of the many scratches to his neck and shoulders as she wrapped her arm around him. It was a strong knee. Thick, powerful. She leaned her head against him, breathing in his musky scent.

“I know. I need a bath.”

She shook her head against his skin. “A shower. She closed the wound, but I don’t trust you might open a stitch all the same.”

“I’m not sure I can manage a shower on my own.”

His tone gave his intentions away. There was a hint of passion and humor in the deep rumble.

She smoothed her hand down his belly and beneath the towel to cup his cock.

He ringed his fingers around her wrist and pulled it away. “We bathe first. I don’t want to fuck you with his blood on me.”

“I’ll help you—seeing as how weak you are,” she drawled.

They shared wry smiles before she slid off his knee and headed to the bathroom where she gathered towels and washcloths. She started the water, letting it shower over her fingers until it warmed.

“It’s ready,” she said and turned, bumping into his chest because he stood so close.

He skimmed her robe upward. She raised her hands. The garment went sailing. She stepped into the shower with his hands cupping her ass, and the water fell like a gentle rain, wetting her hair and face. She went to the back of the tiled shower, away from the spray, and waited for him to enter. Ethan’s large frame crowded into the space, and he stood with his back to the falling water, staring down at her.

This was a new experience for her. Bathing with a man. Merrick hadn’t been romantic. Hadn’t wanted her except when he was hungry and she was the only one near to give him satisfaction. Ethan seemed to crave her company every bit as she hungered for his.

When he reached for her and began to roam his hands over her skin, she stepped away. “Let me bathe you. Please.”

Ethan’s expression was set, impossible to read, but he dropped his hands.

After soaping a washcloth, Bryn skirted around him. She started with the back of his shoulders and washed in small circular movements down his back to the top of his buttocks, avoiding any raw scratches. Shy of touching him there, she moved around him, letting the water wash away the soap on his back and keeping her head ducked because her cheeks were heating. She gently washed his chest, moved the cloth over his ribs and lower abdomen and then, taking a deep breath, she knelt at his feet.

Ethan leaned back and put his head beneath the water, letting it sluice down his chest. She watched the fat rivulets trace over the ridges of muscle, snaking downward to the hair at his groin.

She set aside the cloth and leaned toward him, following instinct. She needed to touch him, to kiss him, to hold him in her mouth. Her tongue followed the downward curve of his semi-flaccid cock. She gathered him in her hands and opened her mouth, taking as much of his sex inside as she could hold. Then she slowly drew on him, backing away as he filled, her lips sucking, drawing on him, coaxing him into a full erection.

He made no sounds, but she couldn’t help the whimpers she emitted, the ragged sobs that began to shake her as she pleasured him. He might have been lost to her forever. They both might have died. The child that might be growing inside her would have been another casualty.

He bracketed his hands around her face and he held her away. “Don’t, Bryn. Don’t think about it. We’re both here. Safe. Together.”

She bent her head and her soggy locks trailed toward the tiled floor. “I had doubts. I thought that if you lost it would be because my belief in you wasn’t strong enough.”

“I had doubts too. He was stronger than I’d expected. Larger. But the moment I felt you inside me, heard you in my head, hope grew. You gave me strength.”

She glanced up, past his thickened cock to his smoky-dark eyes. “I need you.” It was all she could manage to say. She wanted him, needed that fundamental connection, the locking of their bodies together in a lover’s knot.

Ethan reached down his hands, slipped them under her arms and drew her upward. They stood beneath the water, warm and wet, cleansed of blood and dirt. New.

He cupped her cheeks, stroked a thumb over her bottom lip and then bent and pressed his mouth against hers.

She opened, inviting the slide of his tongue. She coaxed him deeper, sucking on him, grinding her mouth against his. When he pulled away, they were both breathing hard.

He reached for the faucet and gave it a whirl, not tearing his gaze from hers. He slid back the glass door and walked her out, gripping her waist to set her on the counter.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and leaned back on her hands, glancing down to where he was fitting himself against her folds. So thick. So strong. More beast than man there. Perfect.

“Troll,” she whispered.

His gaze darted to her face, his brows pulling together in a questioning frown.

“I love you. All of you.”

His expression darkened. His nostrils flared, pupils enlarging to consume the irises, and then a greenish glow began to pulse. “I love you too, witch,” he growled.

With his strong hands clutching her hips to hold her still, he filled her with a single, thrilling thrust.

Bryn tossed back her hair and squeezed herself around him, daring her green-eyed troll with her eyes to give her everything he had. She could take him. All of him.

Bryn and her sisters were hurrying. They’d promised to provide the food for the celebration of the bridge opening, but wrangling witches was like herding cats—impossible.

Aoife arrived late at Bryn’s. She was having a hard time that morning figuring out which dress made her look less fat, the blue or the green? Then she worried that both matched her eye color too closely. “Will they think I’m vain if I match my dress to my eyes?” she asked, holding up both hangers beside her face. “Maybe I should go back home and get the pink.”

“No!” Bryn said, gripping her waist and turning her toward the bathroom. “Wear the blue. Guys won’t notice the color of your dress—just that your ass looks nice. The blue hugs it.” As the door closed, Bryn closed her eyes. “Did you even remember to bring the deviled eggs?” she shouted through the door.

“They’re on the front seat of my car.”

Bryn went to the parlor door and pushed it open. “Renn!” she shouted.

He came at a lope. “What do you need?”

“Aoife left a tray of deviled eggs on her front seat.”

“Got it.” He loped away.

“I hope like hell they’re still cold.” She turned back to the women still moving franticly around the kitchen that seemed to grow smaller by the minute. “Radha, how’s that chicken?”