Veil of Shadows by Shiloh Walker Page A

words, she was flying apart in his arms, a low, hungry moan falling from her lips. It rolled through them both, echoing, emptying them both.
    Everything else fell away and for him, there was just her.
    Just her.

    Hours later, they lay on her narrow bunk. He had his back to the wall, with her wedged between his body and the edge of the bunk. It shouldn’t have been comfortable. Not one bit, but Syn was rather certain she hadn’t ever felt this satisfied, this right, in quite some time. Possibly ever.
    She felt warm. She felt safe. She felt wanted. And that ache in her heart didn’t even feel like a memory.
    She rarely lingered with a lover once the moment passed. All she had ever looked for was a brief escape, some pleasure, some release of the tension that built inside so many of them who had spent most of their lives on the front line of a war. After that was done, the silence that often built was uncomfortable.
    This, though, this felt right.
    Utterly right. In a way, it terrified her. Not enough, though. Because she couldn’t imagine pulling away from him just then.
    He nuzzled her hair and murmured, “It is getting late.”
    She glanced at her windows. Her internal clock told her what time it was without her bothering to check her timepiece. “It’s already late, past midnight.”
    “Should I leave?”
    She covered the arm resting around her waist and hugged him. “Hell no.”
    She could almost hear the smile in his voice. Then he nudged her backside with his cock. Even as tired as she was, even after making love with him three times, she felt the heat once more begin to build. “If we stay like this all night, will either of us sleep?”
    “Yes.” She glanced over at him and smiled. “We should sleep now . . . so we can wake up and do it again before the day starts. Morning sex is always a great way to wake up the brain.”
    He chuckled and nudged her again. “My brain is already rather awake.”
    But then he tugged her a bit closer and Syn snuggled back until not even a whisper of air could come between them.
    As she drifted off to sleep, she decided she’d been right.
    No matter what, this night had been worth the complication.

FOUR

    It was too much to hope for that his gear hadn’t been discovered.
    In under a minute, Dais knew that his belongings had been found and confiscated—Morne, Kalen and the lot, no doubt.
    A snarl twisted his face, but he didn’t linger. He couldn’t risk it. If they’d found his gear, it was likely somebody might still be watching the area. He’d done a search around the immediate perimeter, but lingering was foolish.
    He had other caches hidden within the forest and nearby mountains. He’d find one of them, gather his weapons, and take a bit of time to lay down some sort of plan. A good, solid plan—he needed one that had a half a chance of working, and he didn’t even know if it was possible.
    If he didn’t turn Lee over to the Warlords, they’d kill him.
    If he was caught by the rebels, he’d wish they’d kill him. Ishtan’s people rarely resorted to torture, but somehow he doubted Kalen would be satisfied with a quick death when it came to Dais.
    Losing himself in the trees, he began following an old, rarely used trail. It was a familiar one. It would lead him to an area well outside the range of the army’s patrol, a place where he could rest easy for a night, possibly two, while he developed some sort of plan.
    “You can do this,” he muttered. He’d managed the impossible for decades—evading discovery for his people as he fed information to the enemy. Surely he could get his hands on one mouthy witch.

    There were times when Laithe envied the people of Ishtan. His kind eschewed any form of technology—the Warlords and their people had risen above such pursuits. They were above the petty wars that often tore worlds apart, the power struggles, the inability to care for every last soul in their world.
    The perfection of magic—that was the ultimate