Small Successes

Hawk stood motionless near the trees behind me, waiting for me to react to his nearness.

Or to his baiting.

“Be careful with Magus.” He cautioned.

“Why?”

“Because he likes difficult women. And I’d not favor him growing fond of mine.”

I stiffened. Mine?

I’m not his. Did ‘mine’ mean plural? It dawned on me for the first time how the other women looked at him. Wanted him.

There could be more.

It’s unlikely I’m his only toy. But something in me coiled and tightened at the image that the night I’d taunted him and left him, he’d rose and gone to another’s bed.

Would I have really expected otherwise? I glanced at his hard features over my shoulder. Is there anyone colder?

“How many do you have?”

“Not nearly enough.” He returned. Catching my