“I should return now. Thank you for the meal. The thought was most gracious and I—”

“Wait!” His frantic clutch at her hands stalled her voice. “Bryton wanted to meet you. Would you stay, please, and just say hello to him? Half the time he believes I imagine all my tales of you.”

“You—you tell tales of me?”

“A few. You’re part of me, Myla. I’d never hide you from someone as close to me as he is. Other than you and my father, he’s the only person I trust. Will you meet him? For me?”

Silenced by his declaration, she nodded. Taric told tales about her? He thought of her when she rested within him? The jolt of lightning that scored her veins propelled her heart into a frenzied run. While his back was turned, calling out the door, she drew a deep breath.

Bright as a coin, Bryton’s cuprous head appeared above Taric’s shoulder with a hesitant smile. Myla had not seen Bryton with human eyes for many summers. Now large and brawny, little of the child remained until she looked deep into his eyes. The glimmer of devilry there showed that the sprightly scamp of her memory had not completely vanished. But he was no longer a carefree child bent on mischief. The sleeveless summer tunic left biceps thick as oak limbs bare, and her eyes flew to his kill marks.

One burnt dagger point discolored his skin for each time he had intervened to protect Taric from death, inflicted by her master as a display of courage. Despite her existence, he had seven peaked marks on his left bicep, an impressive amount for a captain not yet thirty summers. His father bore a dozen marks on each arm, the most ever recorded. Bryton looked to be in line to surpass that number if the war continued.

His handsome face was unlined and thankfully unmarked. The position of captain was honor-rich and had many strange and secret rituals, each one steeped in history and glory. They dedicated themselves to their charges by word and deed. The unnatural death of their master was a sign of dishonor in the captain. If ever a charge’s assassin went unpunished for more than one full calendar, it spoke of cowardice and inattentiveness. They inflicted on themselves the lowest mark of shame, a line of tears carved into their cheek.

Bryton didn’t have the highest mark, a full dagger blade burnt into his chest, and Myla was grateful for that. Captains only received that insignia when their assassinated charges’ murderers died by their hand. A mystical shimmer rippled the air over Bryton’s chest and Myla’s breath stilled. Was that a premonition?

No. Her eyes narrowed and she silently promised he would never earn that valued mark, not for Taric, not while she stood guard. She would not allow that to come to pass.

In deference to Bryton’s place in Taric’s heart, she regally bowed her head toward the bodyguard. “I bid you good eve, Sir Bryton.”

At her formality, he sputtered, “Oh, you too. I mean…it’s nice to meet you, Myla. May I call you Myla?”

“It is my name and the only one I possess, so please.”

Taric clapped the gaping man hard in the back before walking to her with an outstretched hand. Her palm slid easily into his and she was struck by how large his hand was. It seemed only a moment ago she had accepted her charge of a squawking infant. Now a grown man, her charge was no soft-skinned babe. He drew her to sit near the cold fireplace in a soft high-backed chair and motioned for Bryton to join them. Taric lowered himself beside her on a low wooden stool. His friend settled into the opposite chair and she realized Taric had given her his normal seat. She started to rise. A firm hand on her arm stilled her and she looked at him.

How had she never noticed the way his hair curled about his ears? The deep lion-gold borrowed a shimmer from the torchlight and shone like sunlight against an autumn grove. Her fingers itched to touch it. Was it as soft as it appeared?

Myla did not realize her thoughts had strayed from the conversation until Bryton’s deep chuckle rang out. “I wish I’d known the jag was you, Myla. I might not have had to spend the night with damp blankets.”

She remembered quite well the night he spoke of although she didn’t know about his wet bedding. At the time, her mind had been filled with keeping razor-sharp wolf-teeth from her master. “I did not mean to frighten you, Bryton. Did Taric not tell you there was no danger? It was only the wolf I sought.”

“And you got him, too. There wasn’t much left after you’d finished.”

Eyes narrowed, she fixed the young man with a predatory stare. The smile slid from his lips and a gulp worked his throat. “I spare no mercy for any man, woman or beast who threatens the prince. Heed that, Sir Bryton, and you shall never need fear my claws.”

A low snort sounded from her right but she didn’t move her gaze from the wide-eyed man seated before her. Slowly he nodded and a little curl lifted the side of his mouth. “Formidable bodyguard you have, Tar—beautiful and fierce, such a lovely but deadly combination.”

Myla blinked. Bryton thought she was beautiful? She had never given much thought to how she appeared when human. She was just as she was. Did Taric find her appealing also? Darting her eyes to him, she found him thin-lipped and his brows drawn tight.

“Time for you to leave now, Bry.”

She sensed the tightly controlled anger pulsating from him and wondered where it came from. The captain stood and Myla rose also. He reached for her hand and placed a soft kiss on the back. Strangely, shedidn’t feel the zing and twitches she had when Taric had done the same. Perhaps blood loss had made a difference. Bryton seemed to find her sternum fascinating and she glanced down in puzzlement. There was no mark or crumb on her chiton.

“Bry, stop it.” Voice deep and warning, Taric grabbed his friend’s arm and shoved him toward the door. “I didn’t ask her to meet you so you could drool over her, now out!” The men exchanged a few low words in bitterness but Bryton left with a laugh. Taric slammed the door behind him. Hands on his hips, he glared at the wood before facing her. “I’m sorry, Myla. I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No, I found him most pleasant but he did seem to find my chiton fascinating.”

A rumble of soft thunder poured from him and his grin snatched her breath. “Myla, he wasn’t admiring your dress. He was gawking at your…uhm, he found you very attractive. He was flirting.”

“Flirting?” Quizzically, Myla pondered the word. Comprehension dawned and her lips circled. “Oh, flirting. I did not…”

“It’s all right. I can’t really blame him. You are very beautiful.”