It was almost hilarious, how much both Kirastasia and Kahlan had changed since giving birth to their children. They looked precisely the way they appeared when they’d both started this idiotic charade . . . as if the events leading up to Kahlan’s disgusting betrayal had never happened. With the boys gone, Kira did not have to focus on their tie to her father . . . and thus her tie to them. “You think fighting in front of mere pups is natural? I suppose I wouldn’t know, for my own mother kept me and my brother in a hole most of the time.” An easy lift of her should blades, her smile as sharp as a razor. Lovely. Just lovely. They were off to a great start already. For some reason, Kirastasia hoped that Kaukab and Kenryk would return, if only so she could relish the horror on their little faces when they saw how their mother behaved when she wasn't showering them in false affection. Did they now that Kahlan spoke with acid in her lyrics when they weren't listening? Had they ever felt the frost of her glare?

“I don’t remember a time I’ve ever acted snake-like,” the tundra princess mused, studying the gleaming columns of her limbs with clear admiration. “Unless, perhaps, you’re referring to my constant desire for warmth . . . in which case, you’re right! I’m a snake through and through. Too bad you never underwent a transformation to reflect what a frigid lump of ice you’ve become.” Once again her bright maple gaze flickered back to study Kahlan’s face, playful laughter dancing in a voice that wanted to shred into a furious snarl. “What would that look like, I wonder? Would you turn into stone?”

She couldn’t help herself—Kirastasia swayed closer, slithering gracefully in like the deceitful serpent Kah had compared her to. After all this time, the ex-healer’s perfume still had the ability to arouse her . . . Kirastasia felt her heart throb, pulse kicking faster, the skin hidden by her pelt heating as if Kahlan’s presence exuded the warmth of the sun. And she wanted to drink that warmth up, wanted to luxuriate in it, bathe in it, keep it all to herself. She wanted to wrap herself in Kahlan’s delectable scent the way a boa coils around its lover—close and intimate. If Kira managed to save this once magnificent woman, could they be close again? Would Kahlan ever welcome her as a lover in the future? Hope was supposed to buoy the soul, and make the weight of suffering light . . . but Kira’s hope seemed to bruise her insides with its frantic force, beating hard against the inner walls of her ribs. Desperate for release. The scaled mistress didn’t even try to hide the way she sipped Kahlan’s cologne form the air. The serrated edges of hurt never left her smirk, yet the hooded stare that slipped languidly up and down the earthen lady’s frame was molten.

“I think if you really did become a rock, nobody would notice. What’s the difference between an unfeeling boulder, and you?” Her paws padded to a stop not even a yard from where her first love stood in all her tacit glory. How had Kahlan managed to return to such splendid health after nursing her children? Kira’s litter had battered her senseless with their constant needs . . . but Drizzt had always been there to care for her and them, the absolute picture of the perfect mate. The adorable Tempest filled fissures carved into Kirastasia’s permanently broken heart that no one else had ever touched. So why were his stunning heaven-blue eyes pushed to the very back of her mind, in favor of appreciating Kahlan’s yellow stars? Why was the vipera all but slavering over this supposedly unfeeling female, when Kah had done nothing to encourage such treatment? When Drizzt surely waited somewhere in the territory to spoil her rotten?

“Oh, I know.” That teasing grin smoothed into something dark and knowing, sultry and hungry. She leaned forward, knowing that Kahlan might retreat at any moment inside the safety of her den. Just try to back away, my darling. I’ll corner you in your bed and you know it. Her muzzle hovered inches to the left of Kahlan’s alertly perked ear. Not touching. Their game would surely shatter if Kirastasia touched the other femme too soon. But the low murmur of her voice would force Kah to listen, to strain her hearing so that Kirastasia’s words became the center of her awareness, and then the tundra maiden would drive her mad. “When you lick a rock just right . . . it doesn’t squeal.”

Let the broken medic reject her now. Let her deny ever setting her vocals free when Kirastasia made love to her. Let her keep that infuriating, heartbreaking mask of indifference while the white lady deliberately clawed at old wounds and passionate memories. Henadin hadn’t told her how to save Kahlan—there were no explicit instructions the ex-heiress was supposed to follow. All she understood was that she desperately need to love Kahlan, and part of that hopeless addicted adoration meant tormenting Kahlan until she had no choice but to admit she had a heart capable of feeling pain. Kira did not want to touch Kah as she whispered, as she skipped along the edges of the rules in their twisted game—but she’d waited long enough.

When the armored lass swept toward her, Kahlan had limited options. She could either lunge backward into her den—or hold her ground as Kirastasia’s muzzle crashed into hers. From there, if her contact was successful, Kira’s tongue would slide along the velvet softness of Kahlan’s lips, searching for an opening, for an invitation to explore shining teeth, and beyond that her kiss would deepen to reflect the depth of loneliness Kah’s solitude had inflicted upon Kira’s very soul.