Burying her face in the cinnamon locks of Kahlan’s ruff trigged a cascade of delectable memories that blurred into dreams as Kirastasia slipped into sleep, images of this noble queen squirming under her loving ministrations tempting a faint smile to her kissers even as they now snuggled so innocently. While some might see her as selfish, scheming, the snowbird had always been quite generous when it came to making love; she replayed hours of alternately treating and tormenting Kah behind closed eyelids, tiny delighted moans issuing from her throat like the whimpers of a pup, her curves unconsciously wriggling as these beautiful dreams reminded her that Kahlan was rather capable of returning the affection she experienced . . .

It was the deepest slumber Kirastasia had experienced since returning to Blossom Forest, her mind a glittering broken-glass landscape of chemical confusion. The ice princess still had no idea what had taken her from this magical world in the first place . . . just as she could not grasp what had eventually brought her back. Every time she attempted to pick out the memory from the psychedelic pool it had drowned in—which wasn’t often—the rest of her thoughts would converge like a tidal wave, a cacophony of bewilderment that would toss the truth in its wild waves until it sank deeper than before. Distantly, Kira knew this was something that should unnerve her. Days, weeks of time were lost in the space of her skull, unaccounted for . . . and she couldn’t bring herself to care enough to figure out why. Dwelling on it was frustrating, so she swallowed more strange mushrooms or odd leaves. She danced in the rain the middle of the night. She lost herself in distractions, so she wouldn’t have to worry about it. And now fate had brought her Kahlan again, and the pallid damsel decided at last that she didn’t give a shit about her memories unless they were ones about Kah.

With a groggy murmur, roused by the vague glow of sunlight spilling into the den, Kirastasia stretched her brindled limbs as much as space would allow before cuddling closer to her living doll. A contented sigh dragged from her lungs, muzzle still burrowed in the richness of the other she-wolf’s fur . . . when all at once that warmth vanished right from under her. The shock of this woke Kira fully; she sat up slowly, blinking like an owl and yawning so hard her jaw popped.

“Good morning, Kah.”

The frost prickling the ex-healer’s words was not lost on the fishnet punkette. It bit at the younger girl’s skin, stinging her heart, but she merely smirked and tilted her head as if she hadn’t noticed. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean . . . this is exactly where I want to be.” She went to reach for her once-lover, trying to brush her muzzle under Kahlan’s chin. It was a challenge, of sorts. One that Kira believed she would win no matter what Kah’s reaction. If the wolfess allowed Kira to touch her, then the alabaster dancer could play on that to her advantage; if Kahlan shrank away, Kira could play the wounded paramour; if—gods forbid—Kahlan struck her, physically harmed her in some way . . . this was perhaps the best reaction of all. Because not only would Kirastasia go out of her way to hurt Kahlan deeper, on a more fundamentally emotional level, she would get Milo involved. And any other Alpha who’d listen. And Kira would destroy any hope Kahlan had of ever finding a home that wasn’t directly at Kira’s side.