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carried.
    “No one would have borrowed that one.” Sighing, she joined
him, one hand resting on his arm. “Everyone knows I’m researching the prophecy.
Why would someone take that book now?”
    He shrugged, hating himself for being so moved by her casual
touch.
    “Want to hear something funny?” She propped one hip on the
table to look up at him with her doe-soft eyes.
    Swallowing hard, he couldn’t find words. He’d crushed on
Caralisa for too long. Instead of waiting for to think of the right thing to
say, he simply nodded.
    “Jackson stopped up here late last night.” Her gaze shifted
down and she concentrated on tracing the whorls on the wood with her finger. “Would
you believe he dared me, of all people, to race?” She snorted, her words and
tone suggesting it didn’t matter, but she said more with her body language than
he thought she planned.
    “I’m surprised you’ve never raced before.” His voice came
out gruff, like an unused machine needing oil.
    Another snort, but she still didn’t look at him. “Yeah,
first girl to race and have no one give chase? I’ll pass, thanks.”
    Unable to contain the wave of possession crashing over him,
Bentley felt the chains that’d long held his patience in snap. “Caralisa?”
    “Hmm?” She looked up and he caught her waist, dragging her
higher onto the table until his body pressed against hers. Glow shimmered
across his flesh and he thrilled when her body answered. Her shocked intake of
breath tested his ability to control the moment so he buried his face in her
hair.
    “Run.” Rubbing against her neck, he sucked in a lungful of
her scent. “Run fast and hard, but it won’t matter. I’ll be the one to catch
you.”
    Before she could castigate him for his actions, he fled the
room. He’d finally braved showing her how he felt, yet he didn’t want to scare
her. If he admitted what he suspected their pairing might entail, likely the
little librarian would run so far and fast, he’d never find her.

Chapter Two
     
    Having avoided Caralisa’s office all morning, Bentley lurked
outside the throne room, watching Jackson. He’d started having the dreams about
a year before. All shivery temptation wrapped in darkness, the first few nights
had left him tangled in sheets and confused. He’d been a Hunter since birth, a
bookkeeper by choice, and assumed his role in life to be reasonably clear cut
and logical.
    But his nighttime adventures wakened something else—a need,
a confusing ripple of dissent, a taboo he longed to break.
    It had taken him quite a long time to figure out what was
happening. To be sure he wasn’t suddenly picking up womanly Seer powers or was
just a sick fuck. No, his dreams were the result of something even more
unlikely.
    Jackson.
    Hunters could communicate telepathically and frequently did.
In battle, it was useful. In feeding their powers off human emotions, it was
decadent. In dreams? It generally was accidental. Sort of like rolling over and
bumping someone while you were unconscious, but with your mind rather than your
body.
    Jackson dreamed in color, dreamed with a brittle vibrancy
that seared Bentley, and his dreams starred Caralisa doing things Bentley hadn’t
considered anatomically possible. With them. With both of them at the same
time.
    The dreams left him horny, lonely, tangled in needs he
couldn’t admit to any more than he could ignore the jumbled cocktail of
sensations. If he dared confess his desires, more than a few would deride him,
not to mention he wasn’t sure how Jackson would respond.
    During the day, however, Jackson rebutted even the
suggestion of conversation between himself and Bentley. He seemed, for all
intents and purposes, to intentionally avoid Bentley at all costs, even to the
point of being flat out rude.
    But Bentley saw, in Jackson’s occasional glimpse that
lingered too long on either himself or Caralisa—or in the way he reached up a
hand only to drop it back into his lap when Caralisa