His hand came up to pin mine against his shoulder, not binding but promising more. His free hand dropped lower, suggestively crossing the invisible boundary of my defenses and retreating to give me his answer. That we'd spent the last two months keeping our distance made that simple move surprisingly intense.

Marshal reached to tilt my head up to his, and I let my head move easily in his grip, turning to face him. His fingers were warm on my jawline as he searched my gaze, weighing my words against his own worries. I shivered in the chill. "You sure?" he said. "I mean, we can't go back."

He had already seen the crap of my life, and he hadn't left. Did it matter if this didn't last forever if it gave me peace right now? "No, I'm not sure," I whispered, "but if we wait until we are, neither of us will find anyone."

That seemed to give him a measure of assurance, and I closed my eyes as he gently turned my face to his and tentatively kissed me, tasting of sugar and doughnuts. Feeling raced through me, heat from wanting something I said I never would pursue. His hand pulled me closer, and the slip of a tongue sent a dart of desire to my middle. Oh God, it felt good, and my mind raced as fast as my heart.

I didn't want this to be a mistake. I'd been with him for two months and proved neither of us was here for the physical stuff. So why not see if it worked?

Tension plinked through me, sharpening my thoughts and arraying an almost-forgotten possibility before me. Despite—or maybe because of—our platonic relationship, I wasn't ready to sleep with him. That would be just too weird, and Jenks would tell me I was overcompensating for something. But he was a ley line witch—I wasn't a slouch either—and though the age-old technique of drawing energy from one witch to another probably had its origins in our ancestral past to assure that strong witches procreated with strong witches to promote species strength, nowadays all that remained was insanely good foreplay. There was only one problem.

"Wait," I said, breathless as our kiss broke and reason filtered back into me.

Marshal's fingers slowed and dropped. "You're right. I should go. Dumb idea. I'll, uh, call you if you want. In about a year, maybe."

He sounded embarrassed, and I put a hand on his arm. "Marshal." Looking up, I shifted closer until our thighs touched. "Don't go." I swallowed hard. "I, uh, I haven't been with a witch in ages," I said in a small voice, unable to look up. "One who could pull on a line, I mean. I'd kind of like to…you know. But I don't know if I remember how."

His eyes widened as he understood, and his chagrin at my supposed rebuff was pushed out by something deeper, older: the question our DNA had written that begged to be answered. Who was the more proficient witch, and how much fun could we have finding that out?

"Rachel!" he said, his soft laugh turning me warm. "You don't forget stuff like that."

My mortification grew, but his gaze was one of understanding, and it gave me strength. "I didn't practice ley lines much then. Now…" I shrugged, embarrassed. "I don't know my limits. And with my aura being damaged…" I let my words trail off to nothing.

Marshal put his forehead against mine, his hands on my shoulders. "I'll be careful," he whispered. "Would you rather pull than push?" he said softly, hesitantly.

I flushed hot, but I nodded, still not looking at him. Pulling was more intimate, more soul stealing, more tender, more dangerous in terms of confusing it with love, but it was safer when the two people didn't know each other's ley line limits.

He leaned in slowly for an inquisitive kiss. My eyes closed as his lips met mine, and I exhaled into it, my grip on his shoulders tightening. I shifted to face him. Marshal responded, his hand going to the back of my head, possessive yet hesitant. His redwood scent sparked in me a rise of emotion, pure and untainted by the fear that had always lurked with Kisten. The kiss lacked the adrenaline push of fear, but it struck just as deep, hitting emotion born in our beginnings. There was danger in this not-so-innocent kiss. There was the potential for ecstasy or an equal amount of pain, and the dance would be very careful, as trust was only a promise between us.

My pulse leapt at the chance to see this through. A power pull didn't have to include sex, but it was probably the reason female witches always came back after playing with invariably more well-endowed human males. Even if humans could work the lines, they couldn't do a power pull. My only worry besides embarrassment was my compromised aura…It might hurt instead. It was basically the same thing Al used for punishment, forcing a line into me to cause pain, but it was like comparing a loving kiss to rape.

A trill of anticipation lit through me and was gone. Oh God. I hope I remember how to do this, 'cause I really want to.

I drew him to me even as I broke our kiss. My breath came fast, and eyes still shut, I leaned my head against his shoulder, lips open as I breathed in his scent. One of his hands held my waist, the other was lost in my hair. I tensed at the feel of his fingers. He knew I wasn't going to hit him with a blast of ley line force to repel him and his advances, but several millennia of instinct were hard to best with only a lifetime of experience, and we'd go slow.

I shifted, straddling his legs, pinning him to the back of the couch. A spike of anticipation dove deep. It was followed by worry. What if I couldn't loosen up enough to do this? My breath was fast, and with my hands laced behind his head, I opened my eyes to find his. Their deep brown was heady with a desire to match my own. I shifted, feeling him under me. "You ever done this with a friend before?" I asked.

"Nope, but there's a first time for everything," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice as well as see it. "You need to be quiet."

"I…," I managed to get out before his hands edged under my shirt and he kissed me again. My pulse hammered, and as the rough-smoothness of his hands explored my midriff and rose higher, his mouth on mine grew intense. I met his aggression with my own, sending my hands to his waist, dipping a finger beneath his jeans to prove I might do more someday.

I pressed into his warmth, deciding not to think anymore, but just to be. My chi was utterly empty, so with the soft hesitancy of a virginal kiss, I reached out my awareness and found the simmering energy his chi held. Marshal felt it. His hands on me tightened and relaxed, telling me to draw it from him, to set his entire body alight with the rush of adrenaline and the ecstasy of endorphins when I forcibly took it.

I exhaled, willing it to come.

The warmth of his hands on me flashed into tingles. In a sudden rush that shocked us, the balances equalized. Adrenaline spiked out of control. Marshal groaned, and, frightened, I tightened my awareness. Barriers clamped down, and I warmed in embarrassment. But the energy had come in smooth and pure, lacking the sickening nausea that a ley line left me in. Coming from a person, it had lost its jagged edges.

"Marshal," I gushed, totally miserable. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at this."

Marshal shuddered, opening one eye to focus on me. He had gone utterly pliant under me, frighteningly so. "Who says?" he whispered, sitting up to pull me farther onto his lap.

I was ready to throw myself out the window. I could feel the energy from him in my chi, scintillating and tasting of masculinity in my thoughts. It wanted to go back to him, but I was afraid. I'd closed myself to him, and it was going to be harder, now.

"Rachel," Marshal soothed, his hand running up and down my arm. "Relax. You've been carrying around chunks of ever-after with the intent of hurting people if they attack you, and because of that, you've built one hell of a wall."