Page 115 of Summer of Sacrifice

Lady Beetle Jousters

Lady Sleuth, lady solutions

Private investigator for hire.

Specialisation: peculiarities

and unsolved cases.

Send word to:

post box 221b, Bowery

Seleste’s—Lady Beetle’s—heart swelled at the memories of her cases as she walked toward her hut.

Fourteen cases she’d solved over the last several moons. Fourteen lives she’d helped. After being gone most of the Summer, her box had been so full when she’d returned, that she’d only made it through half the missives.

She heaved the basket off her shoulder, setting it beside her outdoor table, the one where she brewed her potions and did much of her cooking.

Before she could begin the new cases, though, Seleste wanted to complete the spell she had in mind. One of protection for her and her Sisters—success in their endeavours.

Taking a pineapple from her basket of fruit, she removed the machete strapped to her thigh—for cutting through the jungle brush of her isle—and sliced off a chunk. Popping it in her mouth and savouring the sweet, tangy taste, she pulled her ingredients from her basket, slipping the seashells into her mortar and pestle.

Wiping the pineapple juice from her fingers onto a nearby linen, she spotted something off in the distance, on the water. Holding her hand over her brows to shield her eyes from the sun’s reflection off the water, she squinted.

It appeared to be a boat… Seldomly, a merchant vessel would lose its way to Bowery and stop off on Isle Tiamat, but it was extremely rare. This, however, was a much smaller boat than a merchant would sail.

Seleste wiped her hands and tucked the machete back in its place beneath her sarong. “Litha, keep hidden,” she said, making her way toward the shore.

The boat was approaching quickly, and even smaller than she’d originally thought. Her cunning, returned since her sleuthing began and more honed than ever, took quick stock of the situation. The craft must have come from Bowery, to be so small and not capsized.

It had to be someone intending to come to the isle. They could merely be coming for an adventure, but those vessels usually landed on the other side of the island, directly across from Bowery, and a fair distance from Seleste’s hut.

The boat slid up onto the beach rockily, and she watched pale arms throw an anchor over the side.

Not a sailor or fisherman then, to be so pale, and not one usually on the water to dock so sloppily when the water was quite calm.

She strode closer, shielding her eyes.

A lone man disembarked the boat, and Seleste gasped.

She ran forward, her heart lodged in her throat.

He rushed across the shore toward her until they collided in a heap in the hot sand, both of them crying. “What are you doing, you foolish, foolish man!” Seleste chastised as Cal kissed her cheeks, eyelids, lips, anywhere he could.

“Goddess above and all The Void’s gods,” he cursed, squeezing her tight against him. “I’ve missed you.”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed and cried simultaneously, untangling herself from him long enough to stand. “Come, come.” She pulled him up and they barely made it into her hut before they were upon each other again, this time more sensually.

His lips, his hands, they roved over every bit of bare skin he could find until he yanked her sarong off. Lifting her up, Cal eyed her hungrily, both of them breathless as he set her on a dresser just inside the door.

Not bothering to close said door, he kissed her neck, her breasts, as he stepped sloppily out of his clothes, and Seleste tipped her head back against the dried palm branch wall. She sucked in a breath as he kissed up the column of her neck, biting the tender skin there as his fingers slid between her legs.

“Seleste,” he murmured into her ear, a growled whisper of need twined in the word the way he was twined with her.

Grabbing her hips, he pulled her to the edge of the dresser, thrusting into her. She let out a scream, the ache for him for over a year finally being sated. The freedom of no one being around to stop them fueled her fire, and she cried out with pleasure.

Their first reuniting was not tender, nor was it long for either of them. But the second, on the sprawling white of her canopied bed, was enough to bring her to tears. He murmured his love for her over and over, worshipping her body. By the time they both collapsed, the sun was setting.

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