Mirabelle sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed, turning the perfectly round Core between her fingers.
It was still warm.
Not merely warmed by her skin. The heat seemed to come from somewhere deep inside the material, radiating outward in slow waves that matched the steady rhythm beneath its polished surface.
THUMP.
She rolled it into her other palm.
THUMP.
Golden light shimmered faintly between her fingers.
Mirabelle stared at it.
The festival had ended hours ago, yet pieces of it still lingered in her mind.
The music. The ribbons. The children pressing increasingly random treasures into her hands. Lucien somehow managing to eat while carrying half a household worth of gifts.
And silver eyes.
Of course.
Mirabelle sighed and fell backward against the pillows.
Every interaction with that male made less sense than the one before it.
The dreams.
The Anubis Caravan.
The way he'd looked at her.
And now this.
