Hideaway Strath The sun caught in her raven hair Is blazing in me out of all control

Maintaining a lie was tiring — Lotte had forgotten just how tiring.

She liked it.

She liked the weary feeling that came to her some nights in the form of a stress headache; she liked the feeling of being swollen with a secret; she liked the wicked surge of power and control it gave her. Risk was an adrenaline rush that she'd let go since living in the Teekons, and it was unfortunate that she was rediscovering it in such an unsavory way — but the brass in her personality wouldn't let her quit. She was addicted to the renewed sensation of strength, feeling as though she'd lost a measure of her own after losing Dagfinn, Roarke, and her position of authority in a few short months. When she was calm and collected, she worried that even linking herself to Hemlock and Arturo would not be enough — but as the fireflower's call rose in the air she pushed those thoughts aside and kicked into a sprint.

Before the healer's song could die, Lotte was adding her own voice to it, black velvet on red silk; she tangled her voice sinuously with Hemlock's, making sure that her claim upon the dryad was painted in the sky in slow-rolling undulations. She was at the female's side in a matter of moments, and she crashed into the viridian-eyed sylph's comfort zone without permission or demur — half-hoping that Hemlock would retaliate with a saucy flash of her teeth. Although Lotte would relinquish the woman to her husband's embrace, she had every intention of taking active part in the dance. She snaked her body against the older female's, hard and rough, a breathless rumble stirring in her breast as she flashed a sultry smile.