Free Guardian of My Soul by Elizabeth Lapthorne Page B

smirked at him, her eyes dancing with laughter and
love.
    “I’ll admit to no such stupidity,” she insisted, tilting her
chin dangerously. “Why, I don’t even know how you could suggest such a thing,
Kyle Revell. For all you know—”
    Not wanting to know where her comment would lead, Kyle
pounced on her and pressed Sally’s back into the mattress. Kissing her fiercely
he let his fingers trace delicately down her sides until he reached a ticklish
spot he had known of for years. Using the knowledge without remorse he tickled
her until she screamed and cried uncle.
    “Okay!” she shouted as she gasped for air. “Of course I’d
follow anywhere you led. You know that, Kyle. But a witch needs her pride. Stop
it!”
    Pleased he had made his point, Kyle wrapped his arms around
her once again and hugged her fiercely.
    “I love you,” he said quietly, holding her as if he could
never bear to let her go again. Sally pressed a kiss to the edge of his jaw.
    “I love you, too,” she replied with brutal honesty. Kyle’s
chest swelled with happiness. “But we have work to do. Why don’t you make us
something to eat while I shower? I’ll be quick, I know your water tank is
small.”
    Kyle held her for just a moment longer. With their love
finally blossoming between them he knew they would be unstoppable together.
They shared one final kiss before parting. Kyle watched hungrily as Sally
walked across the bedroom to his tiny en suite. She left the door open and
after she turned the faucet on for the shower steam began to fill up the tiny
nook and trail into the bedroom.
    Tempted, Kyle stood and pulled on his boxer briefs. One
final glance into the steamed mirror over the basin and he headed down the
stairs and into the kitchen to make them something to eat.

Chapter Five
     
    Kyle came down the stairs from his loft dressed in a pair of
comfortable, torn jeans and a black t-shirt. His hair was still damp from his
shower, a few drops of water soaking into the shoulder of his cotton shirt.
Sally sat at his small, circular wooden table in the corner of his kitchen. An
orange, segmented and partially eaten, lay on her plate and a steaming cup of
coffee sat in front of her.
    The small bowl of pancake batter still sat beside the
skillet, untouched. Kyle opened the door to his pantry and removed a bottle of
maple syrup and a blueberry jam he knew Sally adored. Placing them both in the
center of the table Kyle moved to the skillet, turned the element on and
stirred the batter mixture before throwing a grin over his shoulder to his
witch.
    “Still don’t trust yourself around my stove?” he teased her
lightly. Sally twisted her mouth in what might have been a smile or a repressed
snarl and simply cast him a speaking glance.
    “I trust myself in my own kitchen just fine,” she retorted. “I
know my insurance covers every conceivable version of house fire and accident
possible. I just thought before I burned your home to the ground I would wait
until you were present to appreciate the show.”
    Kyle laughed and poured two large circles of batter into the
skillet, watching them carefully as they heated and then bubbled. Sally’s
cooking skills—or rather, her lack thereof—were an ongoing joke between them.
It was one of many running taunts between them.
    “You’re just angling to see me in that apron you can’t let
go of,” he joked. The air that had hung around his partner had been serious and
weighty before he had teased her. Kyle knew the conversation they were about to
have would not be a laughing matter. He wanted to place Sally in a better frame
of mind before they discussed the options on where they could head next in
their mission.
    A few weeks ago Morgan Kingsburgh—a member of the ruling
Tribunal of witches and wizards in the greater Chicago area—had been in
possession of a manuscript that contained a horrendous dark ritual. The ritual
was one of how to render tears in Time and in the wrong hands could