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had never felt he was a high-level member. Fiona and everyone else had left town and Bertrand was still here. Skye hadn’t been able to arrest him because there was no evidence he’d done anything wrong—and no proof that he’d artificially kept Rafe in a coma.
    Moira didn’t know how she did what she did. Whenever she was around magic, her skin tingled, like all the hairs on her body were vibrating. It was subtle, but very real. She saw colors—auras—of spells at work. Not just the natural auras surrounding all living things, but auras of spells, which suggested, to her at least, that spells were living, growing things—even if invisible to most people. Scientific research suggested that smell was the most powerful of senses, triggering memories—and Moira would agree. Just the hint of an herb or concoction had her earliest memories returning without her consciously thinking about it. This combination—sight, touch, smell—gave her all the clues she needed to detect and analyze magic.
    She’d been terrified of this skill when it first manifested itself, and even more scared as she learned to lower her protective shields and allow herself to feel what was around her. It was heady and scary and intense. She felt more connected to the Earth and all living things, but she was also horrified because most of the spells she sensed had dark, destructive purposes.
    She wasn’t expecting any active spells in Bertrand’s house, but nonetheless, she cautiously lowered her protective shields, letting the natural aura of the building, the grounds, the air flow over her. She almost laughed. Bertrand had not only been a mediocre magician, his attempts at protection were weak, countermanding each other as he experimented without knowing what he the hell he was doing. No wonder Fiona had left him behind—he might have been a competent doctor, but he was certainly a poor witch.
    Comfortable that she would be safe walking around, she relaxed completely, letting out a long breath.
    She nodded to Skye. “I’m ready. Let’s go in.”
     
    #
     
    Rafe stayed on the periphery, watching Moira.
    They’d learned over the last few months that if he got too close to her when she was working, his anxiety distracted her. The distraction could be dangerous, especially when she was opening herself up so completely.
    Then when they were alone, just the two of them, Moira’s senses, her unusual empathy and ability to not only feel but share her own emotions on a raw, primal level had given him an unbreakable connection to her. When she completely let go, it was as if they blended together, as if it were always meant to be. When they made love, they became one. Every atom of his body felt every atom in her body. The intensity of their united emotions made sex far more important, far more powerful than an enjoyable physical release. The ecstasy was so powerful that the world melted away and it was always just Rafe and Moira.
    Sometimes he didn’t even need to touch her. Sometimes he just had to think of Moira and he felt her within him.
    Rafe didn’t want Moira going to Montana. He didn’t see the need for her to track down John when Rico had other people to do it. Yes, John was important and a vital part of the St. Michael’s team, but to split up Rafe and Moira when every sign told them that Santa Louisa was bubbling with evil made no sense.
    But Rafe would not stop her. He didn’t know if he could, and right now, he wasn’t sure he could accept her choosing duty over love.
    Sometimes, Moira was the only person keeping him tethered to reality. He focused on her now, deep in thought, as she slowly walked through Bertrand’s house.
    He loved watching her work. Moira raised her arms, just a bit, as if the air was multi-dimensional, visible only to her. Her long, unadorned fingers spread, relaxed yet poised to react to the slightest supernatural attack. Her blue eyes brightened, her skin almost glowed, every movement fluid, like a subtle