She trailed her finger down my arm. Idly. I resisted a shudder. “Do you know about magic, then?”

Clearing my throat, I forced myself to focus on the conversation. On her words. Not her touch. “We know what the Archbishop taught us in training.”

“Which is what?”

I looked away, jaw tight. I didn’t understand Lou’s infatuation with the occult. She’d made it clear countless times she didn’t agree with our ideology. But she kept bringing it up, like she wanted to fight. Like she wanted me to lose my temper.

I heaved a sigh. “That witches channel their magic from Hell.”

She snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Of course they don’t channel their magic from Hell. They channel their magic from their ancestors.”

I eyed her incredulously. “How could you possibly know that?”

“My friend told me.”

Of course. The witch from Tremblay’s. The witch we still hadn’t found. I resisted the urge to snap at her. No amount of pestering had convinced her to give us more information. I was surprised the Archbishop hadn’t threatened to tie her to the stake instead.

But I’d never heard anything like this before. “Their ancestors?”

Her finger continued down my arm. Grazed the hair on my knuckles. “Mmm hmm.”

I waited for her to continue, but she seemed lost in thought. “So . . . a witch, it can—”

“She.” Her head snapped up abruptly. “A witch is always a she, Reid. Not an it.”

I sighed, half tempted to end the argument there. But I couldn’t. Witch friend or no, Lou couldn’t spout such blasphemy around the Tower, or she would end up on the stake. And there wouldn’t be anything I could do to stop it.

I had to end this infatuation now. Before it got out of hand. “I know you think that—”

“I know that—”

“—but just because a witch looks and acts like a woman—”

“If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck—”

“—doesn’t mean it’s a duck. I mean, er, a woman.”

“Witches can give birth, Reid.” She flicked my nose. I blinked, lips quirking up in surprise. “That makes them female.”

“But they only give birth to females.” Grinning, I thrust my face toward hers in response. She jerked back and nearly toppled off the bed. I arched a brow in wry amusement. “Sounds like asexual reproduction to me.”

She scowled, and a furious blush stole across her cheeks. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought she was uncomfortable. I grinned wider, wondering what could’ve caused the sudden change. My physical nearness? The word reproduction? Both?

“Don’t be stupid.” She punched her pillow into shape and threw herself back down. Careful not to touch me this time. “Of course witches have sons.”

My smile vanished. “We’ve never encountered a male witch.”

“That’s because there are none. Magic passes only to females. The males are sent away after they’re born.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Because they don’t have magic. My friend said males are only allowed at the Chateau as consorts, and even then they aren’t allowed to stay.”

“She told you all this?”

“Of course.” She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at me, as if daring me to contradict her. “You should really educate yourself, Chass. A common street thief knows more about your enemies than you do. How embarrassing.”

Chagrin washed through me. Lou burrowed deeper in the blankets as the wind picked up outside.

“Are you cold?”

“A little.”

I inched closer, lifting my arm. “Will you accept an olive branch?”

She swallowed hard and nodded.

I pulled her against my chest, locking my hands at the small of her back. She returned to being a piece of wood. Small. Tense. Unyielding. Stripped of her prying questions and insulting banter, it was almost as if she were . . . nervous.

“Relax,” I murmured against her hair. “I don’t bite . . . much.” Quiet laughter rumbled through my chest. If possible, she stiffened even more. She needn’t have worried. Surely she heard the thundering of my heart and realized her advantage.

“Was that a joke, Chass?”

My arms tightened around her. “Maybe.” When she said nothing in return, I pulled back to look at her. Another smile tugged at my lips.

And, suddenly, I recalled our first night together.

“You don’t have to be nervous, Lou.” I stroked her back, forcing myself to remain still as she wriggled against me. “I’m not going to try anything.”

A noise of protest escaped her. “Why not?”

“I seem to remember you threatening to cut me open if I touched you without permission.” I tilted her chin up, cursing and congratulating myself in equal measure when her eyes fluttered shut. When her breath hitched. I leaned closer, my lips nearly brushing hers. “I won’t touch you until you ask.”

Her eyes flew open, and she pushed me away with a snarl. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” I smirked again and settled back against the pillow. “It’s late. We should sleep.”

Her eyes sparked with anger. With understanding.

With grudging admiration.

Triumphant, I watched her sift through her thoughts—watched each emotion play out on her freckled face. She scowled at me. “It appears I underestimated you.”

I raised my brows. “Just say the words. Ask me.”

“You’re an ass.”

I shrugged. “Have it your way.” In one fluid motion, I lifted the hem of my shirt up and over my head. Her eyes flew open incredulously.

“What are you doing?” She grabbed my shirt and threw it back at me.

I caught it. Tossed it to the floor. “I’m hot.”

“You—you— Get out of my bed! Get out!” She shoved me, probably with all her strength, but I didn’t budge. I only grinned.

“This is my bed.”

“No, this is where I sleep. You sleep on the—”

“Bed.” I clasped my hands behind my head. She gaped at me, eyes flicking to my arms—my chest. I grinned wider and resisted the urge to flex. “I’ve had a knot in my back for two weeks. I’m done sleeping on the floor. This is my bed, and I’m sleeping in it from now on. You’re welcome to join me, otherwise the tub is still free.”