Marinah is in my arms, in my bed, and asleep with one leg thrown over mine and a pillow covering her head. The small fingers of her right hand lay possessively on my chest and it's been like this for hours. When I move, she uses me like a pillow and realigns herself for maximum comfort.

It's late, sometime around three in the morning.

"Marinah," I whisper. Her answering grumble makes me smile. "I want to go hunting."

Her lax body instantly goes rigid. "For ...