I know a lot of you haven’t had the opportunity to read Carved from Stone and Dream yet [obligatory plug to add it to your Goodreads list or to please pre-order], but I’m busy working on the third Los Nefilim novel, A Song with Teeth.
I know everything is terrible right now, and I needed something to lift my own mood. I’m not sure if this scene will make it the final draft of A Song with Teeth yet, but if you want to see Diago and Miquel in a quiet moment when the world isn’t throwing bullets and evil at them, here is a non-spoilery scene from the current WIP:
Diago reclined on a divan and held the locket up to the lamplight. The gold chain caught the firelight and winked in the bedroom’s darkness. “Did Francois say anything else?”
Miquel took off his shirt and tossed it over the back of a chair. “No.” He came to the divan and gently extracted the locket’s chain from Diago’s fingers. “Enough work.” Turning to one side, he placed the necklace on their night table. Then he leaned over Diago and held his gaze. “What did I promise you this afternoon?”
“To wine me and dine me and whatever comes next.” Diago noted how the shadows played over Miquel’s torso. He reached up and traced his finger over his husband’s dark skin. “But a bottle of beer and a cold sandwich are poor substitutes for wining and dining.”
“There is a war going on, comrade.”
A wicked light gleamed in Miquel’s eyes as he straightened. “I see you’re going to play hard to get.” He went to the wardrobe and withdrew his bag. “I thought this might happen. So while I was at the black market this afternoon, I took the liberty to do a little shopping for us.” He returned to the divan with a bottle, a corkscrew, and a wine glass. “Hold this for me.”
Diago pushed himself upright on the seat and accepted the empty glass. “Is that—”
“Château Margaux.” Miquel poured. “Say you love me.”
“I love you.” Diago swirled the wine gently and inhaled the aroma. This particular vintage was perfumed with an earthy scent accompanied by subtle hints of violets and oak.
Miquel watched him with a smile. “Are you going to sniff it or drink it?”
Diago lifted the glass to his lips and allowed himself a single sip. The sweetness flowed over his palate and filled his mouth. He closed his eyes and relished the luxurious flavor. The wine resurrected days long gone when they had lived in Santuari. In Catalonia, they had spent their evenings in wine and song, rather than intrigues and war.
Miquel sat beside him, and Diago opened his eyes. He noted Miquel held no glass of his own. “Aren’t you going to have some?”
“I’d rather taste it on your lips.” Without waiting for a response, he leaned forward and bestowed the gentlest of kisses on Diago’s mouth before withdrawing. He licked his upper lip and pretended to evaluate the flavor. “Hmm, sweet, not overly so. There is just a hint of acidity, but I can’t tell if that is you or the wine. Take another sip.”
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
Miquel leaned close and brushed his thumb across Diago’s mouth. “Hush and play the game.”
More intoxicated by Miquel’s presence than the wine, Diago took another sip. Miquel smiled and leaned close. It was a game that lasted deep into the night.