The smirk was almost painfully familiar, not only because she'd seen it so often on Rebekah's face, but because it looked so much like the one she saw in the mirror. She pushed down the welling grief of loss and slid her hand down Rebekah's arm, threaded their fingers together, and led her toward two wagon-stalls that formed a nicely shadowed niche.

"Permit me the liberty?" she asked, stepping in close enough that Rebekah would feel the warmth of her body against her skin and see the strong pulse in her throat.