34. Selis #3
She closes her eyes—just for a breath. Like it hurts to hold all of this. When she opens them, they shimmer, wet and gleaming, reflecting the steam and the stars.
And then she says it. Quiet. Certain. Like a vow.
“Then let me be worth dying for.”
And that— that wrecks me.
It tears through everything I’ve built to survive. Every rule, every scar, every fucked-up belief I’ve clung to just to keep breathing. Her voice threads through me like the sound of a blade dragging slow across stone—shattering and remaking all at once.
I move before I can think .
One stride. That’s all it takes to close the space between us. Steam wraps around us in thick coils, damp and clinging, like the world itself is trying to hold us in place. Like it knows this moment is sharp enough to bleed on.
She looks up, and the way she does it—like I might be salvation or damnation—unmakes me further.
Her lips part. Maybe to say something soft. Maybe to break me with kindness.
I don’t let her.
I shut her up the only way I know how.
I kiss her.
She exhales against my mouth like she’s forgotten how to breathe without me. I feel her reach for me, fingers trembling, slipping into mine. We lace them together, damp skin pressed tight, and when I finally draw back, her eyes stay half-closed.
She looks dazed. Like she’s been pulled out of something holy.
Or maybe into it.
Water beads along her collarbone, tracing the delicate line of her throat. I watch one droplet fall, feel the heat of her skin close enough to scorch me—and I give in.
I drop to my knees like I’m being called to prayer.
The water sloshes softly around me, but all I hear is the frantic beat of my own heart. My arms wind around her waist, dragging her to me like I’m afraid she might disappear. I press my face to her stomach, damp skin against damp skin, and just breathe her in.
Naera gasps—a startled, breathless sound. Her fingers clutch at my shoulders, not to push me away, but to anchor herself. To me.
When I lift my gaze, it’s slow—like surfacing from deep water. Her body rises above me like a prayer I was never meant to speak aloud. And there she is, looking down at me, lips parted, eyes wide and burning with something raw. Something I’ll never deserve.
“Stay with me,” I rasp, the words catching low in my throat. “I would worship you… until I no longer have breath in my body to do so.”
And I mean it. Every word. Every aching second of it.
Naera’s fingers slide up, brushing wet hair from my face, thumb grazing my cheek like I’m something fragile. Sacred. It guts me.
Then, softer—hesitant, but teasing all the same—she says, “I thought you used up your poetic quota.”
A breath of a laugh escapes me, half against her skin. “What can I say?” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her stomach. “You inspire me. Turns out worship brings out the poetry.”
She smiles, but it falters. Something shifts behind her eyes—something quieter, weightier. The air stills.
“It feels like…” Her voice is barely there. “Like I’m supposed to go back.”
I freeze. The warmth in my chest hardens. I pull back just enough to look at her, to see the edge of fear she’s trying to hide.
“No,” I say, firm and flat. “Whatever voice you’re hearing in your head, it’s wrong.”
Naera blinks. Swallows. Her lashes are wet, not from the spring now. “But that voice led me to you,” she whispers. “How can it be wrong?”
I close my eyes, jaw clenching.
“Because it wants to take you from me.” And when I open my eyes again, I let her see the truth—unvarnished and raw. “I don’t care if it’s a god. I don’t care if it hung the fucking moon. If it’s trying to lead you back to that altar, it’s wrong. ”
My grip on her tightens—not rough, just desperate. “You’re not made to die for them, Naera. You were made to live. Here. With me.”
The words scrape something raw on their way out. Because they’re not just words. They’re a prayer.
And for a moment, I think maybe—just maybe—she believes me.
I’m going to make sure she never forgets.
My mouth brushes hers again as I rise. “Let me show you what worship looks like,” I say—light, teasing. But my hunger cracks through every word.
She lets me kiss her.
And fuck , she kisses me back.
Her lips part beneath mine, soft and willing, and I drink from her like I’ve been starved. My tongue finds hers—slow, deep, tasting every inch she gives. She gasps and I take more. Let her feel how much I want. Let her feel how close I am to breaking.
My hands roam—down the curve of her spine, to her ass, gripping her like I can hold her here, anchor her to this moment, to me.
She grinds against me—need sharp, hot, unhidden. Her nipples brush mine and the friction shoots straight to my clit, dizzying, blinding.
The water doesn’t soothe—it sharpens. Every touch slides. Every breath sticks. She’s slick everywhere, and still I want more.
I lift her easily. She wraps around me like she was meant to, thighs snug at my hips, her core pressing, rubbing and wet.
Then— something sharp. A sting. Her fang catches my lip.
I hiss.
And she moans—soft, aching—as she sucks the blood from my mouth like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Like it’s instinct. Worship. Need.
I carry her to the edge of the spring, breath heaving, every part of me aching to make her stay. She lets me lower her onto the flat, warm stone. And for a moment, I just look at her.
My little star.
Moonlight clings to every drop on her skin.
Her body gleams, radiant and trembling, like the gods sculpted her from starlight and breath held too long.
And I’m starving—starving for the sound she makes when she says my name like it means something.
Starving for the way she looks at me like I’m more than the blade they sent.
I stretch out beside her, gaze locked on hers.
One hand at her hip. The other tracing reverent lines down her stomach.
She gasps as I press my mouth to her throat, tasting salt and warmth and something holy.
Her skin shivers beneath my lips as my hand moves lower, dipping between her legs.
I slide a finger between her folds, and her bucks lift, as if desperate for the contact.
“Selis…” she breathes, barely a whisper.
I hush her with a kiss, not to silence, but to promise.
My finger circles her swollen clit. It’s hard beneath my touch and she bucks her hips, desperate for more friction. I oblige, pressing harder until her breathing becomes ragged.
She moves against me—trusting, wanting—and I guide her gently, giving her everything she reaches for. Every sigh she offers, I collect like prayer. Every shiver, I memorize.
“That's it, starlight,” I murmur against her ear. “Ride my hand. ”
Her moans echo through the night air as she chases her orgasm, grinding against my hand. Her wetness makes it easy to slide over her sensitive nub, easy to make her moan louder .
She clings to me as she comes undone, and I hold her through it—through every tremble, every sharp breath, every soft sound that proves she’s still here.
When the last tremor leaves her, she collapses against me, all soft limbs and shivering breaths, her heartbeat thudding wild beneath my palm like it’s trying to leap into my skin. Mine’s not much calmer.
My fingers tremble as I lift them—still slick with her, still humming with the heat of her. I bring them to my mouth and suck them clean, slow and shameless. She tastes like sin and salvation, like something I’d kill to earn again.
Her eyes widen. And then they darken—like storm clouds gathering just for me.
I dip back into the water, the heat soothing the ache in my limbs, the need in my gut. My hands find her thighs and I grip tight, spreading her open for me, claiming the space between.
Where I can fall to my knees in front of her.
And pray.
I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, soft at first, reverent, and feel her shudder under me. A whispered, wrecked, “Gods, Selis,” escapes her as her fingers thread into my hair, tugging me closer.
I glance up. Her gaze meets mine—wide, hungry, a little dazed—and that’s all I need. I bury my mouth against her, groaning as I taste her at the source, licking like I’m half-feral and haven’t eaten in days.
Her hands tighten, anchoring me as I lap at her, tongue dragging slow then fast, deep and deeper, greedy for every sound she makes, every tremble I can pull from her.
She writhes against my mouth, her cries slipping out unguarded, and I drink her down like I’ll never get enough.
Because I won’t.
I worship her with every kiss, every touch, every breath like it’s a hymn in a language only we speak.
Her clit pulses against my tongue, hot and swollen, and I zero in, flicking it fast, relentless.
She throbs beneath me—every twitch, every gasp, feeding something wild in my chest. I suck hard, moaning into her, and her hips jolt, trying to twist away from the onslaught, but I don’t let her.
I hold her down, fingers digging into her thighs.
She’s not getting away. Not from this. Not from me.
I anchor her with my hands and my mouth and every broken piece of myself I’ve never let anyone see.
The taste of her, the feel of her unraveling under my mouth—it’s maddening. My own need surges, sharp and aching. I reach between my legs without thinking, fingers finding my clit and circling hard, fast, desperate. The friction makes me cry out against her, the sound muffled by her skin.
She breaks first—trembling, crying out, coming apart for me—and the sight of her, the sound, the smell of her release, the way her body bows and clenches and gives —it shatters me.
Pleasure slams through me, hard and unyielding, and I come with a sob against her, my body jerking as the orgasm rips through me. Every muscle seizes, then melts.
When it’s done, I collapse against her, boneless and breathless. My arms curl around her waist, pulling her close like she might drift away otherwise. I bury my face against her belly, nuzzling into her warmth, her scent, her softness.
Mine.
The water doesn't boil. The gods don't strike me down.
But something in me shifts.
And I know I’m not getting out of this clean.
Not now.
Not ever.
***
She’s already awake when I roll over.
Boots laced tight, pack slung over one shoulder like she’s just going for a stroll through the fucking woods. And that’s when I know that she made her decision.
Rialeth stands nearby, waiting with that serene little priestess smile that makes me want to punch her teeth through the back of her throat.
Naera doesn’t look at me when I sit up. That’s the part that cuts cleanest. Not the boots. Not the bag. It’s the absence of her eyes—the way she avoids mine like they’d burn her worse than any vision.
Like she’s already said goodbye… and I just hadn’t noticed.
“So that’s it,” I say, and the words come out like frostbite—quiet, sharp, and cold enough to scar. “You’ve decided.”
Naera keeps her gaze averted.
“I told you what I saw,” she says, voice steady, rehearsed. Like she practiced it while I slept.
“You told me what you think you saw.” My teeth ache from how hard I’m clenching my jaw. I want to spit the words at her.
She finally turns to face me, and it’s worse than if she hadn’t. Her expression is calm. Too calm. Like a lake before a drowning.
“I believe in it,” she says.
Of course she does.
“You would,” I snarl, standing too fast, too hard. My limbs feel electric—hot and tight, like I’ll explode if I stay still another second. “You believe in everything. Gods. Fate. Fucking moonlight. Whatever holds you down, you fall in love with.”
Her lips part, our eyes finally meet. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is dying for people who locked you in a garden and called it worship.”
Rialeth shifts behind her, like she’s about to step between us. Good. Please. I dare her. I’d love a reason to bury my fist in her too-holy face.
But Naera lifts a hand to stop her.
“Selis…” she starts, and her voice is soft. Apologetic. It only makes it worse.
“Don’t,” I snap. “You made your choice.”
I turn from her, hands shaking as I reach for my blanket and cloak. I don’t bother straightening it, just yank the thing up in a tangled mess. I don’t care. Let it be crooked. Let it fucking burn.
“You want The Garden?” I mutter, throwing the blanket over my shoulder. “Fine. I’ll take you.”
“What?” Her voice rises—confused, unsure, almost guilty. “You don’t have to—”
“I do. ” My head snaps back toward her. “You’re not walking into that place alone.”
She stares at me, eyes wide with something close to grief.
“You want to be sacrificed?” I meet her gaze full on now, stepping forward like the words are daggers and I want to bury them in her chest. “Then I’m bringing you straight to The Garden. ”
“Selis—”
“And you were right before,” I add, my voice gone ragged now, every word a wound I’m giving myself just to watch her bleed. “I should collect the bounty while I’m at it.”
She doesn’t answer.
She just looks at me. Like I’ve gutted her. Like she didn’t think I could be cruel. Like I haven’t been trying to warn her every fucking night that I’m not a good person. Not a hero. Just a blade waiting for a reason.
“You think this is about some divine mission?” I grind out. “It’s not. It’s coin. It’s the end of a job. That’s all you are and it’s all you should have ever been.”
Her breath catches.
And fuck, I see it. I feel it—how those words land, how they carve something open inside her. How her spine straightens, brittle and raw. How her hands curl in on themselves like she doesn’t know where to put the hurt.
It hurts. It hurts to say it. But some ruined part of me thinks:
Good.
She hurt me first…
I never should’ve let her get close.
This is what it gets me.