8. Sarilian #2
Growling softly, Sarilian bucked upward and sealed Malorg’s mouth once more with his.
Dawnflame and duskflame swirled between them, threatening to consume them in a frozen conflagration.
Yet, as Sarilian let his head fall back, moaning while Malorg’s fingers slipped lower in a fervent caress, he could not imagine any way he’d rather go.
“I don’t want to leave,” Sarilian said once his breathing and heartbeat were back under control. His fingers played with Malorg’s soft, raven-black hair. “But I should.”
They lay side by side, their limbs still tangled together. At some point, constant contact had dulled the conflicting sensations of their magic into a tentative equilibrium.
Part of Sarilian longed for Malorg to say, Then don’t. To ask him to stay. But the Infernal simply nodded, moving to rise.
“Wait.” Sarilian tightened his grip around Malorg’s stomach, relishing the feel of his taut, battle-hardened muscles. “Just a little longer. Please?”
Malorg sighed but relented, sinking back into the pile of pillows. Sarilian snuggled contentedly into his side.
Soon, he’d have to return to the Dawnlands.
Even if he was willing to shirk his responsibilities to his fellow Celestials and the people of Allaria, he could only imagine the diplomatic crisis his discovery here would cause.
Not to mention his weakening reserve of dawnflame the longer he remained in the darkness.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t savor this moment while it lasted.
Malorg shifted against him, and he opened his eyes to find Malorg studying him, his expression tight with something akin to sorrow. Sarilian mustered a feeble grin. “Hey, no need for tears,” he teased. “This is goodbye for now, not forever. We’ll see each other again.”
“It’s not that,” Malorg replied, his gaze distant. “It’s just…you remind me of someone.”
A fresh knot of jealousy coiled through Sarilian. “Do you already have someone else?”
Malorg’s gaze snapped to Sarilian. “No.” A muscle in his jaw ticked as he averted his eyes. “Not anymore.”
The Infernal didn’t volunteer any more details, but Sarilian sensed enough to guess that whatever happened had a tragic ending. He pressed a kiss to Malorg’s scarred cheek. “I’m sorry.”
Malorg didn’t reply, but his hand found Sarilian’s, their fingers linking. “You meant what you said before?” he asked after a pause. “About seeing each other again?”
“Of course.” Sudden doubt brought Sarilian up short. “Unless you don’t want—”
“No!” Malorg cleared his throat. “I mean, that, uh, sounds acceptable.”
Sarilian grinned. His hand trailed down Malorg’s side, tracing the lines of shifting tattoos until his fingers came to rest on the Infernal’s lean hip. “Then, I look forward to it.”
They stayed that way for a while, hands clasped and bodies snuggled together, until Sarilian didn’t dare delay any further. He’d already been gone for hours—long enough he risked his squad reporting him missing. Next time, he’d need to be more careful.
Next time.
Knowing this wouldn’t be the last he saw of Malorg eased some of the ache of parting as Malorg duskwalked them out of the city. Even breaking the trip into several stints to give Sarilian time to recover, they reached the border far too soon for Sarilian’s liking.
There, standing along that delicate precipice between light and dark, they shared a final, bittersweet kiss. Though it lacked their earlier passion, it remained laced with something gentler and less frantic: a promise as much as it was a release. Sarilian didn’t want it to end.
But of course, it did.
“Until we meet again,” he said as he stepped toward the border.
Malorg only nodded, his expression unreadable. Sarilian hesitated on the threshold, and their gazes locked for a long, fraught moment. In Malorg’s ashen eyes, Sarilian swore he heard everything Malorg left unsaid. Then, with a fleeting smile, Sarilian crossed over.
Power instantly suffused him, golden radiance erupting from his flesh as his dawnflame returned to full strength.
He certainly wouldn’t miss that part about being in the Dusklands.
Glancing over his shoulder, he searched for Malorg, but without the Infernal’s darkvision enchantment, the forest’s shadows were impenetrable once more.
For all he knew, Malorg was already gone.
Somehow, though, Sarilian doubted it. With one last wave for good measure, he began the trek toward his squad’s rendezvous point.
As he walked, he thought of Malorg and the Covenant.
Of Daybreak and Twilight. Of Malorg seeking cooperation between their peoples…
and their summary dismissal of him as a fool.
Perhaps that was Sarilian’s true purpose in the Immortal Realm.
If he became one of the five Dawn Aspects, he’d have genuine sway over the future of the Dawnlands.
He could help Malorg fulfill his former dream and rewrite the Covenant to unite Celestials and Infernals against their common foe.
Rather than competing for souls and bickering over divergent virtues, they could combine their unique strengths and discover a way to fend off the Void forever.
And in the meantime…
A thrill danced across his skin as he recalled his time with Malorg.
While upholding his duty to protect Allaria remained his top priority, that didn’t mean he couldn’t also seize every opportunity he had to meet his new lover.
As he’d told Malorg during their first encounter, there was more to this existence than war and death.
Even as he embraced the thought, however, Sarilian felt the faintest tremor of unease. Because, if forced to decide between Malorg and the Covenant, he already knew which one he’d choose—and how much that choice would break his heart.