Chapter 27
27
S OMETHING STALKS ME .
I can’t say for certain how many hours have passed while I have wound through the crisscrossing passageways and broken corners of the labyrinth. Every so often, I hit a dead end and am forced to backtrack. Time moves strangely in the dark unknown. But it was not long after I began to explore that I first heard it, a steady clop clop , like a metronome.
I clutch the violin case to my chest. Seeing as it has significant heft, it could be used as a weapon, if needed, though I fear harming the instrument nestled safely inside. Stupid, that I care more for this violin than I do my own life. The quicker I escape this place, the sooner I can help those I love.
Eventually, I reach a crossroads. Right, or left. The passage walls, carved with a language of the ancients, rise like highest cliffs, shielding what lies beyond the white stone. The sound fades, but always, it returns: clop, clop, clop.
My ears strain. It sounds closer than before. I turn right, my sweaty palm grasping the leather handle of the violin case. I veer around a corner, then another. Whatever stalks me—the beast?—it sounds enormous.
Ducking behind a wall, I spot an area in the stone that has been carved away, providing a crevice wide enough to offer a hiding place. I manage to squeeze myself into the cramped space, eyes fixed on the tunnel ahead. A quick scan of my surroundings reveals small stones lying against the base of the wall. I snatch one up, breath held.
From out of the distant shadows, there emerges the beast.
Its body is a slab of pure muscle, tapered to four long, bony legs with curved, ebon hooves. Bristly hair roughens its snout and the insides of its wide pink nostrils. Its shoulders are akin to boulders rupturing through its sloped back, and short dark hair patches its body. It looks to be a bull, though from the odd shape of its head, I can tell it once had the appearance of a man. It sniffs the ground along the opposite wall. Too close.
This creature once possessed enough lucidity to transcribe its thoughts, the shame of its existence. This beast, whom over a dozen men have been sacrificed to—did it once have a name? Family? Looking at it now, I understand it is too far gone to listen to reasoning. Here, I am prey.
With a short prayer, I heave the rock as far as I can into the distance. Its sharp clatter draws the bull’s attention, and it charges after the disturbance.
I’m up, pushing my flagging legs into a sprint. I reach a fork, turn right. Another passage, another split, another choice that may lead me to salvation or ruin. At the next bend, I ram into something solid, steeped in shadow.
With a scream, I slash my nails across the hulking shape, only to have my wrist clamped as I’m hauled close, arms banded tight across my upper back to stifle my struggles.
Sarai , a voice coos.
A shudder encases my heart and lungs and ribs. “Let me go.” I twist in the creature’s grip. My breath comes short.
Why do you struggle, Sarai? Why do you struggle, my daughter?
I freeze. The cold begins to climb my skin. Daughter? A forceful shunt, and I shove free of the figure: a woman.
I know her, though we have never met. I recognize her face, its regal oval shape and wide, pink lips. The high brow and rippling black hair, the dimple in her chin. Her portrait hangs in the throne room alongside Father’s: Queen Khalise of Ammara, who died at only thirty-three years of age.
But this is not my mother. Rather, it is some twisted version of her. Her skin is naught but shreds of cloth, excess fabric sagging off her bones. She wears a shapeless white dress. Her long, ebony hair hangs in wet hanks down her skeletal back.
I’ve been waiting for you, Sarai. She reaches for me. Where have you been all this time? Why hide from fate?
I recoil from that bony, outstretched hand as her mouth parts. A low, gurgling wail peels out. Black fluid gushes from her rotting gums, and I scream, stumbling back, only to find her sticky fingers have latched onto the violin case.
A sudden clop snaps my head around toward the tunnel I’d emerged from. Even from this distance, I hear the beast lurking somewhere beyond sight. It must have caught my scent.
The clacking of its hooves tumbles into a loud rattle. I attempt to jerk the case away. The phantom folds forward, skin oozing across her bones, soft as candlewax. Not my mother, I remind myself, and punch the phantom creature in the face. She splatters across the ground.
Snatching the case, I dart down another side corridor, putting as much distance between myself and the bull as I can. I’m not sure how much longer I can run for. The case slows me down considerably.
Though perhaps I am doing this all wrong. The violin helped me once. Perhaps they are connected: this labyrinth, Fahim’s violin, me. I do not know the how or why of it, nor do I particularly care. Halting in the middle of the passage, I flip the locks on the case, pull out the instrument, set the bow to the string. The creature’s ragged breaths seethe on the opposite side of the wall.
What do I need? Protection. A means of defense. The violin created the door that led me here. What else might it call into existence? I will build a wall of sound, of music. I will play until it breaks through the darkened ceiling overhead.
And then I remember the piece of musical notation the jeweler from Mirash showed us. I recall its melody and begin to play. It wells, bell-like, down the throat of the corridor. As I shape it with intention, a barrier assembles, stone materializing in a misty shimmer, stacked higher and higher still.
On the upper section of the barrier, the stone transforms, becoming transparent. Glass, thick enough to become walls. Construction is nearly complete when the bull appears, barreling around a corner. The melody ends, yet I return to the beginning of the piece, moving through the measures, praying my fingers do not falter. Steps from the wall, it skitters to a halt, its yellow eyes like fogged sunlight. Steam curls from its wide, slitted nostrils.
It paces alongside the barrier. A low grunt of frustration emanates from its chest. I fear that the moment I cease playing, the barrier will vanish. Once the wall is fortified, I shift my attention toward creating a long, brutal spear. It hovers above the ground to my right. A crude head, a sturdy haft. It will do.
“Sarai!”
My fingers falter. The wall flickers; the beast shoves its broad head against the barrier. I hurriedly continue to play, and the wall solidifies, bleeding into the shadows overhead. “Notus?”
“Keep calling out to me,” he cries. “I’ll find you.”
My heart lifts in tentative hope. His voice. I have missed it, though it feels as if only a handful of hours have passed since we last spoke. With effort, I hone my concentration on the task at hand: felling this dark beast.
Slowly, the spear lifts higher off the ground. Using a series of rapid sixteenth notes, I pull back the weapon and release.
The spear cuts clean and true. I will the weapon to pass through the barrier, and it does, sinking deep into the animal’s bulky shoulder. A guttural scream wrenches from the beast’s mouth. It stumbles, blood pooling beneath its hooves, then rams the partition, its snarling face plastered against the surface.
So long as I continue to perform, I am safe. The trouble is, it’s impossible to focus on two tasks as the same time. With my attention on the spear, I’m unable to reinforce the wall, and when the bull strikes the barrier with its blunt horns, it smashes through in a shower of glass.
I bolt, abandoning the violin case in my haste to flee. It’s impossible to play and run at the same time, but I manage to tuck the instrument beneath my right arm, left hand gripping the neck. I pluck the strings with my right hand, the sound frenzied, as the stitch in my side hooks deep. I stagger, heaving for breath.
Then all at once, the sound of hooves in pursuit stops.
I slow, head tilted back, throat open to suck in air, saliva clumped at the edges of my mouth. I have no idea whether I’m closer to escape than I was moments ago. Dare I venture forth into the labyrinth, these corridors which haunt me? In the end, I haven’t a choice.
I return the way I came, violin tucked beneath my chin just in case. Rounding a corner, I spot the beast, its massive form steeped in shadow as it battles the South Wind.
Scimitar in hand, Notus lunges, weapon a blur. The hacking blow arcs downward, bright silver in the gloom, yet rather than wounding the beast, the sword seems not to touch it at all.
Shock stiffens Notus’ expression. The bull lunges. The South Wind leaps up and over the bull, propelled by a gust of wind. If I’m not mistaken, his sword failed to penetrate the beast’s hide. It slipped through as if the creature were made of smoke. Except… it’s not made of smoke. It collided with the wall I’d erected, and my spear wounded it. So how is this possible?
And then I understand. Music. It was harmed only by what I conjured with the violin. As such, Notus’ blade cannot touch it.
The bull rears. From its hooves, a cloud of darkness blasts toward Notus, who rises to meet it, legs braced, sword raised. Shadow collides with the arid desert air. A concussive boom shatters the labyrinth walls, god and beast hurled in opposite directions. Notus flips midair to land on his feet. The bull rams into the far wall. Grit showers its crumpled form.
The South Wind swipes a forearm across his face, ebon hair disheveled, coated in a fine layer of dust. Again, he sends a powerful wind toward the bull. It ricochets off its haunches, completely harmless. He swears, powerless in the face of this foe. It is the closest thing to mortality the South Wind has likely ever experienced.
“It won’t work,” I shout.
Notus startles, whipping toward me. His eyes widen.
“Corner it against the wall,” I order. “If you can keep it there long enough, I might be able to send it elsewhere.”
He nods, lips pressed into a grim line. Using his power, he corrals the creature into a corner while I begin to play. Three, four, five drop chords rattle the air, and a void blooms at the beast’s back—an abyss. Notus hurls a spiraling wind toward the beast, which flings it into the cavity. The void stitches itself shut the moment I remove my bow from the string. Where I have sent it or how long it will remain there, I haven’t the slightest clue.
“Sarai.” Notus hastens toward me, sweat drenching the front of his robe. His eyes are wild. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
A low, wretched sound tears free of my throat. This immortal, who has stolen my heart, and whom I believed I had lost. “You came,” I sob, and collapse into the South Wind’s arms.
He dips his head close. The fragrance of his breath warms my mouth, and I inhale eagerly, desperate for his scent. He is here. We are here, together, and as he murmurs words of comfort and reassurance, I break. I cannot remain standing. I cannot brace myself against an all-powerful wind.
“I thought you were dead,” he whispers.
“If it makes you feel any better,” I manage, the words garbled, “I thought I was, too.”
There is no sound but for my broken cries. I sense his desire to eliminate this fragile barrier between us. Perhaps I would do so myself, if I were not so consumed by adrenaline, this marriage of life and death hovering over me.
“I didn’t know about the black iris,” he says. “You must know I would never intentionally cause you harm.”
“I know.” His concern touches upon my skin like a physical ache. He knows, and he sees, and I cannot bear it, this feeling of being exposed down to the bones. “I should have known my destiny would lead me to the labyrinth.” I shake my head. “Say it,” I weep in earnest. “Say how foolish I am to have trusted Prince Balior. Tell me—” A bright keening snags behind my teeth, a sound of continuous tension. “Tell me I have not learned.”
My body tightens, girded for that inevitable blow.
But the South Wind only tightens his arms around me and says, “I’m here, Sarai. You’re not alone.” And it lifts from me an unbearable load, because I have felt so lonely all these years, and I do not feel strong, or wise, or clever, or whole. How could I, when my entire life I was told I must be someone else? What an incredibly damaging thing for a child to think, that they, at their core, are flawed, or lacking.
But this man, this god, this generous, forgiving immortal, who has inserted himself into my business as if he had a right to do so… “I can’t stand against it,” I whisper.
He is quiet. “Stand against what?”
“You.”
His mouth brushes my ear. A shiver rolls down my spine. “Then don’t,” Notus says. When I fail to respond, he pulls back, though not enough to completely disentangle our arms. Dirt smudges his face, sinks into the creases bracketing his mouth. “For so long, I didn’t believe myself to belong—anywhere, really. So when I came to Ammara, I drifted. I accepted the idea that I would have no home. That perhaps I did not deserve one.”
“Oh, Notus.” My heart breaks for him.
“But home can be built,” he whispers, and I’m startled by the quaver in his voice, an undercurrent of that fear he’s carried with him. “It can be found and nurtured in another.” As his dark eyes hold mine, he says, “And I found a home with you.”
I blink rapidly, but the tears sting regardless. His words are beautiful. In them, I see the whole of his heart.
A heart that is mine. A heart I will cherish and defend. A heart I will shelter, if he will allow me the honor.
“I’m sorry for pushing you away.” I fight that old shame, which tells me in no uncertain terms that I am unworthy of Notus, this one good thing. But I am, after all, human. I am imperfect. I am unfinished and always will be. “I was not in a good place, as you know, and I suppose I felt insecure about myself.”
He cups my face in his broad hands, thumbs smoothing away the tears that trickle like rivulets. “Insecure in what way?”
Despite my attempts to stifle the emotion, it rushes up and out. The words emerge as a croak. “I feared that you would leave, that you did not want me.”
Notus’ eyes soften, and warm. “Sarai.” My name is a sound of relief and completeness and deep knowing. It makes my knees quake. “I have never wanted a single thing in my life, but I saw you, and I fell, and not even the gods could stop me.”
The stony emotion obstructing my airway eases, and I swallow, hard.
“I have always loved you,” he says, resting his forehead against mine. “I don’t think you truly understand how deep my feelings for you run. I am enthralled by you. Wholly, stupidly, madly in love with you. You , just as you are in this moment. Just as you have always been.” The corners of his mouth drag downward into a frown, and he searches my gaze. “But I have spent many nights lying awake wondering if those feelings were reciprocated.”
That fault is mine. I have given no reason for Notus to trust my word. After all, my actions have not always showcased my true feelings—rather, the opposite.
“Shall I tell you,” I begin, “what excruciating torture it has been since you arrived? To watch you practice in the pre-dawn mist and pretend I do not notice the sweat slicking your skin? To search for you in the corridors, to listen for the rhythm of your footsteps around every corner, across every room? Some days, I thought I was going mad from the obsession.”
A short laugh chases my words, and I’m caught in the South Wind’s eyes, sheened as mine are by emotion too great to contain. “Shall I tell you,” I go on, “the ways that your kindness slowly chipped away my armor? How your patience was sometimes the only thing that kept me grounded? Or that you have inspired me beyond measure to grow and face down those fears I harbor? The care you have for my people. Your belief in me, gods…” Without Notus, would I have even considered leaving Ishmah? Would I have recognized how poorly Father treated me, if I did not receive the South Wind’s love and acceptance and gentleness?
“You have absolutely stolen my heart, Notus. There’s no way around it. I loved you then, and I love you now, and I’ll love you tomorrow, for as long as you’ll have me. You are all that I want. And… I hope I’m not too late in telling you th—”
His mouth crushes roughly against mine. Our teeth collide. The sting fizzles through my blood, and as he parts my lips with his tongue, licking deeply, my thoughts scatter to the wind.
For here is hunger. The biting drive to consume, its descent into madness. His taste, his scent, the power of his form, all combine to create the headiest impression, sensation at the forefront. Our tongues dance and our lips feast. He drags from me embarrassing sounds of need; I wrench those deliciously low groans from his throat, the ones that send vibrations through my sternum as I press closer, breasts crushed against his chest. We have nothing but our past, our exposed hearts. There is no need to shield, no reason to conceal. My appetite rips wide. It demands more . I feed it eagerly.
Meanwhile, my hands map the South Wind, no part of his body left untouched. The wings of his shoulder blades beneath the cotton of his robe, which ease toward the curved spine, its lifted vertebrae, leading to the taut curves of his buttocks, which I shamelessly clamp with both hands. Pleasantly round, firmly muscled. I fight the inane urge to catch his flesh between my teeth.
“I always did love your ass,” I whisper into his mouth. That inane urge? Not so inane, considering I’ve done it before.
Notus’ warm chuckle teases out. “I remember.” The tips of his fingers skate across my hip, the slope of my lower back, pausing at the rise of my rear. He goes no farther. It only serves to heighten my desire, whet it to an acute point. “I believe I’ve told you plenty of times how I admire yours.”
He has, hasn’t he? “Do you stare at my ass often?” The warmth in my belly spills upward, my peaked breasts aching as their tips graze the front of his robe.
The South Wind smiles with his eyes. “Down hallways, as you climb stairs.” Our noses brush. He exhales into my mouth. “Does that anger you?”
“No,” I murmur. “But it might, if you don’t touch me soon.”
As he drags his lips along my jaw, the tingling sensation shivers through me, temporarily drawing my focus elsewhere. I wait, breath held in anticipation as Notus’ touch wanders south. His heated palm strokes one ass cheek. Then, a sudden slap, a bright sting against my skin. I jerk against him, breathless laughter tumbling free. It’s cut short as he claims my mouth, tongue plunging deep.
As our lower bodies shift into alignment, his erection presses between my thighs. I pull away, panting hard. His black eyes flicker behind a haze of desire.
“What do we have here?” I murmur.
I allow my palm to graze his turgid flesh. It surges hotly, and he bites back an oath. The sound is everything to me. The South Wind, so carefully contained, yet one thread is pulled, and he unravels at the seams.
It is an entirely instinctive gesture to roll my hips, dragging myself against the jutting length inside his trousers. One of his hands drives into my hair, fisting the long dark strands between his blunt fingers, my scalp smarting with a delicious pain. The desire is so thick the air is laden with it, and my pulse drives higher as the kiss spirals into rich, velvet carnality, our mouths so deeply mated I find our edges blurred, reduced to shadow and smoke and night.
Because the South Wind and I were never meant to remain separate parts. Sun and moon, earth and sky, forever caught in an endless cycle, a perpetual push and pull. Fate laid the stones of this road long before. Oh, how I fought every winding curve. But it was all for naught.
Time spins on its axis, yet I hold the South Wind close. Here is what I know: tomorrow is never guaranteed. There is no perfect moment. Lives are messy, unpleasant, chaotic. I don’t know what awaits beyond the labyrinth. I’m not even sure we’ll make it out alive. But I won’t squander the time I’ve been given. It heals something in me, to give myself to this immortal in all ways: mind, body, soul. We will not be parted, not again.
After a time, I pull back, gently breaking our kiss. Notus searches my eyes for one, two, three heartbeats.
“You must understand,” I say lowly, tracing his eyebrow with my thumb. “I’m selfish when it comes to you.” It has always been so. His time, his touch, his voice, his presence, his desert scent. “I don’t want one lifetime with you, Notus. I want a thousand lifetimes. As many as you can give me.”
But my heart sinks. For while Notus is permitted that privilege, I am only granted one.
As though sensing my thoughts, he frames my cheeks between his palms.
“What will happen when this is over?” I ask. “If we survive, I mean.”
He tucks unruly strands of hair behind my ears. Patient, always patient. “Do you ever think about marriage?”
I lean back, suddenly wary. “You mean to Prince Balior? I thought we already established I want nothing to do with him.” Especially now, with Ammara in peril, and he the rotten seed beneath its soil.
“Not to Prince Balior,” he clarifies with an odd shyness. “I mean… to me.”
My eyes widen, and I clamp my mouth shut on a hard swallow. “Oh.”
Slowly, Notus’ eyebrows climb up to his hairline. “You don’t sound enthused.”
“No, it’s not that.” Marriage… to the South Wind. I wanted this at eighteen, and I want this now, at twenty-five, regardless of practicalities. “I’m just wondering, realistically, how that would work. You’re immortal, and I’m… not.” It was easier to ignore that glaring obstacle in my younger years, especially when I knew I wouldn’t live beyond twenty-five, but I have endured the death of too many loved ones. I have toed that threshold myself. I can’t put that grief onto him. It is such a hard weight to bear.
Notus brushes a kiss of reassurance across my cheek. “I’m not afraid of you aging, Sarai. It would be a privilege to live my life alongside yours, for however long that lasts.”
“But I’ll leave you,” I tell him. “Maybe not now, but someday.”
“Everyone leaves me, eventually.” This, paired with a small smile. “But with you? It would be worth it.” Before I can protest, he kisses my other cheek, my forehead, the tip of my nose. Beneath his touch, I calm. “After, when all this is over,” he says, catching my chin, “I wish to court you properly. I wish to make you mine in all ways. I want the world to know we belong to one another.”
Gods, I want that, too. More than I can properly express with words. “And how do you intend to do that?” I question. When he tilts his head in silent inquiry, I elaborate, “We’re already engaged, remember?”
“But it’s not real.”
“It is real, Notus.” I smooth my palm down his cheek. “Believe me. It’s real.” And I could not be more proud to bind my life to his in all ways. “I would love that. The courting. A proper engagement. And yes,” I say. “Marriage.”
The South Wind’s smile is the brightest light. Here is safety, here is support, here is generosity, here is forgiveness, humility, evolution. Yet Notus bestows a trail of heated kisses across my cheekbone, along my jaw, chin, the curve of my neck where sweat has begun to bead. All the while, he is murmuring promises against my skin.
I love you. I adore you. I cherish you. I wish never to be parted from you.
They are more than words. They are a declaration, the promise of tomorrow. I know the South Wind speaks truth. I am loved. I am cherished. And I am worth more than my station. What a relief to know Notus accepts me as Sarai, just Sarai. I sag into his chest, safe in the knowledge that my walls need not rise again. They are free to crumble.
As his tongue twines sweetly with mine, my fingers dive beneath his robe, pressing into hot skin. It is a pleasure to watch his eyes cloud, hear the stutter of his breath. I may not be an immortal, but my touch holds power enough to weaken this god.
Tearing open his robes, I bare his erection to the cool air. Its dark coloring and the thatch of black hair at the base of his shaft draws me closer. Even as I watch, it twitches, as though already anticipating my touch.
My knees hit stone, and Notus inhales sharply, cupping the back of my head and guiding me forward. His powerful thighs frame my head, the cut of his abdomen blocking the labyrinth from view. A dip of my chin, and I swipe my tongue along the flared crown, catching the liquid beading from the slit. Notus hisses through his clenched teeth.
Glancing up through my eyelashes, I ask, “Good?”
“No words,” he chokes out, eyes black with desire. “I have—” He shudders. Red cuts into his cheeks. “No words, except that I have dreamed of this, of you on your knees, pleasuring me.”
My face warms in satisfaction. As it turns out, there is nothing I love more.
Gripping the base of his erection, I suck him down to the root. Notus mutters a low oath, his hands tightening in my hair, holding me in place momentarily. The dense black hair clumped around his shaft tickles my nose. I relax my throat, accept his full length.
The years have whittled down, yet I remember his taste: earth and salt. A little tickle beneath his cockhead, and the muscle leaps against my tongue. I work him over slowly. First with my mouth, then my hand, then a combination of the two. A rough, tortured groan cracks out, and his hips begin to move.
I tighten my grip. A long, delicious suck to the base before I withdraw, his shaft glistening with saliva. Again—and again. Notus locks his knees, expression contorted, head tipped back. “Sarai.” My name, chased by a tortuous moan. He swells in my grip, his scent ripening as I draw him that much nearer to completion. Just as his body begins to coil, I release him with a loud pop , my smile stretching ear to ear.
The South Wind stares down at me, dazed. He then falls to his knees, takes me into his arms. Piece by piece, he discards my clothing, a gentle tug of my dress up and over my head, followed by the slow unraveling of my breastband, the removal of my undergarments. I feel as though I am a glass figurine, its cloth protection slowly unwrapped, to be placed atop a shelf or high mantle. It is the way Notus looks at me, my bared form. Like I am most precious to him.
Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t return the favor. I do so with leisure, baring his incredibly honed body. Notus is not particularly tall, but he is sturdy, square, powerful. Small, white scars dot his brown skin. I touch a crescent here, an asymmetrical ring there, and wonder what weapons bestowed these small hurts.
My touch drifts lower, skimming the rise of his hip bone. I frown, peering closer when the texture of his skin roughens. “I don’t recall this one,” I say, and trace the scar’s raised edge, its dull shine. It’s about the width of a sword blade, if I’m not mistaken. “How did you receive this?”
“My brother.”
Concern draws my eyes to his face. Somehow, I know it was not an accident. “Oh.” Back and forth, my fingertip trails. “Which one?”
“Eurus.”
“Do I even want to know why?”
The South Wind leans forward, nips the side of my neck. My eyelids sink low as the heat of his breath dampens my skin. “I’ll tell you,” he murmurs into my ear. “Just not now.”
My smile rises more readily. I suppose he has a point. Lower my fingers travel, the lightest graze down his firm upper thigh, inward to his jutting shaft. Notus shudders beneath my touch. “Are you trying to kill me, woman?”
“You’re immortal,” I remind him coyly.
“It makes no difference when your touch is fatal,” he murmurs, “your tongue the sweetest poison.” Then his gaze drops to the subject in question. Thumb pressed into my chin, he draws me forward, a soft kiss pressed onto my bruised mouth.
One eases into two, this kiss longer, wetter, deeper. When we separate, I struggle to catch my breath, piece my thoughts into something resembling order. My skin is so flushed the biting air feels practically balmy. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” I whisper shakily. Gods, have I wanted. “Now that it’s here…”
“I know.” Notus cups the side of my face. “Can I tell you what I wish for?”
I nod.
“What I wish,” he says, thumb smoothing across my heated cheek, “is to pleasure you as I have longed to do since our parting.”
And just like that, my heartbeat quickens. “What do you have in mind?”
In answer, he hooks his hands beneath my arms and, gently, eases me onto my back.
The ground: abrasive. The ceiling: a black hole overhead. But the labyrinth fades as Notus positions himself at my side, my head propped against his arm, my hip crowding his abdomen. Close, but not close enough. The tips of his fingers skim my bare breasts. My skin quivers, warm waves of sensation branching down my arms and legs. He pinches one nipple, rubbing it firmly with the pad of his thumb until it throbs painfully, rosy with blood.
He moves to the other breast, gives it a gentle squeeze. I watch his hand, mesmerized. A soft sound of need slips past my throat before he takes the nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, his gaze never leaving mine.
I bite my tongue, tilt back my head, but the moan pours out. It is… too damn good. His tongue flirts with the tip in teasing strokes. Around and around and around, a tight coil of heat. Another gentle bite, and an answering pulse throbs between my legs. I’m seconds away from catching fire. I’m certain of it.
Down, down his fingers trail, the scrape of his calluses drawing bumps in their wake. My hips lift, seeking penetration. Instead, he slides his fingers through my drenched flesh and plucks at the small, sensitive bud before circling it with a fingertip. The friction causes my core to clench, this emptiness that seeks to be filled.
“Eyes on me,” he says.
A delirious laugh tumbles free. “As if I would look anywhere else.”
His eyes flare with satisfaction, pupils flickering like candlelight. It sends another wave of heat scorching my face, neck, and chest, yet as he plays with me, I dare not look away. For his expression is one of rapture. An exaltation reserved only for the gods.
My attempts to shift my hips nearer to his hand are thwarted, his low, rumbling laughter a joy to hear as he skirts the area, moving elsewhere for a time. I scowl and curse his name. He only laughs harder, which in turn ignites my own laughter—that is, until he touches me in a way that draws an exquisite shudder up my spine, rendering me breathless.
My legs fall open further. The brush of cooler air against my exposed center coils the sweet agony in my pelvis ever tighter. He brushes my entrance once, twice. A harsh breath stutters out of me. My heels dig into the ground.
“More?” he asks.
“Yes. Lower. There. Oh.” My toes curl as the burn intensifies and the pleasure burrows deep. “Please don’t stop.”
His pace quickens, circling, always circling, dipping low to slide one, then two fingers into me. Notus withdraws, my wetness providing an easy glide across my swollen flesh. It is agony. Ecstasy. The South Wind forces me to the edge over which I now hover, pleasure-pain served to me on a knife point.
“You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on,” he whispers. “To watch you come apart…”
My back arches off the ground. Yes, this, more . I am so, so close.
Clamping his arm, I tug him upright. “I need you inside me. Now.”
The South Wind rises to his knees. The span of his shoulders cuts a darker shadow against the labyrinth wall. His body is beautiful. That hard, taut stomach, the bunched thighs that spread as he abruptly rolls us over, so that he lies on his back and I’m seated atop him, legs splayed over his muscled abdomen.
As our eyes lock, I fall into the memory of our first lovemaking. Then, it was new and undiscovered, the future cloaked behind the twisted sheets of our joining. What was then is also now, for I question what awaits us, should we escape the labyrinth. Ammara having fallen to ash and ruin? Or the dawning of a new day?
But then Notus says, “Sarai.” So simple a thing, but never was a word threaded with so much love and trust and commitment. My apprehension settles, redirects to the strength of his body between my parted thighs, the curling hair coated thickly across his pectorals. Positioning him at my entrance, I sink onto him, slowly.
And it is an inexplicable joy to be stretched by this god, to feel alive and desired and seen. My position allows me greater control over the speed and depth of our union, and I use that to my advantage, drawing myself up, sinking down with slow deliberation, thoroughly enjoying the sounds of pleasure I draw from the South Wind. I watch his expression as the clasp of my body tightens around his shaft. The flicker of his eyes, which cloud with hunger. How the tendons in his neck draw taut.
And slowly, slowly the simmering begins to spark, driving us toward completion. Notus’ fingers bite into my waist, wander up to my breasts, where they squeeze possessively. Together we rise and together we fall. The slap of my rear against his thighs ekes out its rhythm, and the roughened “Yes,” Notus growls motivates me to quicken the pace.
Because the South Wind and I were never destined to smolder as coals do. We were destined for fire, for the white light of deliverance. I grow dizzy, intoxicated by the hot brand of his hands, the musk of his arousal, the sweat layering his skin, the heady perfume of our coupling.
His cockhead hits deep. I gasp, angling forward to prolong the contact. He dips his head, drawing my nipple into his mouth. And as he sucks, he snaps his hips upward, creating twin pulsations between my breast and drenched core.
A sound of unintelligible delirium chokes out of me. “Notus.”
“You feel so good, Sarai.” He stares at his shaft as it withdraws from my body, the glisten of wetness. “Impossibly good.” He sheathes himself inside me with one powerful thrust.
He hits a spot that makes my eyes roll into the back of my head. Squeezing my inner thighs, I shift my hips, angling them so the bud between my legs brushes against his hip bone, twining the tension higher and sweeter and brighter.
One of his large hands sinks onto my rear. He holds me to him, allowing no space for separation. This was another thing I had forgotten: the duality of the South Wind, gentle and dominant, passionate and knowing. He molds my flesh with ownership, his eyes akin to darkened stars.
Another hard thrust, and he groans into my mouth. We move as madness, a drive toward the finale. And as we move, I understand how rare a thing it is, to find a love not once, but twice in one’s lifetime. I have lost Notus before. I do not know if I could survive that again. And yet, that is the strength of our bond, forged and broken and reforged throughout the years. We are no green buds. We have weathered much. Our roots run deep.
When we at last come together, two bodies aligned, there is the most beautiful music.