Chapter 17
Nyx
Thorian takes the bowl first. He drinks, considers, and passes it to Fenric without expression. “It tastes right. I think we hit the right amount of water and the berries.”
Fenric lifts the bowl.
“A small sip,” Thorian presses. “Remember, I’m a demi-god. You can’t drink it the way I do.”
Fenric takes a small sip, and his brows lift slightly. "It’s actually really sweet," he says, sounding mildly surprised. "Not bad." He passes it to Talon.
“Don’t try to show off. You’ll end up dead,” Thorian tells him sternly.
Talon grins, but only tips the bowl a little, swallows, and hands it to me. "It's fine," he says. "Honestly better than I expected."
I look down at the liquid sloshing gently in the bowl, then take a sip.
I nearly spit it back out, but manage to keep it in my mouth and swallow down the painfully sweet drink. It’s so sweet my teeth seem to scream in protest, still vibrating in my skull, even with the liquid in my stomach. My face feels weird. Screwed up in horror.
Thorian bursts out laughing.
I startle so hard the bowl nearly slips from my hands. In all the time I've known him, I'm not sure I've ever heard that sound from him, full and unguarded, and I feel a smile break across my own face.
"Oh, fuck," Talon says, leaning sideways into the demi-god. "Rian here is already wasted."
Thorian pulls himself back into a scowl and shoves Talon off with one arm. "I am not." He looks at me. "You don't like it?"
I look at the bowl again and take a more considered sip. "It's much sweeter than I expected."
"Yes," Thorian says. "The gods like their drink sweet."
“Pussies,” Fenric mutters, smiling and tipping his head back against the cave wall.
Talon and Thorian both start laughing again, and to my surprise, I laugh too. The concept of Fenric, a lowly berserker, calling the gods such a vulgar name is hilarious. It’s such a stark contrast to what he's normally like.
The cave darkens.
I look up. Clouds are rolling across the blood moon, thick and slow, and when they pass, the moon on the other side of them looks different. Redder. Deeper, somehow, like something has shifted in it, like it's waking up.
A shiver moves through me that has nothing to do with the cold.
They're coming soon. Whatever the blood moon calls out of the dark, whatever hunts on a night like this, it won't be long now.
“I still feel afraid,” I whisper, knowing that I’ll guide danger right to us.
"That's because you've only taken a sip, love," Talon says, letting his head loll to the side.
Taking a deep breath, I try to steady myself. Maybe it’s real or imagined, but I swear I can hear screaming in the distance.
I pinch my nose and knock back a much larger swig of the stuff. Talon whoops, and Fenric starts to clap, and a loose, goofy smile stretches over my lips.
The red light from the moon continues to filter in through the waterfall on the far side of the cave, getting deeper and deeper as time stretches on, and we continue passing around the drink. Each time I get it, it tastes a little better than the last.
“Still afraid, Nyx?” Thorian asks, his deep voice softened, his normally hard jaw a little looser than normal. I want to reach over and run my thumb along the stubble there. In fact, I want to crawl over his outstretched legs and deposit myself in his lap.
He’s stupidly attractive.
I blink rapidly, looking away from him and to Talon, who smirks back at me as though he knows what I’m thinking. That smirk is devilish. In fact, it should be illegal. And even Fenric, when I look at him, seems the most appealing version of himself.
Still shirtless under his coat, he looks genuine, earnest. His burgundy curls flop down into his face, and those eyes are more green than I’ve ever seen them. I know that if I got close to him, I’d feel his heat instantly.
Talon and Fenric: cold and hot. Thorian is stoic and dark, like a savory dish, while Talon and Fenric are bright. Talon is salty and terribly delicious, and Fenric is a sweet dish you can't get enough of. It's like a palette of flavors, or the balancing of colors on a beautiful painting.
The bowl comes around again. I take another sip and the world shifts for just a minute. Warmth surrounds me, and my muscles feel like they’re melting.
I feel… good.
I run my hand absently along my arm and my fingers catch on dried mud, a long flaking strip of it, and beneath that the ghost of the watery day at the bridge still clinging to my skin.
I look down at myself. There's grime worked into my knuckles and ground into the fabric of my clothes in ways that feel permanent.
The canyon. The rain. Days of all of it layered on top of each other.
Gross. I don’t want to be gross.
"I think I'm drunk," I announce, getting to my feet.
Why should I be filthy when there is water right there?
"Nyx," Thorian says, his voice rough and a little more serious when I stagger toward the pool of water. "What are you—?"
I don't answer him. Instead, I find the straps of my leather top and pull them loose, letting it fall away from my body and revealing my back to the men.
This should matter, I'm aware, as they go completely still and quiet behind me.
It should bother me that I'm undressing in front of them. But I like them, and I trust them, and beyond the death and grueling agony of the Trials here, the worst part has been the filth. I’m tired of being caked in dirt.
And so I tug and pull, working on the straps of my outfit until it falls away. I loosen my belt and untie my boots, aware of the red moonlight washing over my skin. Aware of their gazes heavy on me.
Perhaps I should care about what I look like, what they might be seeing, but I just… feel good. Safe. Happy. More relaxed than I’ve felt since the day my parents died.
When I hit the edge of the water, Thorian says weakly, "Nyx, you don't know what's in there—"
I giggle. It surprises even me.
"Drink more," I tell him, gesturing back at the bowl. "All of you. You worry too much."
Then I step in.
The moan that comes out of me is involuntary and entirely undignified. The water is hot, genuinely hot, rising up around my legs and then my waist as I wade deeper, and it feels so extraordinary after everything that my eyes sting with it.
"It's hot," I breathe. "There must be springs beneath us." I sink down to my shoulders and let my head fall back. "Oh."
Behind me, I can feel them watching.
I turn and splash a wave of water in their direction.
"Get in," I say, followed by another laugh. "Right now. All of you. I mean it."
"Nyx—"
"I'm not asking."
There's a pause. Then, after a moment, the sounds of boots hitting stone.
I watch them.
I don't look away, and I don't pretend to.
The drink has burned through whatever would have made me modest about it, and I openly watch the three of them undress, taking in broad shoulders, hard muscle, and far too much bare skin.
They're all so different, yet the sight of them together makes it nearly impossible to decide where to look.
Thorian is first. He’s all hard lines and contained power, broader than I've fully registered even with everything we've been through, muscle built over years.
Dark hair is scattered across his chest, narrowing downward.
I follow it without meaning to, and when he steps out of the last of his clothing I feel warmth move through me that has nothing to do with the hot spring.
Wow. He’s… huge. His cock is long and thick. It’s already standing at attention like it’s saluting me. It bobs a little as he moves, and I lick my lips, heart racing.
My gaze swings.
Talon is leaner, all that pale skin and quiet definition, beautiful in the cool, unusual way he's beautiful in everything, his blond hair falling across his forehead as he looks down to step free of his trousers. He’s impressive too.
He’s so big that my brain starts to try to work out the mechanics of how men their size even fit into a woman, but it’s like a complicated math problem.
I can’t make sense of it. He looks up and catches me watching and does absolutely nothing to make it easier for me, just holds my gaze and wades in.
Fenric is somewhere between them, golden-skinned and broad through the shoulders, the build of a man whose body has always been pushed to do difficult things.
And his cock? Oh, it’s nice. Really nice.
I never thought I was the kind of woman to become obsessed with a man’s dick, but I can see myself worshipping at the altar of his penis.
A statue, always erect, always tempting me to touch it.
He grins when he catches me looking and wades in almost playfully, sending a small wave in my direction.
I saw the farmhands at the manor. Saw them in the water naked. I thought I had some frame of reference.
I did not.
All three of the men in front of me, the sheer size and heat of them, their beauty… I’m warm all the way through and very aware of it. The water suddenly feels less like relief and more like not quite enough.
“You’re right,” Fenric says, grinning at me, his skin shining red in the light above the shimmering water. “This feels good.”
The other two join us. My blood thrums hot in my veins, and even in the low light I can see Talon’s pupils widen, his gaze locked on me, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck.
I remember what it was like for him to put my finger in his mouth and drink from me, and I can’t stop imagining how good it would feel to have something more.
Something more with all of them.
They lean back, dipping their hair into the water. We circle around one another, water washing us clean. I undo my braid and wash my hair in the water, scrubbing away all the stress of the trials. Then I float on the water like a goddess of nature.