Chapter 30 #3
Septimus did not so much as acknowledge me as I sat cross-legged beside him. I left a few feet of space between us. The view here really was lovely—the elevation offering an expansive view of a blanket of deep green pine trees leading up to the fortress and the mountains beyond it.
The book’s spine protested as I opened it.
“ ‘There are many varieties of arbors in the northern Fathrena Mountains,’ ” I read, “ ‘but what they all share is a great value to the wildlife of the region. When identifying them, one must do so in the context of the system of nature around the tree.’ ”
I paused, then said, without looking up, “It’s no romance, unfortunately. But who knows. If we keep reading, there might be some exciting twists.”
Septimus said nothing, but I felt his stare like a caress against my cheek, leaving a shiver in its wake. I chanced a sidelong glance at him.
Even from this distance, I could see the threads of red in his eyes. And I realized that I’d come to memorize the way he looked at me when those threads were at their starkest. With a certain hunger.
Beneath it, now, I saw something softer, too. And yet, so much more dangerous.
For a moment, we teetered on an edge together, an unspoken, deadly weight between us. It stretched a breath into an eternity.
He faced the horizon again. I looked back to the book and continued reading.
I read until my voice was hoarse, and when I finished the last chapter, Septimus rose wordlessly. The air was thick and heavy between us, the distance delicate as glass. I thought he might break it. I thought, maybe, I’d let him.
Instead, we both returned to our respective rooms without another word.
I found some old wine in the cupboard and drank it greedily. It tasted like shit, but it sanded down the sharpest edges of the thoughts I wanted to ignore and dragged me heavily into sleep.
I dreamed of the night I tried most not to think about. I dreamed of terrible pain and blood on my fingertips. I dreamed of fear and the powerlessness that came with it. I dreamed of fury and the strength that came with that. I dreamed of Shiket’s face, and a broken body beneath me, and—
—And now-familiar footsteps crossing the room, silent as a ghost’s.
I dreamed of a body beside mine. My own rolled over to meet him immediately, arms outstretched. Lips pressed to my cheek, my jaw, my throat. My hands slid over a smooth, muscled back. Fingernails dug into mine, drawing me closer. Blazing need, a sudden fire of it, burned at the apex of my thighs.
Septimus’s breath was ragged as he dragged his teeth along the sensitive skin of my neck. A hitched moan caught in my throat, and he let out a rough, wordless noise in response. It was a beautiful sound. I wanted to draw it out of him again, and again, and again.
My teeth closed around his throat and bit. When my tongue flattened over the wound, I tasted iron.
That taste awakened something in me.
My eyes opened. Blinked blearily. Everything was soft and fuzzy. I became dimly aware that this was not a dream.
How was this not a dream?
I knew, somewhere, that something wasn’t right.
But gods, I didn’t care. The need was unbearable.
His body was over mine. Shirt unbuttoned, maybe because I had done it even though, in the haze, I didn’t remember it.
I clawed at his skin, urging him closer.
His hands ran up my body, exploring every dip and curve.
The hard length of him lay against my core, and my hips involuntarily ground against him.
He growled with my gasp of pleasure, hands rising to my wrists, pinning me.
He breathed a word against my skin, so low that I couldn’t hear it. His movements slowed. Mouth lowered to my breast, tongue softly caressing the peak.
He said it again, this time, just loud enough to hear:
“Finally.”
And then his mouth moved higher, and my fingers threaded through his hair, and he kissed my throat—passionately, fully, tongue sliding against my skin as if longing to taste the blood beneath, as my thighs opened around his hips, as he angled them so that his cock was so close, so close, as everything disappeared but this wild, desperate, nonsensical, overwhelming need—
He stopped.
His body tensed. He pulled away just enough to look into my face. I let out a pathetic, needy sound.
Everything had been fuzzy, blurry, pleasantly soft. But his eyes were sharp. His body still flexed ever so slightly, as if he had to fight to stop himself from pushing further.
I found myself hesitating, too.
He said, “Something is . . .”
Strange.
His voice trailed off. But I had my own questions now. How had this happened? Where were we? This wasn’t a dream. But it wasn’t real, either.
Only then, as I attempted to force my mind to clear, did I hear Zefiah’s distant warning screaming at the back of my head:
{Kyrene, the White Pantheon is here! The White Pantheon has come for you!}
And then I felt it: the unmistakable sensation of a god’s presence.
No, not one god. Two.
Septimus had the realization as I did. We shot upright. And there she was:
Ix, goddess of sex and fertility, gave us a sly grin of amusement.
And with her was Kajmar.