Chapter Twenty
She is everything he wants and better than he dreamed.
A brush of her lips and the aching weight of the world is forgotten.
A smile or a laugh is a balm to every bruise and fracture marring his soul.
Then she looks up at him, begs him for the one thing he dares not give, and he is reminded of how fragile the peace they’ve found really is.
NEW YORK, UNITED STATES
His visits become more frequent.
Sometimes he stays with her for days, other times he’ll be gone for weeks.
When he returns to her after those long stretches, he is teeth and tongue, invisible bruises in the shape of fingertips.
His hunger feeds her own, and her desperation feeds his until they are an endless loop of tangled limbs and moaning sighs.
A fire that builds and rages, until they are both spent and lie amongst the warmth of the embers they leave behind.
Khiran’s fingers trace patterns on her naked skin, follow the line of her spine and the dip of her waist. Sometimes his lips follow, soft and leisurely, as if to remind her they have all the time in the world, and Anna feels those embers fan back into a flame.
Today, she is the one with wandering hands. Her head rests on her folded arm, her fingers tracing the subtle lines of his lean chest and eyes following the path of her touch. He is as flawless as anyone with the ability to shift shapes can be. No blemishes, no scars.
Except for one.
Star-shaped and raised, there’s a scar the length of her finger puckering the skin along his lower left rib.
She’s seen it before, only briefly, on one of his other forms. She had thought it was just part of the illusion, but she’s sure he wouldn’t have carried it over to this body if it was.
Anna follows its outline with a gentle touch, curiosity growing the longer she stares at it.
When he doesn’t offer the information, she lets the question fall from her lips. “Where did this come from?”
Khiran hums, eyes closed and sounding as if fighting sleep. He looks so content, he reminds her of a cat soaking up a sun-filled window. “It was a small price.”
His answer is far too vague. Anna frowns, her hand stilling and her eyes narrowing. “How long have you had it?”
His laugh is soft and full of secrets. “Sometimes it feels like forever.” Taking her hand in his own, he coaxes her palm flush against his skin until the ring on her finger lines up with the scar tissue beneath. “Sometimes forever doesn’t feel long enough.”
The ring looks up at her, pale against his skin. Bone. The ring is made of bone.
Anna’s eyes snap to his, heart stuttering in her chest. “Khiran—”
He runs a thumb over the engravings that time could never seem to touch.
“I needed something to connect us. To know when you had need of me.” He brings her hand to his lips, kissing her palm.
“It’s crude, old magic. Less glitz and glam and more blood and bone, but it was born of me and me alone and that’s what mattered. It ensured that you would remain safe.”
She sits up on her elbow, a frown pulling at her brow. “Safe?”
His fingers fiddle with the bit of bone while he measures his answer. “There are others. More than just Eira and … Silas, I believe you called him? Not all of them carry mercy in their hearts.” He taps the ring with an elegant finger. “This hides you from their sight.”
Mesmerized, she draws her hand back, looking over the piece of jewelry with new eyes. It’s the one thing she’s always had with her, the one thing she carried from place to place, life to life. It’s become a part of her as much as he has. “Why would they want to hurt me?”
“Not you,” he murmurs. “Me.” He tucks her hair behind her ear, fingertips tracing the line of her jaw. “They would use you to punish me. It would work.”
Anna’s heart quickens, understanding taking root. “That’s why you were worried when you first saw Silas.”
“Yes. He’s one of the good ones, but every heart can be swayed. I don’t know his well enough to trust it.”
She settles back down onto the mattress. “I was fond of him,” she hums, thinking of his dark eyes and warm smiles. “He was a good friend through those years.”
The laugh he gives is so breathy she feels it as much as she hears it. “Considering he kept you secret, I’m inclined to believe he felt the same about you.”
She smiles, pleased at the thought. Her hand drifts back down to his scar, tracing the outline. It’s strange to think that she’s carried a literal piece of him for all these centuries, but there’s a strange sense of comfort in it too. “Did it hurt?”
“The most worthwhile things usually do,” he says, but there’s no bitterness in the words. His smile is lazy as he glances down at her. “I think you’ll find that I would suffer it ten times over if it meant the same result.”
She leans her head against his chest, his heartbeat in her ear and her hands tracing patterns on his skin. “Is that how you always knew where to find me?”
His answering hum confirms her suspicions before his words can. “I need only to look for the missing part of myself.” He places a kiss to her crown, hand reaching up to play with the ends of her hair. “It all seemed quite literal at the time, but now I’m not so sure.”
She smiles against his skin. “Tell me a story.”
“True or fantastic?”
Anna doesn’t even need to think about it—the world outside her flat is brimming with enough truths. They’re shouted from the street corners, headlines parroted by newspaper boys who can’t always read them. “Fantastic.”
He leans his head back against the headrest, eyes staring up at the ceiling.
“Once, in a time before gods, there were only people. The land was rich, the oceans plentiful. And at the center of it all, was a tree. Some say the roots span over continents—that they hold the world together.” He shrugs.
“Which is nonsense, of course, but when standing under the branches, you feel small enough to believe it.”
“There was magic flowing through its limbs; a power as miraculous as it is cursed. Funny thing about magic, it’s never where you look.
You can seek it for a lifetime—generations even—and so long as you’re searching, you’ll never find it.
True magic, ancient magic, comes to those who stumble on it.
Those lost souls that happen on a trail where there shouldn’t be.
Who search for shelter in a cave only to find themselves tucked between giant roots. ”
“So people stumbled, the way they’ve always done.
And they gazed up at the tree that touched the clouds, saw its majesty and its might, and felt the magic humming in their bones.
They rested in its shade, ate the generous wealth of food growing at its base, and returned home with an abundance of health and energy they’d never known. And the world was balanced.”
“Then, one day, a man looked up into the branches and decided what was offered wasn’t enough.
He climbed. Why, no one is sure, but as he scaled the branches, he noticed the magic felt stronger.
Thicker. Then he saw it—a sun, golden and ripe, small enough to hold in his palm.
” Khiran’s arm rises, reaching for something she cannot see.
“He plucked it from its branches, bit into its flesh, and he and the world were changed forever.”
His hand drops, head turning to kiss her temple.
“Magic comes as a gift to some and poison to others. It has the power to darken hearts—make them greedy, make them cruel.” He pulls a loose curl away from her face, letting it fall through his fingers.
“And yet, in the same breath, it can help one reach their fullest potential.”
Anna stares up at him, the phantom taste of a magic tasted nearly a millennia ago still fresh on her tongue. “Khiran?”
“Hm?”
“Is there any truth to that?”
“The most fantastic stories always hold a thread of truth,” he murmurs. “Otherwise, they’re just stories.”
He doesn’t offer more and Anna doesn’t ask for it, but his words stay with her long after she dozes off and wakes up to cool sheets and an empty bed.
He takes her to all the places she wouldn’t have taken herself.
The ballet on a Tuesday, because she made an offhand comment that morning about only ever having seen pictures of a ballerina.
He insisted there was no understanding what ballet was until it’s experienced.
He’s right. The image she had in her mind couldn’t live up to the way the dancers move, the way they pull emotion from her chest with a combination of music and a body language that speaks all languages.
Next month, he takes her to the opera and drapes her in magic and jewels that feel more real than they are.
He takes her to all the clubs, fills her nights with jazz and liqueur that burns a path straight to her heart.
Each time a different dress but always with a glamour over her skin.
He never offers, but he doesn’t fight her when she insists, either.
He runs his warm palms over her exposed skin, a quiet regret lining his eyes.
Anna shows him her favorite places to eat—the mom and pop shops that serve coffee all day in stained white mugs and serve hot cakes on chipped plates.
They trade experiences like trading cards, making a game of showing the other something they haven’t had the joy of seeing.
Khiran has a far greater advantage in this game they’ve started, but Anna’s surprised by how many things she’s able to show him for the first time.
There’s a comfort in that—in knowing that even a god who can be anywhere has yet to see everything the world has to offer.
Perhaps that’s one of the beauties of immortality she overlooked.
She could see every inch of the world, and by the time she was done, it would have changed all over again.