“Antlers. Is that right? Oysen yzri?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Fi spread her arms in a grandiose gesture. He lurched to keep balance.
“Antal.” She waxed philosophical, even as individual syllables proved hard to disentangle. “The spirit of fuck unites us all. A connection across language. Cultures.”
“If you say so.”
Fi scrunched her face at his dismissive tone.
“How many mortals have you fucked?” she asked.
A growl rumbled Antal’s chest. Rumbled Fi. He considered her with lidded eyes, but it was the slow trace of his tongue across his lips that set her ablaze.
Merciless Void, she’d loved the taste of him. The brush of that tongue against her. A desperate ache tightened Fi’s belly, the same she’d fought for days, unbearable now with his arms around her.
His mouth so close.
She brushed a finger along his jaw. One time.One time. What was wrong with onemoretime? Her breath shallowed as she tipped her head up.
Antal’s claws clamped around her, holding Fi down.
“Ask me in the morning,” he said.
She blinked. “What?”
“You can’t ask me these kinds of questions when you’re like this.”
“Like what?”
“Shitfaced drunk.”
“Pff. I’m not that—”
“Fionamara.”
The command stole her breath. He stopped walking, the two of them alone with the Void, holding her close and leaning closer. So lethal. So soft.
“Ask me in the morning.” Antal’s mouth brushed her temple, a tease of heat that drew a gasp through Fi’s lips. “If you’re still interested, I’ll be happy to oblige.”
Fi fell silent the rest of the walk.
That didn’t stop her staring at him, studying the lines of his face as her eyes drooped. Drifting in the glow of his irises. When they passed back onto the Plane, the chill of the Curtain drew shivers across her skin.
“How do you know which one goes home?” she murmured. “If you teleport everywhere.”
“I can smell it.”
She frowned. “What does it smell like?”
“It smells like you, Fionamara.”
“What… do I… smell like…”
Before he could answer, Fi drifted too far, lost in warm arms and the sweet abyss of sleep.
32
