“He was much like you,” Antal said.
Fi’s guard slipped further, too curious not to ask. “How so?”
“Bold. Not afraid to speak his mind, to stand his ground. Even with me.”
Her lips twitched a smile. “So you’re telling me you have a type?”
“I suppose I do.” Antal returned her grin, though strained, his words stretched oddly thin. “It’s not easy, finding humans who see me as more than a monster.”
She frowned. “You’re not a monster.”
“You’ve seen what daeyari become.”
“Verne’s Beast is nothing like you.”
“It is.” He kept speaking, despite Fi’s mouth open in protest. “That Beast is part of me, Fionamara. Part ofalldaeyari. With reason stripped away, that’s what remains. Only hunger and claws. What separates me, then?”
The question sounded rhetorical, but he paused anyway, shifting his soothing magic to her other temple. Fi waited, relishing each soft brush of his fingers.
“My actions,” he said. “My choice to be more than a predator. Razik helped me see that.”
She huffed. “Glad someone could kick your ass into shape before me.”
“He did.” Another small smile, frayed at the edges. “But beneath all that bristle, he was fiercely caring. The same as you. I think the two of you would have gotten along.”
“I’m honored.” Truthfully. Beyond Boden, she’d rarely grown close enough to anyone for them to see beyond her bluster and bravado, those defensive facades. “I guess I… hope your memories of mortals aren’t all bad. That you have some good ones, too.”
Antal’s eyes met hers, that piercing hold like he could see clear through her ribs.
“I’ve added quite a few recently,” he said, low enough to stopFi’s heart. Then, with a smirk. “Though, I still question how overconfident drunk Fi was in your ability to triumph over an army of small Void horses.”
His touch on her temple lightened. Receded. When he released her, it seemed too soon.
Fi sat up, and though the remnants of a headache lingered behind her eyes, the sharper pain had vanished. Her thoughts felt clearer than ever.
One time.
That was what she’d told herself, unsure how deep she was willing to plunge with this creature of fangs and eternity. Unsure how much she’d risk being devoured.
Was she a fool, that such qualms frightened her less and less?
He’d let his guard down only briefly, yet now Fi could see nothing else. She could see how meticulously the bluff was crafted, the cape of carnivores and myth, how necessary he had to flaunt teeth and claws to walk alongside his deadly kin. But there’d always been more to him. Since the first time he’d pinned her to the snow, it had been a snarl sharp as knives and claws soft as feathers. For every glare, there was a grin. For every taunt, there was a moment he’d spoken her name with the softness of a plea.
He swept a curl of hair off her cheek, tucking it tenderly behind her ear.
“Feeling better, Fionamara?”
Fi pushed forward and kissed him.
She met first with resistance. A stiffness of surprise. As Antal softened to her, Fi scraped her fingers across the shaved sides of his hair, along the smooth lacquer of his antlers, devouring this taste that had haunted her lips. First, came the spark of ozone on her tongue. Then that cold, crisp, hard-to-placesomethingthat called to her like a siren’s song. She pressed deeper,sampling every curve of his mouth, so close to putting her finger on it.
Foreign, yet familiar. An endless sky without stars.
The Void.
He tasted like the Void.
Antal pulled back as breathless as she was. He cupped her face, eyes molten, yet he studied her with a frown.
