I continue committing the feel of her to memory until morning light begins creeping through the window. Golden rays slant across the bed, catching in her dark hair.
I want to deny the light. If I message the old charioteer and threaten him, will he carry the sun backward, and allow the moon to linger a little longer?
Just a little longer.
But too soon, Phoenix’s eyes flutter awake.
For a brief, perfect second, she doesn’t move. Her blue eyes meet mine, sleepy and unguarded. I see something in them—confusion, maybe warmth—before awareness crashes in.
She realizes how she’s crawled against me during the night. How close we are.
She yanks away, wiping at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry.” The word comes out rough with sleep. “I didn’t mean to—” She waves a hand vaguely. “I’m not usually a cuddler.”
“It’s fine,” I say quietly. “You were sleeping.”
She won’t meet my eyes. “I’ll go get showered.”
Her warmth disappears as she flees the bed for the bathroom. My teeth clench against the emptiness. The sudden cold. I jam my head back against the pillow and scrub a hand down my face.
“Fool,” I mutter to myself.
Twenty minutes later, the bathroom door opens. Phoenix emerges wrapped only in a towel.
I’ve mastered myself in the time she was away, but seeing her like this tests that control. Water droplets cling to her shoulders. Her hair is damp, darkened almost to black. The towel is tucked just above her breasts, ending high on her thighs.
I avert my eyes, keeping my distance as I pass her. “I’ll get washed up as well.”
But I catch her scent as I walk by—clean skin, that floral shampoo, something uniquelyherunderneath it all.
She makes a small noise of assent, and I can feel her eyes on my back as I head to the bathroom.
Fuck, this is awkward. Our old easiness around each other is gone. Considering the circumstances, I suppose it’s to be expected, but I still hate it.
I take the fastest shower of my life, with cold water to clear my head. I try not to think about how Phoenix stood in this same shower minutes ago, bare feet on these same tiles.
By the time I get out, Phoenix is already dressed in her usual uniform—tight black jeans, long-sleeved black shirt, busted-up combat boots. Her black hair is up in a ponytail, still slightly damp at the ends. Princess of darkness. I hide my smile.
She looks up at me as I emerge. Her eyes widen slightly before her cheeks flush pink. Then turns her back quickly.
I’m still just wearing my towel, tied around my waist. Water drips down my chest.
“Hurry up,” she says, but her voice sounds a little breathless. “There’s a lecture I don’t want to miss in the city at eleven.”
I pause as I tug a shirt over my head. “What kind of lecture?”
We had a few weeks to prep for the wedding, but I was busy running interference between Vlad’s entourage and my family most of the time. The little time I did get to spend with Phoenix, Sabra was there too. We’ve been monitoring global communications, screening the fallout from the bit of magic we did a month earlier to stave off the end of the world. It was a novel experience, stopping an apocalypse instead of causing one.
Mostly we were just monitoring squabbling amongst officials about government cover-ups and military solutions in case of another “anomaly.” Plus the rampant public conspiracy theories about whatactuallyhappened.
So far, we haven’t come across anyone except the other mages guessing the truth—that Phoenix, Sabra, and I called over interdimensional beings from another plane to consume all nuclear energy on earth before an angelic AI launched all the nukes to World War III.
It was a near thing. Some missiles were already in the air.
But we pulled it off just in time.
The mages from various continents are rumbling about putting together a global council for the first time—something like a magical United Nations—to keep something like this from happening ever again. Or at least to punish any magic movers who get out of control. The human population is supposed to be ignorant of the existence of magic. Or at least that’s the hot topic of debate amongst the mages—whether the policy of suppression should continue.
Sabra says there are so many factions she can’t imagine them ever agreeing on a council. But time will tell.
