Three
Destruction stoodat the window, staring out at the world below.
Creation continued to lounge on the bed, admiring how the early morning sunlight seemed to cut her form from darkness and hugged all those womanly curves perfectly. She hadn’t said anything in a while, but he found himself content with the silence. There was something perfect about the moment.
She, however, did not seem to share the same feeling.
“It must be nice,” she said finally.
“Admiring you from this vantage truly is,” he quipped back.
Destruction turned, a coquettish smile playing about her cheeks. But that was all the reward she gave him for his remark before turning back to the world. “Being admired—it really must be nice.”
That grabbed his attention, the atmosphere in the room shifting despite his desire to bask in the afterglow a while longer. “Admired? By the humans?”
“Yes.” Her voice had gone soft with thought. “They’ve given you this whole place, a temple—apalace—in your honor. They call you the prince of gods. Even their king has decreed you as their patron.”
“They misunderstand what I am.” Creation finally pulled himself out of bed, trying to also right her unease with the situation in the same breath. The floor was cold underneath his feet and his whole body seemed to ache in the most pleasant of ways from their prior passions. “They saw me one time with Light and think I am his true son, his protégé.”
“Son,” she whispered, her back still turned to him. “Sons and daughters, a construct that they have, but that we will never truly know.”
“My love, of what do you speak?” She was talking in riddles. Pleasant ones, because the riddles were entirely in her own voice, but riddles nonetheless. Creation rested his hands on her bare hips and kissed the skin of her shoulder.
“Gods don’t have children as they do. We can’t breed—we split or we craft. But that’s not true children or families, is it?”
“Does this trouble you?” He rested his chin on her shoulder, looking beyond and trying to see the world as she saw it. Below his tower, men and women went about their business on the city’s edge.
“It doesn’t trouble me. It just is.” Her voice trailed off. “I’ve been thinking a lot about humans lately.”
“You’ve been thinking about a lot of things. I can almost hear the thoughts rushing around.” Straightening, Creation stepped slowly around her side, hand trailing along her hip to the small of her back. With a gentle grasp of her chin, he lightly tugged her attention away from the mortals below and to him. “Tell me what has been occupying your mind?”
“I fear the outcome if I do.”
“You should fear nothing with me.” He lowered his face slightly, just enough to look her right in the eye. Their noses almost touched. “I would never intentionally bring you harm or give you cause to feel pain.” He paused. “I know whatever it is you have been thinking about is significant, as your opinions toward me continue to shift.”
“My opinions are shifting in no small part thanks to you and your actions.” She gave a brief smile, just long enough for Creation to return.
“But it’s more than that. What is it?” His thumb lightly trailed over her cheek.
“It started on the beach, with what you said—Hunt’s idea of killing Chaos . . . that I will only be free when she’s gone.”
“And we will see her dead,” he vowed. As far as Creation was concerned, there was no other way forward for him. Light saw him to be the mate of Destruction—the natural counterpart—but that would be impossible if Chaos did not first meet her end. “I swear to you. I made the arrow myself.”
“Yes, yes, I know you do. And I am sure the arrow is impeccable.” Destruction pulled away slightly, looking back toward the window. “But what if Hunt’s convoluted plan doesn’t work? What if her champion falters?”
“She has been training her champion herself.”
“What if that’s not enough?”
Her questions were beyond his control, so Creation remained silent. No matter what reassurances he offered, her mind would still return to the same panic as before. “So what is your plan?”
Destruction hugged herself, not out of modesty—Creation doubted if the woman even knew what modesty looked like (as she shouldn’t)—but out of hesitation. It come off her in waves.
“You said you would love me, in any age.”
“I did and I will.”
“I want to see that true.”
