The Eternal Abyss of the Starless Reach
From a cleft in the mountain where the massif’s stone split and shadow hid him, Idan studiedher.
He crouched for hours, unmoving, drawing on patience long trained by archaic wars and epochs spent waiting for his prey.
While his breath was steady, and his body still, his thoughts burned.
HisSsignakhtsight closed in on her eyes, tracing the fullness of her lips when she spoke to her colleagues.
His spirit jolted at the stunning depth of her long-lashed hazel gaze as it lifted to the horizon.
His fingers itched to slide into the spring of dark curls on her shoulder, to glide his touch over the honey-gold warmth of her skin.
He almost groaned, longing to brush along her nape, to nibble her earlobe, and turn her so he’d capture those lush lips and hear her moan into him.
Fokk.
Her essence struck him with a force he had not experienced in centuries.
Even more startling, her allure eclipsed the celestial beauty of the goddess lovers who haunted his past.
She far outshone the calculated symmetry of Siahan and the tempestuous radiance of Cascadia.
Even more so, she blotted out the luminous grace of Artya, his former goddess lover, whose name still burned with betrayal in his chest.
She surpassed them all, oblivious to the magnetic force she exerted.
What unsettled him most was the echoes of a rasping, ancient divination spoken beside a dying fire.
He recalled how his unwelcome guest described a woman,her.
One who would arrive devoid of a crown or a blade, yet shift the balance of his world and break down every barricade guarding his heart.
Idan closed his eyes once, fighting the tightening pull to her.
With a grunt, he rose and turned away from the cliff, fromher, choosing restraint over temptation.
Without a sound, he vanished into the broken ravines and thorned highlands where the wilderness still called his name.
But not for long. He knew he’d soon return, pulled to her by some invisible, uncontrollable force.
Idan appeared and disappeared throughout the week without warning, arriving at the medical center at nightfall when the hustle and bustle of the clinic was now muted.
His moccasin boots never made a noise.
More than once, Sheba glanced up to find him standing either at the foyer or at Lago’s bedside with that same contained stillness that unsettled her pulse.
One evening, Sheba crossed the admin block with a stack of digital charts clutched to her chest, three hours into her shift.
She rounded a corner as a figure glimmered into view near the abandoned reception desk.
Idan.
He was a pillar of bronzed, scarred muscle that seemed to pull the light from the room and bend it around his frame.
Her breath stuttered as she stared at him.
He wore dark pelt trousers stitched together with raw rope, a thick, woven leather belt riding his slim, muscled hips.
