Mariah didn’t need to ask to whom Callamus referred. She simply nodded, fighting to keep her hands from trembling.
Callamus bowed his head, murmuring words under his breath that Mariah didn’t recognize.
“Metwhom?” Andrian demanded, glare snapping between Callamus and Mariah. “What thefuckis going on? What do those markings mean?”
Matheo and Signe crept closer, eyes wide as they took in Mariah’s tattoos.
“It means,” Callamus rumbled, taking a hesitant step toward Mariah. He gingerly took her hand, fingers tracing the patterns on her skin. “It means the Crieré are awake. They have come. And you, Mariah…” Callamus swallowed.
It was quite something, seeing an ageless god terrified. So much so that Mariah felt herself go numb, settling into a comfortable, unfeeling place.
“Tell me, Callamus.”
Callamus bowed his head, indigo hair falling forward.
“The Crieré have Marked you. I do not know why.” His sad gaze met hers. “But your fate belongs to them now.”
The gods speak of a creator. I have asked mine what he means. Our God of Night only smiled sadly and refused to answer.
The gods are the crafters of the world. They embody their elements and hold chaos at bay. This is a belief we cling to, because we have seen the might of our gods and all they are capable of.
And sometimes, belief is all we have.
- Text from the diary of a Leuxrithian priestess by the name of Yri, likely written during the First War.
Chapter 66
Sebastian drowned happily in a haze of lilac, honeysuckle, and wild blonde curls.
He shifted, the small bed creaking. Sunlight streaked through the branches far above the archives, its fractured pattern spilling into the tiny research room bedroom.
Ciana grumbled. She was nestled on his chest, as close to him as she could get. He couldn’t stop the drowsy smile tugging on his mouth.
“Is it already morning?”
Sebastian chuckled. “Unfortunately, yes.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, dragging in a deep breath of her deliciously sweet scent. “But we don’t have to get up quite yet.”
He wasexhausted. His blood heated as the memories from last night—and earlier this morning, he supposed—flooded back. Memories of desperate touches and delicate kisses, of whispered confessions and fulfilled promises.
Ciana lifted her head, as if she could read his thoughts. Her expression was still clouded with sleep, but mischief gleamed in her amber eyes.
“I don’t want to get up,” she whispered. “But I don’t want to sleep any longer, either.”
Sebastian lifted a brow. “Oh?” He tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “What do you want to do instead?”
Pink filled Ciana’s freckled cheeks. She bit her full lip, lashes fluttering.
Sebastian’s exhaustion vanished into the morning air.
His embrace around her tightened. He smiled at her quiet yelp as he surged beneath her, flipping them both so her back was on the feather mattress, his knee between her legs. All that soft, luscious skin wrapped around him, under him, burrowed so deep inside him he feared he’d never get this feeling out.
Not that he would ever want to.
He placed a soft kiss to her collarbone, gliding his nose up her neck. Her hair was wild around her head, tickling his face, and gods, did he love it so much. His teeth nipped at the lobe of her ear, chuckling when her breath hitched.
“Who would’ve thought you would be so insatiable, love.”
Ciana squeaked. “Making up for lost time, I guess,” she said breathlessly. She moved her leg, dragging her heel up the back of his thigh.
