“What I believe in.”
That pierces the fog just enough that his meaning makes it to my brain. “But you said you didn’t worship sex. That you hadn’t had it in a century.”
“I don’t. And I haven’t. But this”—he presses my hand to his heart, flattens his against mine in return—“this is what I meant, what I was talking about. I told you I’d show you, if you ever came back.”
I blink once, then again, until the haze that surrounds him recedes. He stares down, his loose hair catching the blue shimmer from the bathtub, and I only have to behold him to know what he means. Because I felt it, earlier. Still feel it now, humming in the spaces between my bones.
“I understand,” I say.
His mouth regains some of its cocksure tilt. “So tell me, then. Has your goddess ever made you feel likethat?”
I yelp in indignation and slap at his shoulder. He squeezes me tight in response, crushing me to him even as he slips free of my body and flops onto his back. I end up with my cheek mashed against his chest, his thigh wedged between mine. His fingers coast up and down my spine, a casual affection that has me burrowing into him, reveling in his scent, his solidity.
I heave a contented breath and let the silence settle.
So. That was sex.
It wasn’t what I imagined. Like nothing Icouldhave imagined, because it went beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. It was…sacred. A prayer we spoke to one another, together, a wish being granted as it was being asked.
I curl closer, but Amriel’s attentions pause, his whole body tensing. When I glance up, his eyes have gone distant.
The bond still simmers between us, but the connection has grown muted, enough that I have to actually ask. “What? What is it?”
He flicks a glance down his cheeks at me, then away. “It’s my other half.”
I stiffen. Oh, goddess. The Shadow. Why didn’t I consider that he could see us,feelus? That just this morning, he was denied my kiss, and then I turned around and gave myself to his other form?
“Is he all right? Where is he? Should I go talk to?—”
“He’s fine. He’s…” Amriel’s eyes move back and forth like he’s searching the distance for answers. “Happy. And jealous. Incredibly jealous, and confused about being jealous of someone who’shim, and wound so tight I think he might actually explode, and…” He snorts, then rolls toward me and pulls my face into his chest, the scar I gave him pressing into my temple. “Just do me a favor and fuck him the next time you see him, all right? I’m tired of listening to him obsess. Of hearing him ruminate inside my head. It’sendless, and it’s especially annoying when I’m just trying to make it through the day in one piece.”
A tiny gasp slips past my lips. I turn that over and over, wondering if I’ve somehow misheard. “You want me to do this with him, too?”
He makes a sound that might be a protest or a confirmation or both. “It’s unconventional, I know. But this whole situation is unconventional. And I don’t expect you to deny a mate bond. No fae would.”
I linger over that. “But…you wouldn’t be jealous?”
He hums into my hair, his breath stirring the drying tendrils. “I got to have you first. I won. That’s what matters.”
I frown. “I’m pretty sure it’s not a contest.”
“I’m a man. Everything’s a contest.”
“Amriel. That’s not an answer.”
He sighs, long and deep, and pulls back far enough to meet my eyes, brushing the backs of his fingers down my cheek. “Look. I’ll be jealous. But only a little, because it’s stillme. I’ll get to feel it, too. Feel you. And it’s such a small price to pay if you’ll just…”
He swallows down whatever words fill his throat, his gaze angling away from mine.
“What?” I prompt. “If I’ll just what?”
He stares at the window as if it’s suddenly become the most interesting thing in this room. “Just don’t go back into the labyrinth, allright? You can be mine during the day. His at night. Or both of ours at once. Whatever you want.”
My eyes pop wide as I try to absorb that. “But what about your curse? What about me breaking it?”
He yields to a hollow laugh. “I’ve endured it for two hundred and twenty-six years. What’s an eternity more?”
The question sounds casual on the surface, but a wealth of meaning simmers beneath, evident in the strain around his mouth. Because he’s asking me to stay without actually asking. Offering up centuries of his own suffering in return for keeping me.
