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“Valen didn’t allow me to mar my illustrious skin. How many do you have?”

“Five.”

Jarek’s eyes drifted back to her legs. “Well? Where are the rest?”

Lilith lifted her right hand and twisted it in a way so he could see. A short, jagged scab cut into her skin on the backside of her hand. Under it was a long, thin line that looked as if it had been opened more than once.

“My bonds to my ghosted weapons. I was told to do it in one place, and that’s where I picked. The newest one isn’t as pretty, but it’ll do.”

“That’s only four. There’s one missing.”

“And that’s how I’d like it to stay.”

Jarek’s successful attempts to quash all indecent thoughts relating to Lilith briefly lapsed in quiet wonder at where exactly the silvery mark could be hiding.

“Care to return the favor?” she asked.

Empty headed, he presented her with his left palm.

Lilith placed her hand under his. “How’d you manage this one?”

“It happened during a time when I was not under Valen’s watch,” he said, glancing at the crosshatched lines. “I was told I lost a battle with a vase, but I do remember an old man who stunk of ointment pulling the pieces out.”

She brushed her thumb over the raised skin. “That might explain the fear of needles.”

“He certainly didn’t help,” Jarek said, focused entirely on the feel of the gentle strokes along his palm. “It’s a shame not everyone’s touch can be as kind as yours.”

Her thumb stilled, brows dropping into a frown. “Very funny.”

Jarek could feel her beginning to pull away. He closed his fingers, trapping her thumb. Keeping her at a distance was proving too difficult when it pained him to see her unhappy with herself and the choices everyone had been pushing her into.

“I’m not trying to be.”

Lilith glanced up at him through her lashes, the scrutiny making the carefully crafted words he was drafting seem like indecipherable scrawling.

“If I could take away all of your burdens and do this alone, I would. My loyalty from this second life lies with those who my family have hurt the most. While the Argents are a part of that, and I agree with a lot of what Amalia is trying to accomplish, the last thing I want is to return you to Rimore feeling like you have to pick up where Keara left off.” He swallowed. “I— I know it doesn’t mean much coming from me, and I’m asking more of you than I would like, but… I can’t set the Pantheon right without you.”

“Except you’re not really asking me, are you?”

Jarek sighed, long and heavy. He lowered his gaze to her thumb pinched between his fingers. “Your touch doesn’t have to hold malice. Maybe there should be an emotion like regret, sorrow, empathy, kindness.” Carefully, he rotated her hand and held it within his own. “Don’t be the Wraith everyone expects you to be. Be the Wraith you want to be. Be both your mother and your father. Take when you need but give when you can.”

The wine sat regrettably heavy in his stomach as an apparent silence surrounded them. He looked to her then, finding Lilith’s widening stare softening to a look so raw and beautiful, one he’d never given or received.

“It means a lot coming from you, actually,” she said, voice quiet.

Jarek’s heart thundered low in his chest. He was teetering on the edge of a precipice he desperately wanted to leap into; the temptation heightened in the aftermath of everything he told her where neither pulled away. He damn near fell in when he noticed the darkening flush on her face blooming into her aura.

He met the shimmer of the Wraith and in it, its past, present, and future.

Jarek launched to his feet so quickly his head rushed, and his legs burned. He leaned against the bedpost. “Bath. I should—no. You go.”

Lilith, kneeling on the plush bed, blinked at him. “Oh.” She squeezed her thighs together and balled her hands into fists in her lap. “A-Are you sure?”

Jarek didn’t need the empathic sight of a god to confirm he was Eizreth’s biggest imbecile on a number of levels. The intensity from earlier returned, urging him to push her down onto the bed and crush his lips to hers faster than his head could steady from standing. He spun away from the contagious magenta desire bleeding into her aura.

“Yes. I can… use another washroom. Aarin’s. He has no need for it.”

“At least let me help—”