They were repressive things, devouring in their attention, as if every time they landed on her, they peeled back another layer of her skin and soul.
Lyssena had also begun to notice that Erevos didn’t have much body language at all.
When he stood, he stood straight. Never leaning, never slouching, never curling into himself like humans did.
He never blinked, never wrinkled the nose he did not have, never shifted weight from foot to foot.
He was always composed, always still, always caught in some divine stillness that made him seem carved from stone or shadow or both.
But now—here, in this new posture, and with that long, unwavering stare—Lyssena could feel something different pulsing just beneath the surface. Her Erevos felt warmer, not so distant.HerErevos?
Erevos wasn’t hers.
Certainly not.
How could a god belong to anyone? But then again . . . he had said he wasn’t a god at all.
And she remembered his question from before—What is a god, Lyssena?
“A god is . . . ” she began aloud, voice quiet, like she was answering a riddle. “Someone who can do anything. Someone who can grant wishes.”
At that, Erevos reached for her hand, large and dark and warm, and pulled her gently toward him.
She glided without resistance, suddenly half on her back, half on her side, her body close enough to feel the radiant heat that pulsed from his chest, her eyes wide with surprise.
She didn’t know why he had pulled her closer, but he was so big, and so warm, and so . . .
“What do you wish for?” he asked, his voice soft but impossibly deep, rumbling through her like distant thunder.
And now it was Lyssena who stared.
She stared into the endless purple of his gaze, stared at the way his mouth moved just slightly when he spoke, the barely-there twitch of motion that made him seem almost human.
“I wish for . . . ” she exhaled, the breath catching slightly on its way out.
She didn’t know what to say. Did she wish for him to kiss her?
The thought was absurd, and yet, why was it the first one that came to mind?
Erevos was a deeply masculine presence, too masculine for his own good, with his towering frame and low voice and the way he moved so gently despite the sheer force of him, and Lyssena found herself growing more and more confused.
He had seen her bare and had not reacted at all. Not a glance, not a shift, nothing.
And still, despite that indifference, despite that restraint, she kept thinking about it.
Even in this strange, godless place.
Chapter Twenty
The Pink of Spring
Erevos
His songbird smelled sweet again.
Erevos knew what sweetness was; he had tasted the purest form of devotion from Lyssena, warm and radiant like golden nectar on his tongue, but this scent was different.
It was still sweet, but in another way. Perhaps a different flavor entirely.
