“Many of them.”
“More than you do, so to you it is many.”
Her breath left her in a slow exhale. “And you used neither on me.”
The bloom inside him turned molten at that. Also, his little songbird was completely pink, red even.
“I would not harm you,” he said, feeling his spikes twitch at her comment.
Lyssena did not look afraid.
If anything, she leaned closer again, her forehead brushing against his chin.
“I know,” she whispered.
And Erevos realized only now that she trusted him. He also felt her breath on his skin and heat between his legs.
Chapter Thirty-One
What the Deer Witnessed
Lyssena
Out of all the scandalous things she could have said, she had chosen to remark that her Erevos had not yet tried his tongue and teeth on her.
It was wildly inappropriate. It was shameless.
And the fact that the words had left her mouth so easily made heat creep slowly up her throat and settle in her cheeks.
But she was his songbird, and he was her god, and now she was certain that he was a good one.
Strangely, that certainty allowed her lungs to fill more deeply than they had in days. Even though the knowledge that he had watched her for most of her life should have been unsettling, should have sent her fleeing in horror, it did not root fear inside her the way it would have if he had been human. If he were human, she would have run. If he were human, she would have felt hunted.
But Erevos was not human at all, and she found that she liked that very much.
He did not carry the same narrow mindsets men did, did not measure her behavior against invisible social rules, or expect her to perform softness in precise and suffocating ways. The fragile structures she had lived by her entire life—speak gently, sit properly, never desire openly, never embarrass yourself—seemed to dissolve in his presence like mist burned away by the sun.
No matter how many times she stumbled over her words, no matter how bold or absurd or improper she sounded, Erevos never laughed, never recoiled, never judged.
He simply watched her.
And chose her.
Lyssena realized that what she cherished most was not merely his protection, but the way she felt in his presence. Lyssena felt comfortable.
He was kind and attentive. He was patient. And he was not bound by the limitations of mortal men.
She found herself thinking not only about the things he had doneforher, but about what hewas.
That otherworldly male. That ancient, towering being of shadow and violet light.
She did not know how much time had passed since she had first stepped into this place with him, since her world had cracked open and rearranged itself entirely, but as she stood there within his arms, she felt . . . content.
“Where,” Erevos asked, his voice low and thoughtful, “may I use my tongue and teeth?”
Lyssena’s breath faltered. She had not yet recovered from her own boldness, and now his question slid over her skin like warm silk, settling low in her body.
Heat bloomed between her thighs, a slow spreading warmth that made her knees feel weaker. Her pulse began to thrum in places she had been taught never to acknowledge, and she became acutely aware of the way her gown brushed against her hips, the way the air shifted when he moved even slightly closer. Lyssena swallowed.
