“My mate,” Er’it shouted in her face, as if he knew which exact words she desired to hear.
He did. He knew everything. Aida writhed and groaned beneath him, feeling him plunder the depths of her soul as he ripped her open and bared it all within the safety of the darkness. Salty tracks tickled her cheeks, staining the fine hair at her temples as he riffled through each and every miserable moment of her childhood, the terror of her youth, and even those final moments when Otaso had her upon his dais.
“Ah,kou’vera,” he groaned, his voice gravelly and thick with an emotion far too close to despair.
Er’it intended much the same. She saw it there, hovering between them. A dilapidated temple, a broken shrine, his blade flashing in the low light of dawn. His entire plan unfolded beneath her trembling touch. His need for the power residing within her, the arrogant claim that it was his Goddess given right to have it—all of it entangled with smoke and blood, scream-filled nightmares, and the knowledge it would kill him to kill her.
As uncertain as she had ever been, the delicate buds of love grew stronger from the ashes of his lust. Long since burnt and torn, the frayed edges of the fragile blooms glowed in shades of blood and bone, stained with fire and soot as they crumpled back into the detritus of his long years at war. With others, with himself, it made no difference. He’d hardened that part of himself to petrified dregs long ago, refusing to feel true affection or need for anything so easily crushed. Er’it tore away pieces of his soul, leaving him less human, less alive as he conquered a world full of far worse evil in the name of others. He never once questioned the fact that he would be the incredible evilness at the end, did not bemoan that fate.
Until Aida herself called to him, unknowing in her darkened cell as she mumbled broken prayers to something she didn’t understand or believe in to save her from a plight she didn’t deserve.
Gasping for each strained breath, her fingers traced the hard line of his cheek. Pushing up into his hair, she clenched her fist against Er’it’s scalp, pulling with what strength she had to force his lips against hers in a painful kiss. A savage, brutal coming together that left their mouths torn and bloody, it was odd in its satisfaction, as if nothing between them could be so soft and easy.
“No more,” Er’it whispered against her, wrenching away from her tight grip. Uncaring of the strands torn free, he rolled to the side only to haul Aida against him. Squeezing the very breath from her lungs, he wrapped his arm around her back and clasped her hip.
“How? How can you still do it?”
“I must.”
“You damn yourself. There must be another way.”
“There is not. The Hat’or showed me what shall happen, and neither of us are anything before deities,kou’vera.”
Large hand enveloping the back of her head, he pushed Aida into his neck to silence her. He listened to her ragged weeping until she cried herself into exhaustion. When the last tear dried to flaking salt upon her skin, he crawled free of her to begin gathering what he could carry of their things. All the while, his gaze kept returning to find hers. His brow furrowed and his lips were a grim line by the time he came back to bundle Aida up in layers of heavy furs and set her on her feet.
“Can you walk,kou’vera?”
Aida nodded, afraid that if she opened her mouth, she might begin sobbing again, feeling wrung out and sapped of all strength. As red-rimmed eyes followed the comforting lines of her construct, her lower lip began to tremble. It felt special somehow, and she was loath to see it destroyed. She wanted nothing more than those profound moments back, where she looked deep into Er’it’s soul and saw a glimmer of herself within the ragged edges. She’d knitted him back together, eerie blue strands holding tight, though he’d fought against it.
Did he even understand the whole of it? Did she?
Sniffling, she shied away from Er’it’s hand when he reached for her, but it wasn’t because she didn’t crave his touch. Wondering if things might be easier for them both should they not feel so very much for one another, Aida put physical space between their bodies that she would never be able to place between their hearts.
Scurrying ahead while listening to his lumbering steps behind her, Aida clutched her furs and tried to concentrate on the rocky terrain that scored and bruised her bare feet. Despite years of water rubbing the stone smooth, there was plenty of debris to find her tender soles.
Er’it didn’t allow her to distance herself for long. The second time Aida squeaked as a sharp pebble dug deep into her arch, he was upon her. Arm tucked behind her knees, he bounced her up onto his hip where her legs wrapped around him as if it were the most natural thing for her to do. Aida’s arms followed suit, winding around his neck as her cheek found his shoulder. Fingers gliding through the heavy locks of his hair, she found herself drifting toward a hazy sort of half-sleep that had nothing to do with the quiet purr he offered.
It didn’t take long for him to carry them to where he’d left their company. What would have taken her hours on her own seemed to take mere minutes with his ground-eating strides. As they approached, Aida peeled her lashes apart to take in what her senses had already told her. The villagers were gone.
“Where—”
“They left when the storm broke,” Er’it said, nodding to Maruk and Ath’asho as the two hurried about.
Maruk dragged piles of blankets together, creating a soft place for Aida to be set down as Ath’asho barked orders for someone to fetch water and food. Never mind that Aida had already eaten enough to fill even Er’it’s belly, she was still starving.
“Shall I tend her wounds, Your Majesty?” Maruk asked, bowing at the waist.
The amount of deference he showed Er’it pulled at Aida’s brow, furrowing it in heavy lines as she looked between the two men. Stiff and cold, Er’it grunted an assent yet moved closer to Aida as if to protect her.
“The men hunted, sire,” Ath’asho said from a body length away, careful to keep his gaze averted and centered on Er’it’s chest.
They were, all of them, acting odd, even Tor’en who nursed a mug full of steaming liquid with his hood covering half his face. Huffing a sigh, Aida shoved her foot out to Maruk, waiting for him to inspect the shallow cut and smear the thick salve upon it. She’d come to hate the smell of the stuff but could not argue it sped the healing and left her free of scars.
Except for the one at her shoulder. The one she would never be rid of, would die before she would try to be. Aida started at Er’it’s snarl, squealing as he snatched her away from Maruk to crouch over her. Pressed against his hard stomach, kept in his dark shadow, a scorching tide fell over her. Dark and furious, it sent her heart into a stuttering race, making her rub harder at the livid imprint of Er’it’s teeth upon her shoulder.
It was then she realized her mistake. Letting the pelt loose enough to reach the scarred flesh, she’d bared the mark—something only Er’it had seen before now—to them all.
“Forgive me,” Aida whispered against his waist, setting trembling fingers upon Er’it’s calf to quiet his feral sounds. “I didn’t mean to show it to them. I swear it wasn’t on purpose.”
