“A ritual?” Salem couldn’t help but smile. Then he whispered, “Just what exactly do you think they are?”
“Well,” Aurin said. “This is a Yule celebration, Cern is—” He made a face. “—what he is, and you are what you are, so this is a pagan god thing, and god things have rituals.”
“God things, huh?”
“What else am I supposed to call it?” The gold in his amber eyes sparkled in the soft candlelight. “I don’t want to offend anyone.”
Salem kissed him with smiling lips. “‘God things’ is apt.”
Aurin’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I want to learn about your history. I want to learn about you and how to celebrate your heritage?—”
“Oh, my sweetest Aurin,” Salem murmured. He kissed his forehead. “How ever did I get so lucky to find you.”
“You saw me in the cove, remember?” he said with a soft smile.
“You were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen,” Salem said. “I was so taken with your beauty, I forgot to camouflage.”
Aurin laughed. “And your eyes were the same striking eyes that I’d seen on the end of my bed.”
“You knew it was me.”
“How could it not have been?” He smiled up at Salem. “I love your eyes.”
“Just my eyes? Because you quite often beg for another part of my anatomy?—”
Aurin swatted him again, flushing the warmest pink right down his neck. “I do not beg.”
Oh, he most certainly did, and they both knew it.
He huffed out an indignant sigh and hooked his arm through Salem’s. “Now please put me out of my misery and take me to the campfire. Whatever they’re cooking smells amazing, and I’ve waited long enough.”
“Yes, my love,” Salem replied, walking slowly out into the dark night toward the roaring campfire. “Are you cold?”
He knew the cold water cephamorphs much preferred the cooler weather, but it was still polite to ask. If he needed a coat, they should get it now.
“No, it’s perfect for me. Are you feeling okay? Not too tired?”
“I’m fine. Feeling much better, actually.” They walked to the campfire and sat on the seat next to Cern’s throne.
“Where is everyone?” Aurin whispered. His hold on Salem’s hand tightened as he looked around. The fire was high and its brightness an orange glowing halo that made the forest surrounding them appear darker and closer.
The air was cold, the stars above them a ceiling of pinpricks and glitter. “Look up,” Salem said.
Aurin did, his eyes going wide. “Oh wow.”
“I love Tenebrae,” Salem said. “It’s been my home for a long, long time. But the cloud cover hides an incredible view.”
“Are they brighter than usual?” Aurin murmured. “I’ve seen the stars before, of course. Many times. I don’t remember them being so bright.”
Salem gave him a gentle nudge with his elbow. “They aren’t always. There’s magic in the air tonight.”
Aurin’s wide eyes met his, the firelight glimmering in his hazel irises, making them appear even more golden than normal. “Magic?”
The rustle of leaves and the jingle of metal behind them made them turn to find Cern approaching. He was in his true form, taller than his human one, and made taller still by the two antlers protruding atop his head. His face was human, though his ears were more that of a bull. He wore his ceremonial garb: shirtless but for a cloak made of pelt and moss, his metal torc shining beneath his long white beard. He wore rudimentary linen shorts fastened with an ancient metal concho belt. His legs were that of a stag, covered grey fur down to his neat black hooves.
Salem had seen him in this form countless times—though not for many, many years—yet it still managed to take his breath away. He rose instinctively to his feet, and Aurin was quick to join him, both bowing their heads as Cern took his place on the throne.
He smiled widely, eyeing Aurin, which made Salem look at him too. His eyes were comically wide, his mouth open in stunned disbelief.
