Page 39 of On Burning Paths

It’s why, the moment Behanta died, I set out to find their group. The fact that the demi-god allowed for the berserker’s addition told me he would surely allow for another. Especially considering the fact that I don’t need someone to punch me to become a capable fighter.

“I’m sure our godly one over here will think of something,” I say, and when Fenric looks at me, I laugh, gesturing to the demi-god. “I’m obviously talking about Rian here⁠—”

He swings out at me, and I’m just fast enough to dodge it. Laughing, I turn on my heel, only to notice a few figures lining up, appearing down the side of the canyon, clearly having been herded in this direction as well.

“Oh great,” Nyx mutters. Those figures are our competitors, the shifters and warlocks, emerging from the brush. I remember Magnus and his trapping spell and pause, my hand hovering over the hilt of my sword.

Killing him would be fun, but I’m not stupid enough to walk into a gaggle of warlocks. Vampires have always relied on speed and stealth, not on direct attacks. When I take off his head, he won’t even know it’s coming.

Nyx sighs again, and when I glance back at her, she’s pinching the bridge of her nose.

I can think of a few ways to alleviate that tension.

And none of them involve a plan for getting over that death trap of a bridge. If the wind tossing it back and forth didn’t make the message of danger clear, then the constant flashing of lightning strikes hitting the bridge sure as hell does.

“Think you can make it across?” Thorian asks, crossing his arms and glancing over at me, and I let out a quick laugh.

“By running? Ha—I have many talents,” I glance at Nyx, and can practically feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, “but outrunning lightning is not one of them.”

“So, we need to think of something else.”

“Those warlocks are just going to use their magic to get over,” I say, gesturing at the group of them in their ugly robes, halfway down the ledge. The bridge is equidistant between us and them, and I don’t relish the moment one of the groups will have to approach, putting themselves in danger of an attack.

“Do you think their magic can get them across without being injured?” Nyx asks, crossing her arms.

It’s still drizzling, and I realize she’s shaking from our little bout in the middle of monsoon season. Without thinking, I step closer to her, opening my coat and wrapping her inside.

I expect her to pull away, to be wary of the vampire trying to get his mouth close to her neck, but instead she leans in. Thorian seems to take stock of the movement, then returns his attention to the matter at hand.

“I like having you close,” I mutter, pleased by the way she shivers at the sound of my voice. Inside my coat, she quickly warms, even though I don't have much body heat to offer, and my clothes are soaked through, too.

Maybe I’m a masochist, and like having her this close for the scent of her blood alone.

I haven’t stopped thinking about it since that day in the garden. Yesterday, when she kissed me, apparently thinking me on the brink of death, I’d gotten my first real taste of that scent. The berserker and demi-god have been taking pains to keep space between me and the lady, at least up until that point. But now, I try to subtly bury my face in her hair, to breathe in the smell of her.

Of course, I don’t scent the same way an animal does, like one of those shifters. A vampire’s sense of smell is far more refined. But scent is still important to me, and I can’t get enough of hers.

When I smell her, I’m getting the very essence of her, not something from the skin. It’s the blood rushing through her veins, that crushed velvet sweetness that makes me salivate. She’s like the kettle-cooked caramel at human fairs, dripping from a molten hot pan and yet still looking good enough that you would happily burn your tongue.

Fenric and Thorian step away, and I pull her in closer, nestling her hips against mine. Again, she doesn’t pull away, but I feel the sharp intake of her breath against me, her torso expanding.

For being a lady, Nyx seems perfectly content being in such a compromising position with me. Which, hell, I don’t mind one bit. It speaks well of what it’ll be like if we ever lay together.

“So, after we get to the spire,” I say, surprising myself with the question, “what do you plan to do? Marry a boy back home and have a brood of kids?”

She hesitates for a moment. “Beyond saving my sister and restoring my lands, I haven’t really thought about my life going forward,” she says, and from the way her heart skips, I’d wager that’s a lie.

Nyx has thought about it, but she’s not thinking of a boy back home. Her head turns slightly, and I realize she’s keeping Thorian and Fenric in her line of sight.

So the three of them are close, something I’d assumed based on the way the other men look at her, and the way her heart was skipping when she returned from the woods last night with the demi-god, and the scent of her arousal. Trying to sleep in that cave was torture. I could practically hear the berserker’s wet dreams playing out loud.

“I just want to get my sister back,” Nyx adds, and though this one has a beat of truth, I push against it. I want to know the truth.

“Sure,” I say, leaning down and nuzzling my mouth closer to her ear.

Although I wasn’t with the group when she went back to free the Ashen, I was standing by the graveyard. I felt the energy of the moment and realized what she had done. The absolute impossible. Because… she’s special.

With a heart like hers, I’m sure the only thing she’s thought about has been her sister. Vampires aren’t known for their generosity, but I’ve seen this before. A person so intent on helping others that they forget to help themselves.