Page 97 of The Song of the Void

“Ashkade is gone,” Rei said softly. “The best thing we can do is hold on to his memory and finish what he asked us to.”

“He would be so proud of you, Reiven. I'm proud of you, too.”

I kissed him again, and he refused to let me back away to breathe. Honestly, he was so confusing sometimes. He kissed me with so much love, but kept his fingers tangled in my hair tight enough to hurt.

And I loved it. I loved him.

Once upon a time, he had been a bitter enemy to me. At what point did that cocky ex-pirate become someone I trusted with everything? And when did the angry, captive Siren I used to be let go of all the hatred she hoarded inside and yearn for a peaceful world?

Everything began with the Timebreaker.

I silently thanked Ashkade Synnex one last time, impossibly grateful for him and his grand ideals that led me to meet and fall in love with Reiven.

“Hey, we need to be respectful and read his letter,” I mumbled into Reiven’s mouth.

“Read it out loud to me so I can keep kissing you,” he said, tracing my jaw and neck with his lips.

I giggled at the tickling sensation, sliding my finger beneath the seal of the envelope, and began to read the letter aloud. I could practically hear Ash’s voice in my head; the words on the page were so naturally his.

“Dear Rei and Zephra. I’ve been thinking a lot about dying, so it’s a good thing I got the chance to get it all out of my system. First off, would you mind letting my folks know I did my best? They don’t need any gory details⁠—”

“Do his accent.”

I laughed through my tears and continued. Reading his letter strengthened my resolve, even if what was to come next would prove more challenging than Hell itself. There was certainly a lot of work we had to do to bring our people together, but by the Spirits, and in Ashkade’s name, the most unlikely pair would see it done.

Me, a free Siren, and the man I fell in love with.

I used to fucking loathe the moonlight. Too soft, too ethereal. Its light was a cold embrace, much unlike the warmth of the sun. The moon’s natural connection to the tides may have had something to do with my distaste for it, too, but that was before.

Before her.

Flames crackled and popped within the fireplace on the other side of my bedroom, greedily gnawing away at the wood. Destruction contained. The heat unfurling through the room sank into my skin, and I closed my eyes, guiding it to flow through my hands.

Focus.

Setting a catastrophic blaze was one thing. Not starting fires required a certain level of restraint I wasn’t exactly well known for. It didn’t come naturally like the muscles, or the sexy hair, or the incredible sense of humor. All I heard growing up was, “Stay in control, Reiven,” over and over. Surely Mother and Father would have been satisfied to see me warming a metal bowl without melting it or setting the room on fire. So damn in control that not even the delicate scent of vanilla drifting from the liquid inside the bowl distracted me.

“Your Majesty,” Zephra sang from her place on my bed.

In two words, my concentration shattered. Muscles I hadn’t even realized were taut relaxed at her voice, and my eyes opened of their own accord, burning scarlet in the reflection of the bowl’s contents. The metal dish glowed orange beneath my hands. I cursed softly and set it down on the nightstand beside my bed before I actually ruined it and my plan for the night. Silk shifted against silk, the sound drawing my gaze to her.

Zephra basked in the moonlight filtering through the gauzy curtains over the glass patio doors. The world fell silent, save for the thudding of my heart in my chest at the sight of her. Arms stretched lazily above her head as she reclined on my bed. Hair spilled across the sheets in luscious waves. A hip-length nightdress that rode a fine line between lingerie and might-as-well-wear-nothing-at-all, especially with the silver light accentuating her curves beneath the flimsy fabric. She gave me a smirk as if she had won something aside from my attention and instant desire.

She’s like a dream. My bewitching, sinful dream.

I quirked an eyebrow at her calling me by my Spirits-damned title, then turned back to the bowl on the nightstand as if I was completely unbothered, both by her beauty and her attempted tease. “Yes, Blue?”

“What are you doing over there?”

“Scheming,” I replied, pinning my feet in place as she padded over the plush carpeting.

“What are you scheming?” she asked. “Something filthy?”

“Maybe you’ll find out if you behave.”

Zephra stopped behind me and eased my shirt to fall away from my body with a swish of fabric. Her touch lingered along my biceps, tracing, testing, treasuring. “I always behave,” she pouted.

Far from it, but that’s what I adore about you.