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I followed the line of his neck with my lips and tongue, pleased when his head fell back against the arm of the daybed. My lips brushed over the edges of the ink on his skin. I lifted my head. In the starlight and with as close as I was, I could finally make out what each of the marks inked onto his skin was. “They’re drops,” I said, running a finger over a few of them. I looked up at him. “What kind of drops?”
“Blood,” he told me. “They represent drops of blood. But red ink won’t stay in my skin. It takes a lot to scar a god’s skin, let alone a Primal’s. Salt has to be applied for even black to stay.”
Air hissed between my teeth. “Ouch.”
“It’s not exactly a pleasant process.”
I dipped my head, kissing a drop. “What do they mean?”
He was quiet for a long moment. “They represent someone whose life was lost by my hands, actions, or because of a decision I made or didn’t.”
I stilled, staring at the ink. “There have to be…hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands.”
“They are a reminder that all life can easily be extinguished.”
That reminder. My heart twisted as my throat thickened. “You are not responsible for what others do.”
“You don’t know that, liessa.”
I shook my head. “The ones who committed those acts are responsible.”
Ash said nothing, and I knew—I knew that those blood drops inked onto his skin weighed heavily on the side of the lives lost and not the ones he’d taken. I looked down at the swirl that traveled along his waist and dipped under the band of his pants. Did one of these represent Lathan, the friend killed by Cressa and the other two gods? Ash’s parents? The gods who had been on the wall? The Chosen he couldn’t save? There had to be dozens just on this one part of his body alone, and that kind of loss of life was…it was almost too painful a reminder without collapsing under the grief and what I knew had to be misplaced guilt. I wouldn’t be standing if I carried this kind of weight.
Ash had to be the strongest being I knew.
Back bowing, I tasted the skin of his chest, traced the defined lines of his stomach. Every part of me was aware of how each kiss, every graze of my fingers that followed my mouth, drew a quicker breath from him, a tremor. I kept going, my lips dancing around his navel and lower as I slid down his body. The tips of my breasts brushed over his rigid length, causing his body to jerk, and mine to clench. I settled between his legs, nipping at his skin above his waistband. My fingers slid over his sides to his hips and then to the band of his pants.
“What are you up to?” Ash asked, his voice deeper and full of shadows.
“Nothing.” I trailed a line of kisses, finding the ink that flowed over his hips.
His fingers drifted through my hair, gathering the strands back from my face. “This does not seem like nothing, liessa.”
“I’m…exploring,” I told him.
“Exactly what are you exploring?”
I lifted my head, and my breath caught. His entire body was taut with tension. The muscles of his stomach and chest, his neck and jaw. His skin had thinned, showing a hint of shadow underneath. His eyes were like stars as he stared down at me. “You,” I whispered, heart thumping fast. “I can stop if that’s what you want.”
He cupped the back of my head. “That is the very last thing I want,” he said, and I started to smile. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Smile at me,” he murmured, the silver in his eyes swirling.
“Why?”
“Because when you do that, there’s utterly nothing I would not allow you to do to me.”
I smiled fully then.
“Fuck.” He groaned. A laugh left me—a light and airy sound that felt good even as his eyes narrowed on me. “Don’t do that either.”
My smile was bigger now. “Does that mean I can do anything?”
“Anything.” Those churning eyes were fixed on me.
I bit my lip as I looked down at him, where even in the shadows, I saw him straining against the fabric of his breeches. “Anything?”
He nodded.
I rose to my knees.
“Don’t move.”
I halted. “I thought I could do anything.”
“You can, but…I’m now just seeing what you’re wearing.”
“What’s wrong with…?” Glancing down at myself, I trailed off. The glow of the stars turned the sheer material nearly transparent, revealing the darker hue of the peaks of my breasts, and the shadowy area between my thighs. “Oh.”
“If you want to wear that gown whenever you’d like, I won’t complain,” he said thickly, and I started to grin again. “You’re beautiful, Seraphena.”
There was another clench in my chest, one that threatened to shatter this moment with reality—with responsibility. I didn’t want to allow that.
