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He nodded. “The kind you could never repeat.”
“The kind you’d have to kill me if I did?”
One side of his lips curved up. “The kind I would be very, very disappointed if you repeated.”
The slowly churning wisps of eather in his eyes held my gaze. “Even though common sense tells me it’s best that I don’t know what this secret is, I am far too curious now.”
A low chuckle rumbled from him as his thumb swept over the curve of my shoulder. “What is written in your histories about the gods, Primals, and Iliseeum is not always accurate. Some Primals’ age would shock you.”
“Because they’re so old?”
“Because they’re so young in comparison,” he corrected. “The Primals you know of now didn’t always hold those positions of power.”
“They didn’t?” I whispered.
Ash shook his head. “Some gods have even walked both realms far longer than the Primals.”
If I weren’t already lying down, I would’ve fallen over. What he said sounded unbelievable. And he was right. I had no idea how old the Primal of Death was. He, like Kolis, the Primal of Life, had never been depicted in paintings.
“I have so many questions,” I admitted.
“I can only imagine.” His gaze flickered over my face. “But I’m sure the questions you have cannot be answered now.”
Not now? As in there’d be a later? A rush of anticipation surged through me before I could stop it.
There was never a later to look forward to.
The pleasant warmth his touch had created cooled, and I suddenly needed space. I sat up, and this time, he didn’t stop me. His hand slipped from my arm, leaving a wake of awareness behind. I reached around, gingerly prodding at the back of my head. I didn’t feel any cuts, so that was good, and it wasn’t exactly sore either.
I glanced down at myself and nearly choked on my breath. Where the pale ivory slip had met my damp skin, the already near-translucent material had become even sheerer. I could see the halo of the rosier skin of my breasts, and the cold-water-hardened…
“You sure you’re fine?”
“Yes.” Hoping he couldn’t see the blush I could feel spreading over my cheeks, I glanced at him. He was leaning against the rock that had taken me out, legs stretched out in front of him, crossed loosely at the ankles. Still shirtless. Did he not have a shirt with him?
Ash’s eyes were shadowed as he watched me. “Did killing the creature bother you?”
“It didn’t.” I had no idea how we were even having this discussion. What made him think that it had bothered me?
“Just in case it did bother you,” he said, “they weren’t mortal.”
“I know that.” I tugged on the edge of my slip—it had ridden up my thigh as I moved. “But just because something isn’t mortal doesn’t make it okay to kill,” I added, realizing how rich that was coming from my mouth.
“As admirable as that proclamation is, you misunderstand.” He cocked an arm back on the boulder, and the roll and stretch of lean muscle was…well, distracting. “Or you’ve forgotten what I said. The Hunters were no longer alive.”
“I remember what you said, but they were something. They walked, and they breathed—”
“They do not breathe,” he interrupted, gaze flashing to mine. His eyes looked like pools of moonlight. “They do not eat or drink. They do not sleep or dream. They are the dead given form to serve whatever need the god has.”
I shuddered a little at that description. “Maybe you simply have little regard for killing,” I said, acknowledging to myself the hypocrisy of what I was saying, considering how many lives I’d ended in the last three years.
“Killing is not something one should have little regard for,” he replied. “It should always affect you, no matter how many times you do it. It should always leave a mark. And if it doesn’t, then I would have grave concerns about that individual.”
I wanted to be relieved to hear that. Someone—mortal, god, or Primal—who could kill with hardly any thought was terrifying.
Which was why Ezra was a little afraid of me.
But I did give it thought…after the fact. Sometimes.
“So, you’ve killed a lot?” I asked.
He arched a brow. “That seems like an incredibly personal and somewhat inappropriate assumption and question.”
“Yeah, well, spying on my unmentionables is an incredibly personal and inappropriate act, so my question or assumption can’t be of greater offense.”
That softer curve returned to his lips. “I was not spying on you, and I’m willing to bet that you know that by now. However, you were staring at me. Quite openly, I might add, as I walked out of the lake.”
The skin of my throat flamed. “I was not.”
“You lie so prettily,” he murmured, and gods help me, it was a lie.
I sat back, crossing my arms. “Why are you even here? You could’ve left once you realized I was okay.”
