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Caelis, God of Aether, invisible to the naked eye. The empty space nobody thought about. Where matter formed, he was simply shoved aside.
Her love was a screaming torrent. The deep, gut-wrenching wail of an avalanche. The near-silent cry of sprinkling rain.
Clode—Goddess of Air—who hinged on the precipice of immeasurable madness. Her voice was a ribbon of silk, soft to touch, unless it turned to the side and slit you with its edge.
Ignos was a glutton for Clode. The God of Fire feasted on her. Consumed her. Loved her so much he could not breathe without her.
Not after I tied all those heavy, painful parts to a rock now anchored to the bottom of my icy internal lake. Companionship is something I work hard to avoid. And mostly succeed. The harder you care, the more fragile everything seems. Easier to just . . . Not.
Survival’s funny. Some wear it like a whisper, others like a scream. Mine’s a scorched skeleton of flame-forged rage that keeps me upright. Keeps me moving forward.
Sadness is like stones that stack inside you, making it harder to move. Ignorance is my self-preservation tonic, and I’ll swear by it until I die.
You can reshape a turd an infinite number of times, but it’s still a turd.
Perhaps that makes me a coward, but I have to pinch my smiles from somewhere. And that moon . . . It never fails to give me exactly that. A smile.
“You’re the family I never had,” I whisper, and her lungs empty with a shuddered exhale . . . She doesn’t fill them again.
“I would cheer, but I’m certain you’ll do enough of that this slumber while you’re staring at your floor-length mirror, fisting your microcock.”
It doesn’t matter how much of my skin is smoothed or how deep he kneels at my feet. I’m still an assassin marked for execution come aurora rise, and he’s still a tyrant king.
“Kaan, no. I did not agree to this!” His body stiffens, steps slowing, a low, grating sound coming from him. “Say it again . . .” “What?” “My name, Moonbeam. Say it again.”
“Yes,” I whisper, cradling the strange, giddy feeling with a gentleness I didn’t realize I possessed, worried it’ll break if I squeeze too hard. “I’m okay.”
Rather than blow flames onto his body, Allume scooped him up, tilled her wings, then tipped her head to the sky and lifted off the ground with my brother clutched against her. She soared unsteadily toward the deep dark where her ancestors rest, then curled into a ball, tucked Haedeon beneath her gammy wing, and solidified before my eyes—giving herself to death rather than live an eternal life without the one we both loved so much.
“Because I was mourning someone I loved very much. I discovered my pah had done something unforgivable, and I took her revenge because I thought she no longer could. Now I have regrets.”
Turns out, I’m a shit houseguest.
Probably not a good time to commend him on his hunting skills, but damn—it’s tempting.
“No wonder you laughed,” she says, then reaches behind me, flicking a blanket over my back and easing it around my shoulders. “The unbreakable always do.”
“Moonbeam.” “Hmm . . .” “Please don’t scare me like that again.” Scare? What a nice thing to say.
Luck, it seems, is licking my ass.
I drop my hem. “Hidden talent. What’s yours?” “Sweet fuck all.”
“Power, my dear.”
Such a nice way to say I’m being a bitch.
Around him . . . sometimes words just feel inadequate.
“I once knew a female who’d cry when it rained, though she thought I never noticed,”
RETURNS PRECIOUS GIFTS
This place isn’t the relic of somebody else’s love . . . It’s ours.
I don’t feel like Haedeon anymore. I feel like Allume—wobbling along, being forged into something strong despite my broken bits. Perhaps I’ll fly, too.
I know the things I desire are forbidden. I’m all out of reasons to care.
He’s fire and brimstone. I’m shattered ice. Our collision is steam and destruction, destined to dissipate, but I’ll gladly burn beneath him until the world comes crumbling down.
“Raeve, you could flay me down the middle and I’d still fucking love you.”
“Your hands know me,” she whispers. “Yes,” I murmur against her hair. “Know you, crave you, worship you.”
“I envy the dragons, Kaan. They worship death so beautifully. We just . . . lose. Left with nothing but ghosts and memories that feel like wounds.”
“Tell me, Raeve . . .” Another soft kiss is planted on my neck, his next words rumbled against my ear. “How did I fuck you in your dreams?”
I lift a brow—a pitiful effort to lighten the mood. “You’re biased, Sire. And perhaps forgetting the fact that I almost hacked you open more than once.” “No. I’m fucking obsessed,” he growls, wrapping his other hand around my face and jerking me forward.
A small, wobbly one with a tear in its wing and a blood splotch on its tail.
