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“The second that rodent becomes an issue, I’m skinning it,” he said, hoisting the bag up to me.
To me, Kingfisher was a surly, foul-mouthed bastard who I wouldn’t piss on even if he was on fire. To everyone inside this tavern, he was a living fucking god.
“There’s every way,” Fisher rumbled, his eyes darkening. “I’d know the smell of you anywhere. On anyone. I’d know it blind and in the dark. Across a fucking sea. I’d be able to scent you—”
I could feel it—a still, deep well inside him, its surface rippling as he grew harder and harder inside me. I would drown in that well. Sink down into the dark depths of it, never to break the surface again. And I would be glad.
“Because she is moonlight. The mist that shrouds the mountains. The bite of electricity in the air before a storm. The smoke that rolls across a battlefield before the killing starts. You have no idea what she is. What she could be. You should call her Majesty.”
She is the dawn. She is the moon. She is the sky. She is oxygen in our lungs.
My soul was on fire, and I didn’t care if I burned for all eternity. So long as I was burning with him, then so be
“Nobody will ever fuck you the way I’m about to fuck you, Saeris Fane. I’m about to introduce you to all seven gods. When you meet them, don’t forget to tell them I’m the one you worship on your knees.”
