He glanced at me, looking momentarily startled, like he’d already told me much more than he should have. “Only the gods know.”
Cloaking the truth in shadows.
“Does it have anything to do with the fuath who are trying to open up Nova Ys?” I asked.
He shook his head, his eyes mournful. “I don’t think so.”
My head fell into my hands, and I thought back to the fae who’d cornered me in the alley—the one with the eyes like twilight, the wings that weren’t really there. He’d had an intensity that burned like a star.
“What if that man who followed me in Acre was the Nameless One? What if I lost my chance?”
“Your chance for revenge?”
“To get my power back.” My words echoed off the stone walls.
“Do you think it’s possible?”
“He took it away. Maybe he still has it. I actually have no idea.” I heaved a sigh. “but you believe me about him, that he drowned Ys and not me?”
“Yes.”
I felt my chest relax, but Lyr was still brooding. It was almost like the shadows were following him around. It felt grim in here, the rain hammering forlornly against his shield, and I wanted to draw him out of his dark mood.
I pulled out the scrying mirror, feeling the tingle up my nape as I whispered the spell to see Gina. Nothing had changed, and she still sat in a dingy stone basement. Someone had given her water at least, because it had dampened the front of her shirt. She was sleeping against the wall, her mouth open, chest rising and falling slowly. I dropped the scrying mirror.
Lyr had stopped pacing and leaned against the wall.
“What are you thinking about, deathling?” I asked.
“I don’t know why, but I was just thinking about the original Ys. When I lived with my mum, before I was the Ankou. I swam on the shores, and we drank dandelion wine and ate dinner outside under the oaks. I remember the strange music. Those were my happiest memories.”
“Would you like to see it again? The old Ys?”
“How?”
I closed my eyes and whispered a spell to conjure up the towering oaks from Ys. They gleamed around us, sunlight piercing their leaves. Then, I summoned the music of Ys—the soft, melodic bells tinkling over a driving rhythm.
When I opened my eyes again, I found that Lyr wasn’t looking at my illusions. He was staring at me, his blue eyes wide. He looked shocked—reverent almost. It really wasn’t more than a party trick, but I was glad it impressed him.
“You do remember Ys,” he said quietly.
“I remember some things. The parts when I wasn’t drunk.” I let the images fade, but the music played on as a sort of distant lullaby. “I don’t suppose you know a spell for warmth?”
He smiled and lay down on the rocky ground, folding his arms behind his head. He’d hung up his cloak to dry. “I’ll allow you to curl up next to me. You’ll stay warm next to my body.”
“You’ll allow me to sleep near you? Your arrogance is really insufferable.”
“You can sleep on the cold rock by yourself if you prefer.”
I lay down where I was, against the rocky wall, and I hugged myself. “I’d prefer the rocks, thanks.”
But even as the words were out of my mouth, I knew they were a lie.
Chapter 31
He seemed immensely cocky about the situation, like his warm body was so alluring that I’d just inevitably end up throwing myself at him during the night.
Pressed against the jagged wall, I hugged myself in my wet shirt. The sound of Ys music still chimed quietly around us, and the rain pounded hard against the cave entrance. Slowly, the golden orb of light began to dim.
Exhaustion started to claim my mind, and my eyes drifted shut. I could sleep here, even with the rain and the rocks and the freezing damp.
But as sleep took hold, I dreamt of Lyr crawling over to me like an animal. In some of my dreams, I stripped naked, while he watched on, his divine eyes burning with gold. In other dreams, he prowled over to me and ripped off my clothes. He pulled off my shorts and claimed me on all fours, my spine arched, his teeth on my throat. Our bodies were heated and ripe, moving against each other, and gods I ached for him. I needed him thrusting in and out of my slick body until I reached a wild inferno.
I don’t know what sort of magic this was, because never in my life had I had heated sexual dreams before.
Worst of all, I woke to find that I’d moved over the cave floor in my sleep—and I’d wrapped one of my legs around his. His magic trembled over my skin, and my thighs clenched around him.
Then, to my complete horror, I realized my hips were moving against him, and I was licking his shoulder.
“Did you need warmth?” he asked, looking immensely pleased with himself. “It seems you need something else.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I just rolled over here in my sleep.”
His gaze slid down my body, a sensual smile curling his lips. “You were writhing against me.”
“That’s just what I do in my sleep.”
“We should sleep next to each other more often, then.”
I wasn’t about to tell him about the filthy dreams I’d had about him or my torturous state of arousal, although judging by the hardness in his pants, he was well aware. My whole body felt hot.
I couldn’t stop thinking about how I wanted him to pull the shorts off me, to cup my full breasts and kiss me hard. I didn’t feel like Aenor anymore, just a purely sexual being. I wasn’t letting go of him, either. My breasts pressed against him, and my breath hitched.
But this wasn’t like me. Don’t let your guard down, Aenor.
My leg shifted on his length, and he gasped a little. He held on to my waist, his muscles tensing completely. Now, I was staring into the ancient, divine face of the Ankou, and he was looking at me with unrestrained lust.
The Ankou didn’t scare me anymore.
He turned, and his arms curled around me possessively, one hand on my bum, the other gripping my hair. He gazed into my eyes with a feral intensity.
I stared back at him—this sublime, godlike being. His divinity radiated out from him, and awe filled me. This was someone who crossed between the living and the dead.
And—I reminded myself—that was why he couldn’t be trusted.
I wriggled out of his grasp, rolling onto my back. My pulse raced, and I was panting hard. I wasn’t exactly moving away from him.
He propped his head on his hand, eyes burning as he stared at my body. The way he was looking at me made me want to press myself against him all over again. This was, I was starting to think, a losing battle.
His eyes lingered on my nipples, hard under my wet shirt, then slid down to the tiny shorts. Every muscle in his body went completely rigid.
I had no doubt that he could feel the desire pouring off my body. Wearing these tight, wet clothes felt like a sexual torture, an excruciating tease, and I didn’t even notice that my fingers had started migrating into the waistband of my shorts, desperate to pull them off.
He moved over me, planting his hands on either side of my head, knees on either side of my hips. He stared into my eyes with awe of his own—like I was a god.
“Beautiful.” His low growl skimmed over my skin, a sensual caress. His breathing had changed, shallow and fast. “Divine.”