Page 108 of Reap & Sow

That dangerous rumble was reminiscent of the first time she’d seen his real form, when he’d unfurled before the Blades and told them that “their god wasn’t here.” It made her shiver from head to toe.

Eda steadied herself with one hand on his chest and reached between them with the other, gripping him. He hissed. She stroked, and a string of heated Infernal was her reward. Dangerous he might be, but more dangerous still was the heady rush of power at having a creature so deadly prone beneath her.

Heavy eyes flitted from where she touched him, to the swell of her breasts, to her face; hungry and inhuman as she’d ever seen. “Eda.”

“Kit’rath,” she teased. “Surely all those clever words haven’t fled you so soon?”

His gaze sharpened. Eda was yanked up the bed with startling ease—she yelped and grabbed the headboard for balance. Kit was already shimmying down the mattress.

Her throat ran dry. “What are you…?”

He pulled her down until she felt his warm breath against her center. “Showing you where all my clever words have gone.” And then he did, writing unknowable phrases against her with his tongue until she flew apart, like so many bursting stars.

They did not sleep again, but neither were wont to leave the bed. Drowsy with pleasure, Eda indulged herself in playing with his claws, testing their sharp points. Kit kissed her spine as though he might count each vertebra. At some point his tail curled about her ankle. Eda wasn’t sure he even realized.

They shared what was left of yesterday’s bread. She demanded he teach her more Infernal insults, and he pressed his face to her neck, laughing, when she recited them badly. She still liked vhesak’din best—fuck you was so versatile! Kit tried to distract her by biting her ear. She compared him a louche philanderer from an adventure novel she’d once read. He asked her about other stories, fascinated, for there was no such fiction in Infernus, and he’d explored more human poetry than prose.

Eda tried, but she’d only read novels that came into the shop, and they were few. It occurred to her how small her life was. She didn’t know how to gather herbs, or when hunting season was, or the name of a single poet. Embarrassment reared.

Eda traced the pink scar on his arm where Tenelle had stabbed him, trying to think of a change of subject.

Kit noticed. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s silly.”

“Tell me anyway.” He kissed her palm.

Eyes averted, she mustered the courage. “You’ve lived in this world as long as I have, but you know so much more about it. Plays and books and markets halfway across the world…I don’t know anything. My entire life was the shop and the mirror. Sometimes I—I don’t know who I am outside of that.”

Kit was quiet for a moment. Then he scooped her into his lap as though she weighed nothing. His hot, bare skin was a balm against her own.

“I know who you are,” he breathed. “You are kind.” He kissed her cheek. “You are brave.” He kissed her brow. “You have terrible fashion sense.” This evoked a laugh, and he nosed at her neck, smiling. “You like too much honey in your oats, and you’re secretly vain about your hair. As you should be.” He ran a reverent hand through it. “You like theater and stories with happy endings, and you’ve a curious mind that shines whenever faced with something new.” He drew back to look at her. The expression he wore was unbearably tender. “Lack of experience or education does not equal lack of ability. You can be whatever you wish, Eda. The world is yours. You need only decide to seek it out.”

Her heart swelled with an affection she’d never known. That greedy desire for connection lived in him too; she felt it in the way he held her. Two loose threads pulled together.

When she captured his mouth again, it drew a low, satisfied sound from deep within Kit’s chest. Eda endeavored for a long while to make him do it again.

“Do your horns ever get in the way?” she asked later, running her fingers over the grooved curve.

“On the contrary. I have it on good authority that they make excellent handles.”

“I meant when sleeping.”

“Hm, no. Got them caught on a branch when I was young once.”

She laughed at that. “Perhaps it’s a good thing these aren’t silk pillows. What if you’d gouged them open?”

He made a humming sound, distracted by the side of her breast. “I would have you know the feeling of silk on your skin. If we were in Infernus, I could make my suit properly. Jewels, clothes—anything you wanted.”

Make my suit properly. Eda’s pulse jumped. He said it so easily. “You mean…courting? You have courting in Infernus?”

“We do. A male must prove himself in all sorts of ways.” His voice deepened, tail brushing over her thigh. “I’ve not done enough to make my intentions clear, it seems.”

Eda made herself push him back. “In this world, courtship ideally starts because you care about someone deeply. I would accept no less than that.” She searched his eyes. You haven’t actually said how you feel.

Kit drew up, guarded. He was right to be wary. What good could come from admitting to anything beyond lust? Theirs would not be a courtship to end happily.

But saints, how she wanted to know that she wasn’t alone in her heartache. Kit had hinted at the depth of his regard, that night atop the standing stones—I want to listen to everything you say, I crave your laughter, I despise every moment your eyes aren’t on me—but it was not enough. Not enough and far too much.