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Cyrus still held his breath. His brows furrowed in . . . Had Evelyn read the moment wrong? She swallowed, readying herself to pull back when, in an instant, Cyrus’s lips crashed into hers with no warning. No way to prepare herself for the intensity, the smoldering contact, how quickly his kiss would consume her.

Or how unraveled and blissful she was as they came together.

Someone moaned. Maybe Evelyn. One of them growled. Definitely Cyrus. They kissed, their lips molding with excitement and anticipation and newness. Evelyn’s stomach grew warm like a pit of fire fueled by the tension, the walls crumbling between them.

Cyrus’s hand left her shoulder and moved to the nape of her neck. His strong fingers tilted her head, providing a deeper, more demanding angle as his other hand cupped her cheek. Evelyn grasped his shirt, craving his nearness, his skin on her skin, his lips against hers, the tease of his tongue as it explored her mouth.

She might combust with her flame. Her magic was joyous, full of hunger and desire, a sensation she’d never felt before.

She’d kissed, but not like this.

Their lips slowed, tenderly and begrudgingly. They broke away as if they’d both remembered they needed to breathe to survive, both of them gasping and shaking. Cyrus leaned his forehead on Evelyn’s, dazed.

A beat passed. Rain spilled buckets. The fire crackled and danced behind them.

“I’ve wanted”—Cyrus paused, composing himself—“to do that for a while now.”

“Since when?” Evelyn whispered, her cheeks hot and lips sensually bruised.

“Since you walked into the commissioner’s office.”

Evelyn took a step back, eyes wide with raised brows. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Cyrus whispered, kissing the edges of her lips and down her neck.

Breathless and elated, Evelyn fell into him. Their kiss and his words filled her with glee. She laughed. Goddess, it’d been so long since she’d truly laughed.

Eyes wide with surprise, Cyrus took every inch of her in, and Evelyn did the same to him. In the gilded light, the gold in his hair and beard glowed. The shadows flashed over a pinkish scar running through his beard, reaching to his cheek. Another scar cut through his right brow, over his eye. Cyrus had the face of a warrior, and Evelyn’s insides melted. Curious, she reached up her hand and trailed a finger down the right scar.

“How’d you get this?”

Cyrus’s mouth twitched to a half-smile. “An ialtóg.”

Evelyn scrunched her nose. “Those are ghastly.”

Ialtógs were bat-like demons, but ten times the size of a true bat. Fast, big, able to fly, and they were always hungry. For anything that moved.

Cyrus raised a brow. “You’ve encountered one?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Evelyn withdrew her hand from his scar, but Cyrus grabbed it and ran his finger over her knuckles.

“I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours,” he said.

“About the ialtóg?”

Cyrus nodded, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “But only if you go first.”

She sighed. Seeing as the rain still continued with no signs of letting up soon, they had time to kill. She sauntered over to the fire, crossing her legs and soaking in the heat as it dried her clothes.

Cyrus joined her, resting his forearms on his bent knees as he waited.

Evelyn supposed she’d stumbled into this one particular story of her past. Maybe she wanted to tell him after such a magical kiss. Regardless, she could keep the details to a minimum so she didn’t give too much away.

“I was . . . um, working when I heard the shouts of a man riding on a horse, frantic, an ialtóg chasing him. He was a farmer, and as you might already know, ialtógs have a large appetite for cattle. Anyway, it was chasing this farmer, who carried his injured father. The demon was triple the size of the horse.”

“And what did you do?” Cyrus asked.

The two of them sat so close, shoulder to shoulder, as she told her story. Evelyn caught Cyrus’s stare shimmering like golden jewels before the flame as he listened to her every word.