Page 9

“Death is a part of life,” he replied in a cavalier disregard.

Not her life—thankfully. However, his answer meant he was harmless. Deities did not discuss death so casually.

“You’re a mortal then…” Naia mumbled. Her shoulders relaxed, and she lowered Wren, lifting off him with her knees.

His black strands were tied up in a loose, carefree bun. Damp pieces stuck to his cheeks and neck from the downpour. His face was handsome—short, solid jawline, and dark eyes, the color of the earth’s soil after rain, intensely pinned on her.

He made no move to sit up. The sensation of his gaze roaming her face was like rays of the sunlight nipping her skin. Naia chewed on the inside of her cheek, at a loss for how to get out of the situation.

She could already see it in the newspaper headlines: UNHINGED WOMAN ATTACKS MAN AT NIGHT.

“Are you not?” he asked.

It took her a moment to understand his question, what he responded to, and where she messed up. Referring to him as a mortal implied she was, in fact, not one.

His arm came up and Naia’s palm met his sternum, pushing him down onto his back and drawing Wren to his jugular once again. “Did she send you? How much did she offer to pay you?”

He didn’t so much as flinch. “I guess sitting up is out of the question.”

“It’s an odd hour to be taking a stroll,” Naia said.

“I was trying to clear my head.”

Naia applied a small amount of pressure to Wren at his throat, raising her brow. “Care to oblige?”

His body tensed beneath her, flicking his eyes from her face to her hand clasping the hairpin.

She looked down at his neck. The faintest hint of blood trickled down the knoll of his throat.

Naia eased up her hold directed onto Wren. A cold sweat doused her palms. She was too on edge, and her strength had escaped her.

“Who are you?” she demanded through her twinge of remorse. She hadn’t meant to draw blood.

Something wet seeped across her index finger.

Naia dropped her gaze down to the scarlet trail running down his neck and onto the backs of her knuckles. She felt the blood drain from her face. Slightly panicked, she swallowed thickly to fight away the needle-pricking sensation in her cheeks.

When she looked up, the man’s face was a blurry puddle, and he was sitting up. She blinked. Her ears popped and then rang.

Naia sloped sideways. She caught herself on the heel of her hand against the rough groundcover.

“Are you okay?” She heard the man ask, but his voice sounded far away.

Disoriented, her eyes sought the thin stream along the man’s skin, disappearing behind the collar of his shirt.

Why now?

She’d watched Wren cut open Marina’s throat and made it through fine. This was barely a scrape.

“Hemophobia,” she spat out. “I… don’t like?—”

“Blood,” he finished. “Yeah, I know what it means.”

He reached for her. She jerked back to avoid his touch. Paralysis nipped down her arms and legs and she wobbled.

“Whoa, easy there.” He caught her by the shoulders. “I’ve got you.”

She attempted to lift her hands to push away from him, but her limbs weren’t listening and the spinning in her head only grew worse.