Page 3

Envy has the nerve to cross an invisible boundary, leaning forward to get in Sorrow’s face. His gaze aligns with hers, and then he slants his head, his breath a whisper across her jaw. “Oh, I can remember a time when you sounded mighty needy yourself,” he purrs, the words a dense current of air. “I remember you twisting my name into so many different cries. I remember my name broken on your lips. I remember the high pitch of it sliding off your tongue and begging for more.”

She should have seen that one coming. In hindsight, Sorrow should have never encouraged his body, much less her own. Lust is dangerous. It unhinges the mouth, and the tongue, and the brain until all three collapse in tandem. The effect turns deities into colossal idiots who can’t keep their traps shut, all that moaning having split their lips too far apart, leaving them wide open and spewing things they’ll eventually regret. Things like, “Fuck me.”

Pulling away, Sorrow quirks an eyebrow. “I’ve got a better question for you: What’s it like to be so desperate for attention, for over two centuries? Now that, I’m curious about.”

There it is again. That bolt of light, along with a bonus curl of the muzzle, some type of hybrid between a sneer and a snarl. He does another fresh appraisal of her body, dissecting every feature, which is now damp and sticky. When his gaze reaches her lips, words from the past wheedle into her mind.

I like seeing that snarky little mouth parted. I bet every crinkle would rake against my tongue.

He’d said that before they’d first gone berserk and pounced on each other. Shortly before. Like, seconds before.

But tonight, the sight of her lips seems to repel him. He regards Sorrow with flippant distaste, just as he used to regard her when they were younger, like he’s too good for her.

These days, maybe he can’t fathom what he ever saw in her. Finally, something she relates to.

They’re unsuited in every way, with his swanky suits and her grungy, shadowy attire. They’ve spent the majority of their lives giving each other the stink eye, even though they’re supposed to be peers. Though for a blink of time, they’d lost their way and gotten carnal.

It had been a mistake and hadn’t meant anything. It’s over now.

Envy plucks a limp thread of her hair, then flicks it away, as if it’s a weed. “What’s it like to be desperate for attention for over two centuries, you ask? I might counter that question and inquire what it’s like to be insignificant for the same amount of time. With that scrawny frame and loner attitude, it’s a mystery that you haven’t simply disappeared into thin air. Not that anyone would miss you.”

Sorrow hikes up her chin. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Unlike you, I don’t care what my ex-lovers or anybody else thinks about me.”

“My, my, my. Out of curiosity, do you have a matching t-shirt to go with that bullshit?”

“No, but I’ve got a slap to go with your face.”

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you look when you’re grouchy?”

“Nope.”

“Indeed. That’s because you’re not. By comparison, I regret to inform you that slapping me wouldn’t change a thing about my face. It’d still be prettier than creation itself. By the way, let the celestial record show that I wasn’t out here because of you. Everything I do is all about me.”

“In that case, go fuck yourself.”

“Precisely.” His grin should come with an explicit content rating. “What do you think I was coming out here to do?”

The reply causes Sorrow to tense, right down to her ass cheeks. Based on his prizewinning expression, Envy thinks his pecker is a sculpted work of art that needs routine polishing.

So that’s what lured him here. Of course, it hadn’t been her. Naturally, he hadn’t noticed Sorrow leaving their encampment, while he and the rest of their friends—no longer a class of five archers, but a band of eight rebels—slept in their respective corners of the forest.

The silence that follows wriggles beneath her skin, making her restless to supplement the quiet with additional insults, or at least a few extra jibes. Now that getting freaky is no longer an option, how else will they pass the time?

Matter of fact, what are they still doing standing here?

An adolescent dragonfly buzzes into the woods, a streak of silver skating across the water’s surface. The pond quivers, lapping Sorrow and Envy’s calves. Like chips of glass, constellations pierce the violet sky and produce tiny, scattered rifts in the hemisphere.

One of the stars trembles, as if it’s about to fall. For some reason, it reminds her of a myth that circulates in their world. Something about the almighty stars shining their greatest only when a deity is ready to hear the truth.

In any case, the firmament has never looked almighty to Sorrow. Rather, it has always reminded her of scars, a fragile surface poked by too many holes, impossible to stitch up. If anyone but Envy were standing beside her, she might consider sharing this observation.

Anyone else’s reaction would be safer.

A shift in her periphery jerks Sorrow out of her thoughts. She startles as Envy’s fingers tug on the wet bandage across the bridge of her nose. “When are you going to remove this pointless accessory?”