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“The Grim became my father, my mentor. I love him. He loves me. He’s treated me well. We have strong father-son bonds. But sometimes, living among the undead…being one of them…can be…grotesque and traumatic. And well, we just don’t know all about what’s going on with me yet. I guess.”

Narsus welcomed the gloved hand that reached out for him. He allowed it to linger and comfort.

“We’ll face whatever manifests,” Lune vowed.

Their quiet moment was precious, but Narsus sensed there was something unfinished between them. A mild frustration that wasn’t his lost compass. So when Lune slowly, deliberately, pursed his mouth, Narsus’s attention was once again lured to his mate’s charcoal-painted lips.

Lune knew what Narsus was going to say before he said it.

“To kiss me is to court Death,” Narsus reminded him softly, reluctantly drawing back from the embrace most cherished. “All of me is toxic. Poisonous. Even a quick peck to your cheek could make you gravely ill or cause blisters.”

Lune didn’t want to pressure Narsus, because it felt like he already was. But how to convince his husband to keep being brave without coming across as demanding and dominating? Because an actual kiss was the one last thing that kept them apart. Well, that and still needing to find the compass.

Through their bedroom window, Lune looked out onto the starry horizon. Staring at Narsus now would just enforce the idea that his fears didn’t matter. “We already know I’m immune to your fire. And to the poison—somewhat. I’m willing to take that risk.”

“Are you?” Narsus’s voice was so stressed and hoarse, that Lune had to catch his breath. “What if I’m not willing?” Narsus went on. “I wonder if you’re—just how much damage you’re hiding from me. Hurting you would destroy me.”

“Why?” Lune asked, eyes watering. In a thready whisper, he asked again, “Why would it destroy you, Narsus?”

“Because I think I love you.”

Those words. Words he didn’t realize he’d been waiting to hear. Lune squeezed his eyes shut. His gulping breaths struggled for stability.

Narsus had braced himself against the bed. Obviously waiting in an anxious limbo for a response.

Lune opened his eyes, arms outstretched. “I think I love you right back.”

Narsus rushed forward, a small cry on his lips. Lune’s arms came around him and held tight, knowing his mate needed this. So badly. He did, too .

Lune rubbed at Narsus’s trembling back through the heavy layers of clothing. “I so want to pull off that veil. Run my fingers through your hair,” Lune said. “But you know I won’t. Is it as soft as it looks?”

“Probably.” Narsus answered. “By the gods, I want to taste that mouth of yours. But I won’t.”

“Maybe you should taste me.” Lune smiled. “I dare you.”

Again, with gloved hands, Narsus traced the curve of Lune’s painted lips.

“Kiss me,” urged Lune’s soft whisper. “Please. With naked lips. Like we both’ve been wanting.

Make this a real, official marriage. Not just one built on holding back and ‘I thinks.’ Narsus?

I lied when I said I think I love you. I know I love you.

” To prove his declaration, Lune pulled the charcoal canister out of the rucksack and held it out to him.

“Do you love me? Just to clarify—love, and being in love are two separate feelings.

Both are valid. Although I know the latter takes more time.

I'm very willing to be patient, and ecstatic for either one.”

Against his better judgement, Narsus tilted his head, and his eyes bobbed. The smattering of freckles across Lune’s sun-tanned face were fascinating to behold. Lune enticed him further, moistening those plump lips. When that tongue peaked out to do the deed a second time, Narsus was lost.

His shuttering cry escaped before his words could. “I do. I do love you, Lune.”

Lune gave a happy little cry before he eagerly reapplied the charcoal to his lips. And as if to torment him further, Lune took his time to tease. To pucker. Show off a bit of tongue .

Their mouths met in a timid brush. Narsus pulled back to scan for blemishes that were not there. Embolden, he returned for more. It was a dance of lips that turned into a long, flowing waltz. Narsus gasped for breath with each small intermission, even as he was desperate for more.

Losing control, he rubbed his lips across Lune’s cheek.

Their arms pressed tighter. Their hands roamed faster.

Until Narsus saw it. A bright red rash quickly spreading across Lune’s skin where he had peppered his kisses. Horrified, Narsus yanked away.

“What?” Lune asked. “What’s—wrong?” In that second, Narsus knew Lune felt it, for his siren touched his purpling mouth, probing at the damage.

The blistering spread before Narsus’s eyes, cracking those soft, perfect lips.

Discoloring the sun-tanned skin into a purplish-green bruise. The charcoal had done nothing.

Lune’s eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness.

“NOOooooo! Lune! Lune!” Narsus caught him as he fell to the floor. “ By the gods, what have I done?”

The door flew open. Brightside and Cinder stood within, backlit by the hall light.

“Help me,” Narsus cried.

Brightside shot forward and helped usher Lune to the rumpled bed. Terror sluiced along Narsus’s veins. His husband was so limp and pale, and the poison was spreading, even to where they hadn’t touched. Lune’s eyelids and mouth were going puffy and pink.

“I’ll get the activated charcoal,” Cinder said, already digging through the bag on the floor.

Narsus sat on his side of the mattress, head bowed. Pulling his cowl over his head to keep from doing any more harm. He didn’t even realize Cinder stood over him until his friend jostled him with a bump. “Nar, look.”

He couldn’t. It was difficult enough to accept that he had done this. He’d harmed the one person who believed in him. Trusted him, loved him enough to be vulnerable.

The hand yanking on his cowl forced him out of his despair.

“Look at his face,” Cinder demanded.

He didn’t want to.

“Look at him, Nar,” Brightside repeated. “He’s healing. Incredible. I haven’t even applied additional charcoal yet.”

Narsus gasped. Lune’s eyes were open. The swelling had lessened, but hadn’t faded entirely.

Where the lips had been split and bleeding, it was now dried and crusted over.

But strangely, where the poison had sat, the faint texture of scales surfaced.

Narsus wanted to touch that, to see if his eyes were deceiving him.

Perhaps it was just his anxiety and guilt playing tricks.

But he dare not chance another touch. Another kiss. Not ever again.

“Nar…” Lune rasped, reaching out to him, his eyes opening but unseeing. “Don’t blame.”

Lune’s grip went slack, and the hand fell. Those eyes slowly closed as his siren fell back into unconsciousness.