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“The one who sits upon the crow throne shall rule the Otherworld.” – Esther Weil, Renowned Folklorist

I ate but barely, the folded bit of parchment burning a hole in my pocket. I returned to the lounge and curled up on the sofa, waiting for Ruchel and Nola to come back. But it was Blue who found me later.

In her hands she carried a set of dark indigo socks.

“Blue is the color of regret where I’m from.” She handed the woolen pair to me. Feet shuffling beneath her, she chewed at her cheek. “Liesel started making them for you as an apology for the nightmare spirits . . . I finished them up for her just now.”

I took them, rubbing my thumb across their softness. “Blue, I . . .”

She wrung her fingers in the skirt of her dress, and her throat bobbed. “Just take them and don’t make a thing of it.”

I nodded. She padded off, retreating from the lounge. An hour later, Nola and Ruchel joined me. They both looked like they’d been crying, eyes puffy, cheeks ruddy. Ruchel curled up in a padded chair with her book, the distance between us evidence of her desire to be left in peace. She wanted quiet company, I sensed.

Nola brought me a drink from the bar, the juniper smell strong in my nose. I held it but didn’t partake, the socks clutched between my fingers like a lifeline. I thought she was going to ask me about what happened, but she didn’t. The soldier was no stranger to loss. She knew better.

“What did you say to Blue that made her . . . nice?” I asked.

“We told her the truth about you,” Nola said, pulling up a stool and sitting beside me. “And that made everything a whole lot worse at first.” She swirled her glass, a line forming between her tawny brows. Then she tipped her drink toward our high witch. “And then Ruchel told her how she came to the Crow Games. She opened up to her, and it calmed Blue. One buttoned-up witch to another buttoned-up witch, finally undoing their buttons and spilling their secrets. That worked.”

Ruchel read in the corner of the room, her legs pulled up under her in the cushioned chair.

“Is that information I’m going to get to hear anytime soon?” I asked. I’d been curious about Ruchel since I met her. Which god had spurned her? I could make educated guesses, but I preferred to be certain. I wanted to add them to my murder list.

“I don’t know.” Nola’s grin was sheepish. “It took a long time for her to share it with me, too. Sorry, old duck. I’d help, but it’s not my story to tell.”

Nola bandaged my head and the cut in my palm. I turned in early that night and read myself to sleep from Asher’s journals, curious about the slip of paper in my pocket but certain that he was right. It was the wrong time. I was a mess. Whatever he wanted to tell me needed to wait for clearer heads.

I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of rain striking the window. A storm rumbled, blocking out the subtle music of the train rushing over the tracks. The next boom of thunder sent my heart jolting. I left my bed to ignite the gaslight and turned it down low, comforted by the warm glow of it.

I glanced at the wall, the pale bone that separated my bed from Asher’s, and my hand went into my pocket with a mind of its own. I pulled out the note, unfolded it, and devoured the words as hungrily as a starved water devil.

Patience be damned. That was his strength, not mine.

I watch life and am in awe of it. I covet creation but not for its power like the hungry gods do. I covet its beauty, its divine splendor crafted by careful, loving hands. For I could never fashion something so lovely. I could only bring an end to what is glittering and bright. This is what I was made for.

Yet still I covet the beating heart of it all. The lushness of rampant life, the like pairs that break off and come together with an intimacy I could only envy from afar. Alone forever. There was never a partner for me in all that majesty, and so I came to believe that life as a whole—a thing I can only watch but never partake in—was my other half. Life is beautiful and vibrant and warm and bright. My opposite. My downfall.

Then finally I met her. I met the one who is like me, and beauty now has a whole new meaning. A new face.

I read the last line again and again and again, then I crushed the paper to my chest and fell back on my bed. Head on the pillow, I closed my eyes tight and let his words renew my spirit until my heart was so full I thought it might burst.

I hadn’t realized . . .

But how could I have seen the change in him when I was constantly stuck in my own grief? It was good that he had stopped me earlier. I was reaching for him for a comfort that would mean something very different to me than it did to him.

And that made me feel lighter and a little panicked all at the same time. Anything more than that there just wasn’t room for within me. My mind was as stormy and uncertain as the weather brewing outside.

I climbed to my feet on legs that trembled. My stomach tremored as I slid open my door and padded to the front of his, fist up and ready to knock. Nerves froze me to the spot.

What was I going to say?

My knuckles rapped against the wood, the sound amplified by the thunder outside. I jumped when his door opened so quickly he had to have been standing on the other side of it this whole time.

“I saw your light come on,” he explained.

I held up the folded bit of paper, and he stepped aside, letting me in. His lantern was turned down, casting him in a citrine glow that glittered in his silvery hair, highlighting all the things about him that were celestial and lovely. His shadows circled my feet. Tendrils of darkness swiped timidly at my toes in my new indigo socks, the magic more cautious with me than it usually was.

He shut the door.

“I’m not a poet,” I warned him. “Even if I practiced for centuries, I’d never be able to tell you as eloquently as you have that you’ve come to mean something more to me. And no one is more shocked about that than I. Something so lovely shouldn’t be possible in a place like the Otherworld.” I wrung my fingers together, studying the backs of my hands to hide my eyes for a breath or two. Then for a third. Then a fourth . . . “I don’t even know how to do this anymore. You were right before. The timing is—”

“—terrible. I know.” His chortle lacked mirth.

I stole a step closer to him, pleased when he didn’t retreat from me. “But I’m glad you told me,” I said in a rush. “I needed to know. Otherwise, I would have . . .” My laugh was breathy and uncertain. “I’m not sure exactly, but it wouldn’t have been fair to take comfort from you in that way. I’m a weepy mess half the time, and the other half of the time I’m too wrathful to see straight. There isn’t room between the two for anything else just now. So . . .”

One snowy brow lifted. “So?”

“So, I think I’ll just say . . .” Every word that sprang to mind sounded trite and silly. “Actually, no.”

He frowned. “No?”

I came up on my toes and kissed him instead, a quick decisive peck. His lips quirked against mine, understanding dawning to melt that frown away.

“Thank you for thinking sweet things about me, and I’m sorry,” I whispered, our lips so close I could kiss him again, but I didn’t dare. I felt trapped there by his presence, his warmth, the weight of his bottomless gaze. I couldn’t move. I was at the brink of a precipice and teetering. One harsh gust of wind could blow me over.

We shared a long breath.

“What if I wanted to be your comfort?” he said.

My stomach dropped, then it fluttered. I wanted to reach for him, but I wound my fingers in the bottom of my shirtwaist instead. “I’m not certain that’s a good idea.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. That did it. I toppled off the precipice. Helpless to resist, I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my fingers in his silken hair.

I would never be as eloquent, but I could show him what he’d come to mean to me. Even if I was out of practice, I’d gladly learn about such things again with him now. Kissing him was a renewal all its own. A well of replenishment.

My comfort.

His lips were warm, and he tasted like crisp summer sunlight, a compelling contrast to the comfortably cool brush of his shadows down my back. His magic remained light on my skin while his hands were heavy and hot, skimming down my arms, cupping my hips. He explored me in lazy strokes. Never in a hurry.

I wanted to get rid of the hole in his waistcoat. I wanted not to have ever hurt him in the first place, but this was as close as I could get. I unbuttoned the leather and helped him shoulder out of it. He let out a small breath when I kissed his smooth jaw, another when I pressed my mouth to his chin, and the dip of his throat where it met his shoulder. Those sweet sounds shot through me and spurred me on.

I hoped he felt my gratitude in every touch, affection in each kiss. I helped him out of his shirt, and I kissed the round scar I’d put right over his heart.

Reapers did in fact have one. I felt it leap under my lips. My kiss lingered there against his smooth flesh.

And then the careful patience I was so familiar with vanished. Asher lifted me in his arms and pinned me against the wall with his body. He consumed me with slow burning kisses, easing his weight between my thighs.

“May I . . . ?”

“Yes!” I panted, and he unhooked my suspenders, then undid the fall front of my trousers.

He crooked a finger inside the waistband of my undergarments and made my belly dip as he skimmed a knuckle gently across the skin below my navel.

“I want to be your comfort,” he said, his voice a gravelly purr. He opened the front of my shirt with fingers that shook. “I want to be your everything.”

Muscles low in my stomach clenched. “Asher . . .”

He nipped at my ear, then sucked gently at the sensitive skin at my throat, and a whimper slid out of me. His touch trailed from my jaw to my neck to the exposed skin at the top of my breasts. Little tempting touches I felt the phantom of long after they were gone. My nipples hardened, overly aware of the gentle drag of the linen from my chemise.

I bit my lip hard, a pressure building into an ache low in my stomach. It was so tempting to take everything he was offering me and more. But my favorite thing about him was how safe my feelings always were with him. And I wanted his feelings, his heart, to be safe with me too. Accepting comfort from him while offering him nothing in return felt too much like betraying him.

“I can’t just take from you,” I told him.

“Just the once, I’ll let you,” he groaned in my ear, and he moved against me, his desire for me pressing hot and heavy at the thin barrier of fabric that separated us. “It doesn’t have to be a habit.”

“It isn’t fair to you.”

“It’s plenty fair,” he said, his tone light as he teased my jaw and neck with his lips. His fingers returned to curl inside my waistband. “I think it’ll only take the once.”

I chuckled. “Just the once, and then I’ll be addicted to you?”

“That’s right.” He rocked against me, and I moved my hips with him until I was awash with the warmth of him. “I already am. That’s how I know.”

“You do feel good,” I confessed breathlessly. He might just be right. It probably wouldn’t take much at all to make me obsessed . . .

Without a doubt, nothing would ever be the same again if I took all that he was offering.

He claimed my lips with a heavy kiss, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist. “You feel good. You taste good. You sound good. The years of my life stretch endlessly before me, and I’ve never felt like this before, like I can’t wait.”

But it wasn’t fair. My fingers tightened around his shoulders. “I want to do right by you.”

“Let me be whatever you need, Maven. Let me have you, and we’ll figure the rest out,” he begged.

I couldn’t. He was giving too much without demanding consideration for his heart. We weren’t in the same place. His feelings had climbed to a lovely peak I was too low and lost to be able to reach right now.

I just wanted the peace chasing bliss with him would offer. I wanted an escape.

He wanted . . . more.

I leaned up and kissed his nose, ignoring every screaming protest of my needy body. Thunder boomed outside, joining in with its own objections. I shook my head. He smiled at me, understanding in his dark eyes. I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about him now, about everything that would have transpired had I just nodded my head yes.

I’d be pondering the “more” of it all until I drove myself mad. Damn him. I hated being noble. Being kind was stupid. Why couldn’t I just be a little selfish?

“It was worth a shot,” he said.

“It was an excellent shot,” I groaned.

Then he spun me toward the bed, and he stretched me out across the bottom bunk.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Just something I can’t stop thinking about,” he said, tucking me in under the blankets. “There’s not many people in the world who can tolerate my touch. I hoped you’d indulge me. Or would you rather sleep alone tonight?”

I chewed at my cheek, uncertain how to feel. Was I still being selfish if I accepted comfort from him in a different way? I decided this was all right. This was something I could do for him that felt reciprocal. And it was impossible to say no to him twice, not when he was so tempting.

I scooted over so he could slide in behind me.

He undressed down to his undergarments, then he pulled the blankets up over us both and held me, his weight on his side. I felt his chest against my spine, and the solid heat of his arousal at my back.

I clung to the comfort he offered me, more grateful than I could ever express with words. I felt stitched back together again in his arms. Everything still hurt, but I was whole once more.

When he held me around my middle, I ran my fingers up and down his arm, exploring every knuckle and vein in his hands. I learned the divots and creases of his palm, thrilling as he did the same to every hill and valley along my waist, skimming his touch across the softness of my belly and thighs.

We made a game of trying to trap each other’s hands. He chortled at himself when I snared his thumb between my palms.

It was a glorious sound. The rumble of it reverberated through me. Almost as good as every single one of his sighs when I moved against him just the slightest bit. His lips skimmed the shell of my ear, his long legs tangled with mine, and his hands explored me gently until I fell asleep.

I awoke a while later, and his touch was still there, still learning my body. His palm circled my stomach.

“Are you going to sleep tonight?” I asked, voice thick and gravelly.

“Hm. I usually enjoy it, but I don’t want to tonight,” he said, sliding a hand down the side of my ribs, exploring me like there were still things left to learn, though surely by now he’d touched every inch of me. “Another night maybe.” He kissed my neck. “You should go to sleep. You actually need it.”

I was so comfortable tucked inside his arms, covered by his shadows, I slumbered deeply.

I didn’t wake again until an amber glow poured in around the curtains, turning the shadows all around me charcoal gray. Movement shifted the mattress—Asher climbing out of bed.

I squinted up at him. “You’re going?”

“Giants,” he said. Leaning over me, he kissed my nose the same way I had his the night before. “Giants first, then I’m getting your pistol back.”

“Still trying to make me addicted to you?”

He kissed me. “That’s the goal, yes,” he said against my lips.

“Thank you,” I said.

Then he was gone, and I felt his absence like a bruise on my soul.

* * *