Page 74 of The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

Then he began again. The notes shifted, lengthened, lowered, into a song that sounded like history and peace and the hymns of prayers whispered at night.

And in those notes, I saw it: mirrored floors, curved rafters of bone, crawling ivy dotted with blood-red flowers.

My lips curled. “Morthryn,” I whispered. Even though the word that sat on my lips was, home .

Here, enveloped in his body and his music, I was there all over again. Not Morthryn as I had known it, but a version that was what it had always been intended to be—a place of solace for the forgotten souls.

I opened my eyes, and I could see it around us, the delicate lines of our vision suspended in the shadows and darkness. Asar, inviting me into his dream.

“What else?” I said.

His fingers shifted again. The notes once more evolved, growing shorter and brighter with a distinct cadence that reminded me of delicate footsteps across the dusty earth.

My smile brightened. “Luce.”

Rendered in silvery smoke, Luce trotted across our depiction of Morthryn’s halls, flitting between arched doorways before settling in front of a roaring fire in a messy library overflowing with books.

And now, I didn’t even have to ask him again—he was lost in it, right alongside me. The melody again evolved. This song was a little discordant, the notes deep and melody slow, vibrating against each other in a way that could have clashed but instead felt complex and warm.

I felt his scars against mine. Felt his mouth against my ear.

And I didn’t even have to say it, because I would recognize Asar anywhere.

A tall silhouette unfurled in the smoky rendering of Morthryn, perched behind a piano, one hand extended.

The notes lengthened, that song of mournful hope filling in the spaces of his song, and gods, how had I not realized in the beginning how well they complemented each other?

The final addition to the tableau unfurled from the shadows—a silhouette of myself, dancing through the darkness until she reached for Asar, taking his hand.

And as the hopeful melody of shared song rose and fell, the vision did, too.

Us, before the hearth in the library. Us, in the mournful beauty of the Descent, restored to what it was always intended to be.

Us, in a field of poppies. Us, cradling a precious soul that held the best of both of us.

Countless dreams for the future, encapsulated in a single song.

Asar watched the illusion surround us.

“Beautiful.” The word pressed a kiss to my cheek. “You’ve gotten good at this, Dawndrinker. We’ll make a Shadowborn of you yet.”

The realization fell over me.

It wasn’t Asar’s illusion. It was mine.

My painting of the future, bringing life to our shared dreams.

And gods, what beautiful dreams they were. I watched them dance around us like butterflies, so close I could reach out and seize them. I wanted to. I wanted to capture them and hold them close, even though I knew that they would simply dissolve if I tried.

I blinked and another tear slithered down my cheek.

“It’s a nice song,” I said.

I watched them—that perfect dream version of us, so real and so unattainable—float away like smoke into the church rafters, as Asar’s hands abandoned the cello for my body. As his mouth kissed my throat, my cheek, my ear.

And I felt his truth as deeply as I felt his song when he murmured, “I have never wanted anything so fiercely, Dawndrinker. Not ever.”

I turned my head, and he captured my mouth in a kiss that made the impossible seem possible—a kiss that dragged me back from the clutches of death itself.

I barely caught the cello before it fell to the floor, placing it down as Asar pulled me back to the bed. We entangled ourselves in each other like roots through the earth, pulling away clothing layer by layer, relishing the sanctuary of each other’s skin.

I felt alive. I felt human. I felt powerless. I felt untouchable. I felt, and felt, and felt, and Asar kissed me through it all.

I pushed his trousers down and he shimmied mine off my hips. My thighs parted, and when he pushed into me, I felt so utterly complete that I just wrapped myself around him and held him there.

He stroked my hair and kissed me. We stayed that way, our bodies and breaths entwined, for a long time.

And then, his hips shifted, and a spark of pleasure surged at the base of my spine. Wordlessly, we began to move against each other, losing ourselves in it.

I gasped a moan when his hands slid down my body to my hips, lifting them, tilting them, so he could drive himself deeper—like he couldn’t have enough of me. Each stroke grew stronger, faster, as we coiled around each other.

“Asar—” I choked out, and he kissed me fiercely.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Please.”

Please. I could still remember the first time he’d said that word to me, lost in the visions of Psyche. And he sounded the same now, like he put his entire soul into it.

“Together,” I said. I wasn’t sure if the word was spoken aloud, in my own mind or his. But it was the only thing I could think now—that I wanted him to fall with me, over this cliff and all the others to come.

I locked my thighs around him, holding him deep, when the wave hit me.

And he knew what I wanted, because his body tensed a moment later as he came with me. We went rigid, folding our bodies around each other, as if trying to create one being. He pressed his forehead against mine, and I held him there as he whispered my name like a prayer.

And I was complete.

The aftershocks of our climax faded. Slowly, our bodies relaxed.

Asar kissed me deeply again, his tongue slipping over mine, lazy and thorough and soft.

We slid from each other and wrapped ourselves up in the safety of each other’s bodies.

I watched his face—that perfect face, marked with perfect scars—sink into a peace I so rarely saw upon it.

He looked mortal.

And I felt alive.

I buried my head against his shoulder and let sleep beckon.

I wanted to cling to it—this urgent, desperate sense of life. I wanted to believe it would last forever.

But I couldn’t help the sense that perhaps we were like two celestial bodies in the sky. Him arcing from mortality to divinity. Me, from death to life. The two of us colliding for only a few ephemeral moments, magnificent in their impermanence.