Page 48 of Voidwalker (Beasts of the Void #1)

Let’s pretend that never happened

Fi crouched on a snowy bluff, bundled in her dark coat with ermine ruff.

The Bridge connecting the Winter and Autumn Planes stretched as a valley of ice and peat between two ridgelines.

Above the jagged peaks lay nothing but Void.

No stars. No moon. A crimson aurora glinted over snow and metal rails transecting the valley floor.

Through her binoculars, Fi spotted movement down the tracks. The trans-Plane train departed Winter earlier that morning, shuttling passengers and cargo between worlds. Anticipation stoked her against the cold.

“It’s coming,” she said.

“Odd,” Antal mused. “You didn’t give me that much warning.”

Fi couldn’t flinch.

Couldn’t blush.

The last dregs of her pride depended on keeping her lips flat, her shoulders steady, her brow delicately raised as she turned a bland look upon her heist partner.

Antal lounged against the slope, watching her with chin propped on one hand and tail swishing slow amusement.

Daeyari weren’t bothered by cold, yet the deep cut of his shirt was unnecessary, the dark fabric unbuttoned to reveal a swath of muscled chest. His pants seemed tighter than usual, framing the easy recline of his hips in a way that made Fi want to snarl at the utter unfairness of this new assault on her dignity.

Not a hint of that broke her facade.

“Do you often need partners to tell you when they’re coming?” she asked, aloof.

Antal’s grin curved wicked. “How unkind of you, Fionamara. If I’d wasted over two centuries without learning how to satisfy a lover, I’d have to throw myself into the Void.”

“Bragging, now? How unbecoming.”

“You’re right. I prefer demonstration.”

Fi hardened. “You promised, Antlers. One time.”

“I agreed you’d only let me fuck you once. Not that I wouldn’t talk about it. You ought to be clearer in your terms, mortal.”

Three days of suffering this. Three days of doing everything in her power not to stare at his stupid mouth, at his wretchedly tight pants, at that treacherous spot where he’d shoved her against the wall and… why did Fi already feel like she was losing?

“I think you’re enjoying yourself too much,” she said.

“Tell me to stop, then.”

Fi fell quiet.

Definitely losing. Antal hummed in her silence, and it was the most smugly insufferable sound she’d ever endured.

She shoved the binoculars at him. “We have a job to do. Take a look.”

He smirked at her deflection. Pride told Fi she ought to shut him down. A slicker part of her treacherous heart liked the game too much to call quits. Like holding a match, watching how close the flame could burn before searing her fingers.

Antal crouched beside her, too close, the heat off his skin brushing Fi’s cheeks.

A familiar taste of ozone laced her tongue.

As he lifted the binoculars to view the approaching train, she did try not to stare, but the bare muscles of his forearms were right there.

Hard not to imagine those hands pinning her down.

The twist of his tongue against her mouth.

One time . Fi couldn’t break this easily, or she’d slip headlong into the abyss. And with a creature like this? She had no idea what lay on the other side.

“We’ve got time before the train hits the first Curtain,” Antal observed.

“So we wait,” Fi agreed.

They settled upon the ridge, watching their target approach. Antal seemed half attentive, his gaze drawn to the abyss of Void overhead. He breathed deeper here than on the Plane, as if scenting something on the cold, empty air that she couldn’t.

Since she’d learned to cross Curtains, since her earliest ventures off the Planes where her species evolved, Fi felt that undeniable pull from the Void.

Impossible, to explain the feeling to other humans.

Like that stomach-scooping allure of staring off a cliff, imagining the jump, how the fall would feel.

Antal looked upon the swath of black with the fondness of home.

“What was it like,” she asked, “coming back from the Void?”

He tilted his head at her.

“That’s where daeyari come from, isn’t it?” Fi said. “The stories say your mortal forms died, then your energy returned from the Void.”

Antal indulged her a chuckle. “That’s how the first daeyari became immortal.

When Veshri died, his energy refused to cross to the Afterplane.

He wove a new body from the ether of the Void, returning to walk the physical Planes, taught other daeyari to do the same.

But that was millennia ago. Since then, we propagate the same as any other species. I was born. Like you.”

“You were born”—Fi swept a hand over him—“like this ?”

“Our eyes changed when we became immortal, red irises and black sclera, the most noticeable relics of the Void. Our skin, colorless, from the Void ether. But the antlers, the claws, we had before, a body built as Veshri remembered himself. Now, all immortal daeyari are born with these traits.”

“So you get immortality, and you didn’t even have to die for it?” She huffed. “Unfair.”

“Perhaps. Though, our subsequent deaths prove more… problematic.”

Fi tried to picture a squirming baby Antal, claws scratching furniture and head crowned in nubby antlers.

“Do daeyari have velvet when they’re younger?”

Antal gave her an appraiser’s look, bright-eyed with a glint of teeth. “Velvet?”

“Like when elk grow their antlers, they start off covered in velvet. Have to rip it off in a bloody mess.”

“Ah, yes. It’s atrocious. A peril of daeyari puberty.”

“Ew. Really?”

“Worst part of the first few decades.”

“Still better than dying.”

“And you, Fionamara? How did you die?”

“ Excuse me? ”

Fi hated every time he made her stammer.

“Daeyari see Curtains innately,” Antal said. “As do mortals who’ve died and returned, touched by the Void.” His voice lowered. “You said you’d been to a daeyari shrine before mine. Did Verne…”

“No.” Fi spoke quickly, before those eyes could crack into her.

“Stupider than that. I fell into a river when I was a kid. Nearly drowned. Then I started seeing Curtains, and…” She clutched her knees, glaring at snow-crusted boots as the words bottled up on her tongue.

She could spare a speck of honesty, couldn’t she?

Antal had told her about his father. Fair trade. “I was supposed to be Verne’s Arbiter.”

Antal’s tail fell still. “She refused you?”

“I ran away.”

Ran and never came back, like a coward. Left Astrid to take her place. That part stayed stoppered in her throat. Fi couldn’t let Antal see that trembling creature locked inside of her. Not when she’d fought so hard to gain his respect.

“Verne took the vavriter instead?” Antal asked.

“Astrid.” The name settled bitter on Fi’s tongue.

“You two were close?”

“We grew up together. Became friends, then best friends, then we were…”

A memory slipped back of the first antlers she’d gripped, shorter and wreathed in longer hair. The heat of Astrid’s whispers against her neck. Long fingers tracing Fi’s ribs.

She couldn’t fight this blush, not when Antal’s brow climbed to a knowing arc. It was low-hanging fruit. An easy place for a jab, soft flesh she’d been stupid to expose.

Antal didn’t strike.

“Verne’s Arbiter,” he mused. “We would have met under very different circumstances.”

Fi doubted that. She couldn’t imagine joining Verne’s plans for conquest, but she didn’t picture herself a hero, either. Most likely? She’d be dead, cast aside by an immortal who didn’t abide inconveniences.

“Why don’t you have an Arbiter?” Fi asked.

“Never needed one. I’d rather leave my people to their own devices.” Antal huffed. “I suppose I have one, now.”

The drop of his voice twisted Fi’s stomach. The silence between them hung with gratitude unspoken, a growing bond neither human nor immortal seemed capable of verbalizing, tied together by fate beneath the endless black of the Void.

Antal shrugged. “And an Arbiter who moans well. Who could have guessed?”

Fi punched him hard on the shoulder. She hoped it hurt.

The train came into full view: a Shaping-powered engine charging down the tracks, three passenger cars with copper plating and lighted windows, another five cargo cars in back. Their target lay onboard: a shipment of conductive metal perfect for weapon smithing.

Antal perched at the edge of the bluff, tail twitching.

Nervous? In their planning, he’d tried to explain to Fi the logistical difficulties of teleporting onto a moving object, but he’d assured her he could do it.

Watching him now didn’t fill her with confidence.

He squinted at the train, eyes ticking back and forth, as if muddling through internal calculations.

He offered his hand. Did she trust him? Absolutely not. Did she have another option?

Also no.

The teleport passed in a lurch.

Fi slammed onto metal, the world roaring around her, momentum hitting her chest like… well, a train .

She Shaped a shield of energy over her arms as she tumbled overtop the speeding cargo car, wind whipping her hair, sleek metal roof panels offering no handholds. She flailed. Her fingers scraped rivets. Seams. Then at last, a rail, enough to latch on and stop herself slipping off.

Beside her came a scrape of claws. Fi saw a flash of Antal’s wide eyes.

Then he fell over the side of the moving train.

“Antal!”

She lunged, grabbing his hand before he disappeared into oblivion. His weight hit her. Fi cried out, nails cracking against the rail as she fought to hold on, the single anchor for both of them as Antal dangled over the side of the car. Cold wind sliced her cheeks.

In her clammy grasp, Antal’s hand slipped. She gritted her teeth. Panic sharpened her pulse as she realized she wasn’t strong enough to pull him up.

“ Fionamara .” Antal’s shout fought the wind.

He sounded more… chiding than expected. Fi peered over the edge. Instead of finding a panicked daeyari clinging to her hand, Antal hung unconcerned, one foot braced against the train, a single brow arched.