Page 52 of Voidwalker (Beasts of the Void #1)

She took another warming swig of mulled wine then scraped her chair backward.

Fi headed down the dark hall, through the kitchen with its cooling ovens and lingering smells of sage-spiced stew. Out the back door, a snap of cold met her. An energy lamp glowed over the yard, lighting fresh powder and heaps of shoveled ice.

The door drifted closed, leaving Fi in a separate world—that long, still moment in the deep of night, hanging like a breath caught in the chest. No movement on the streets. No sound until she crunched a boot to the snow. Not a cloud against the starry sky that draped Nyskya in diamond and velvet.

Not alone, though. The prickle on Fi’s neck was so subtle, she might have discounted it as a passing chill, rather than the brush of unseen eyes.

“Hey?” she called out to nothing.

A soft scrape crossed the tavern roof. Fi looked up to find Antal perched on the eaves, his silhouette nearly indiscernible from shadow and moonlight.

“You’d better not scratch any of Kashvi’s shingles,” she warned. “Veshri himself won’t be able to save you from her wrath.”

His chuckle danced on night air, twirling with the cold and the sigh of wind through the alley. Soundless, he slipped off the roof, catching himself on sure feet. Fi never tired of watching him move, the effortless motions of confident muscles.

Not that she should be looking so intently.

“Noted,” Antal said. “Though I doubt I could make much worse of an impression.” He flicked a crimson eye to the door. “Finished already?”

“Just getting to the good part.” Fi grinned. “Join us?”

He tilted his head, scouring for hidden daggers or ulterior motives. She had none, beyond the pleasant heat of wine in her stomach. Maybe a little had gone to her head.

Fi grew warmer as he circled her, slow and prowling strides, closing distance until their chests nearly touched. His tail arced behind her calves, trapping her against him.

An old intimidation tactic. She faced him with chin up.

“Scheming with Kashvi?” Antal accused.

“What makes you think that?”

“There are easier ways to have my head, Fionamara. A trap in your rafters, perhaps.” His grin flashed fangs. “Or, you could ask nicely.”

This would qualify as not behaving.

He wasn’t the only culprit.

“Please,” Fi purred. “You’d be the one asking.”

A sluggish part of her brain warned she shouldn’t tease like this, not when he stood close enough to fill her lungs with ozone, and definitely not with the buzz of wine dulling every thought.

But if he insisted on taunting, only fair that she taunted back.

Where was the harm? She still kept to her promise, and got to enjoy that delicious frown twitch his lips.

He pressed a hand to his false heart. “Such confidence in a skill you don’t intend to demonstrate.”

“Come inside,” she ordered.

His brows lifted higher. His voice dipped low. “Will you make me ask for that, too?”

“ Antal .”

He hummed. Despite his taunts, his smirk didn’t return. “A kind invitation. But I see little point joining where I’m not wanted.”

He stepped away.

Fi moved faster.

She grabbed him by one antler, holding him in place—holding him closer than they’d just been, his startled huff a warm blush against her cheek. No, she definitely shouldn’t be this close, her pulse stoked by glowing red irises, that treacherous pull fluttering her stomach.

But standing her ground was the strongest weapon she had. No fear. No hesitation.

“ I want you there,” Fi said.

The first time she’d refused to back down from Antal, his reply was annoyance. Perplexity. Now, his eyes smoldered on the hand holding his antler. A slower drift across her daggered gaze. Her mouth.

Antal tipped a finger beneath her chin, dragging his claw along soft skin with a slowness to still her breath.

Merciless Void, she’d pulled him too close. When he sighed, Fi caught his breath on parted lips, hungry at the tease. His mouth was soft. And perfect.

And what would she do, if he tried to kiss her again?

For a heartbeat, Fi wasn’t sure. She tried to harden her usual bristles, her vow of resilience, that she’d not tumble for this beast a second time. But… the night was so cold. And he’d felt so good inside her. Fi drifted closer, tongue tracing her lip as she recalled how divine he’d tasted.

Antal inhaled, breathing her in—scenting her wine-spiced breath.

A frown soured his mouth.

“You’re enjoying yourself,” he murmured. “I’ll only intrude.”

His pull away from her was agony. A shock of cold hit her cheeks, a shiver as Fi grasped for clearer thoughts, chastising herself for the slip.

“I’d enjoy you being with us,” she said.

“You’re unusual.”

“How so, Antlers?”

He slipped his finger off her chin, twirling it on a rainbow curl. “Should I list all the reasons? Or just that you’re willing to stand this close to me?”

Fi wouldn’t ask that tall order of Boden or Kashvi. “I took time to open up to you.”

“Yes, you’ve opened for me in quite a few places, Fionamara.”

She swatted his chest.

He chuckled, knuckles brushing her jaw as he toyed with her hair. Still too close, but back to normal taunting, the refusal came easier.

One time.

Fi released his antler. She drew a deep breath of frozen air, letting it stoke her resolve as she stepped to the tavern door. “Come.”

Antal’s tail swished. “You enjoy giving orders.”

“You enjoy me giving them.”

He growled. Fi devoured the morsel, still ravenous. Scraps would have to satisfy.

She returned inside with an airy feeling, that haze from the wine and a headier heat from Antal’s quiet steps behind her. Mostly the wine, she insisted. She’d be back in fighting shape by morning. Tonight, she had a more awkward conversation to mediate.

“Behave yourself,” she hissed as they neared the end of the hall.

Fi had no clue what Antal’s hum meant, compliance or frustration. Maybe both.

Kashvi had moved to the bar. She stood behind the brass and aurora-glass counter, perusing her liquor shelves with a spine rigid enough to make a daeyari envious.

When she turned, the lock of her eyes with Antal’s sent a shockwave through the room.

Fi held her breath. Boden looked as though he’d been holding his even longer.

Antal stood a long moment in silence, trapped in their staring match. Maybe this was good. Maybe the best approach was to not say anything and let Kashvi warm to him like a panther drawn to her hearth.

“What was her name?” Antal asked quietly.

Kashvi froze with a handful of glasses.

Was it possible for Fi to double hold her breath?

“Emira,” Kashvi said, curt.

“Emira.” Antal spoke the name with slow purpose. “Would you tell me something about her?”

Kashvi’s fingers curled against the countertop. “She was brave. But you know that already. Also funny. Kind. She collected succulent plants from the Summer Plane, built a special growing lamp to keep them alive through Winter.”

“She looked like you?”

A muscle feathered in Kashvi’s jaw. She said nothing.

“I remember her,” Antal said, painfully quiet. “She spoke well. Afraid, but she was brave. As you said.”

Kashvi’s hand twitched at the counter’s edge. Fi shifted between them, ready to intervene should she have to split apart a cat fight. Antal, she could handle, no worries. But she didn’t know where Kashvi hid all her weapons and—

“Did it hurt?” Kashvi asked.

A crease wrought Antal’s brow. “No. I never hurt them.”

Kashvi’s eyes went black as Void sky. Fi had never seen such a vicious look for her own antics, not for the rowdiest patrons, nor even that time a bear had tried to break into the kitchen. Kashvi probably had a crossbow stashed under the counter, right?

Instead of reaching for it, she nodded. A bitter reply, but final, her motions militant as she collected her cups and retrieved a liquor bottle from the shelf.

Fi breathed again. When she returned to her seat at the table, Boden met her with a “ did that go well? ” stare. Damn if she knew. Kashvi went about her tasks like a disgruntled vole.

Antal pulled out a chair. Studied it. He sat on the edge with a stiff lean, and not until that moment did Fi realize what a hassle mortal chairs posed for a creature with a tail. She stifled a laugh, grateful for any distraction from the tense atmosphere.

“Do you drink, daeyari?” Kashvi set glasses on the table.

“Actually, I”—Antal snarled when Fi kicked his shin—“would be glad to join. Thank you.”

Kashvi sat. Poured. The liquor was light blue, wafting a smell of juniper and cinnamon.

The room quieted to the trickle of liquid. The groan of wind on the roof. Kashvi distributed glasses, even sliding one to Antal with a begrudging flick.

“Glad you could join us,” Boden said, proffering the olive branch. “I had doubts about this plan. We all did. But we appreciate all you’ve done to bring the pieces together.”

“I’ve done what I can.” Antal swirled his glass. “What I should have done earlier.”

Kashvi’s laugh came humorless. “Look at that. Finally, something we agree on.”

Fi and Boden swapped looks. Her pinched lips said, “ Can you believe this bitch? ” Boden’s hard stare was a familiar one. “ Don’t make this worse. ”

“Fi has a knack for finding interesting company,” Boden said, keeping the tone light. “She’s outdone herself this time.”

“She leaves quite an impression herself,” Antal said, too low.

Fi’s stomach tightened into hot little knots. Void save her if anyone realized what an impression Antal had left on her . Or in her.

“To good impressions.” She raised her glass.

The liquor went down like a crossbow bolt, a spike in Fi’s stomach and a cinnamon fuzz coating her mouth. She winced, savoring the swift buzz. Boden finished his drink with more of a pained pucker.

Kashvi drew a rasping breath. Her liquor, she handled fine, but silver veins stiffened her arm. She leaned back in her chair, taking slow and intentional breaths until the tremor passed.

“Void alive,” she said, hoarse. “Don’t suppose you daeyari have a secret cure for silver sickness hiding up your claws?”

Antal had downed his drink without expression. He stared at the empty glass. “No. Your bodies are… different from ours. More easily damaged by energy. Silver sickness is a mystery to us.”

Kashvi huffed to clear her throat. “So you give us secondhand technology. Teach us magic that burns us from the inside out. You ever done anything nice for a human?”

“Hey, now,” Fi said. “Rude. He’s had human friends before.”

“Friends?” Kashvi squeezed the word.

“Yes, Kashvi, friends. Of the non-dinner variety.” She faced Antal. “You said you even had one really close human friend?”

“So I did.”

Somehow, Antal turned stiffer. Fi frowned, studying the tap of claws against the table, his downcast eyes. Odd. He’d never lingered on this subject long, but…

“A close friend?” Kashvi said, skeptical.

“He was,” Antal replied.

“Was?”

There came the silence. The understanding.

Kashvi’s chair creaked as she leaned back. “How’d he die?”

“Kashvi,” Fi chided.

“What? He wants us to trust him?” Kashvi glared at Antal. “Tell us what happened to the last human who befriended you.”

Movement caught Fi’s eye—the flick of Antal’s tail beneath the table.

She’d meant the topic as a vote of confidence, not a hidden dagger.

When they’d spoken about this before, she hadn’t pressed, had assumed the flat plane of Antal’s voice meant his friend was lost to age or sickness or some other human deficiency.

Nothing anyone would want to talk about.

“He’s done plenty to earn our trust,” Boden said. “Repairing conduits. Getting materials.”

“All of which serve his ends as well as ours.” Kashvi pressed her hands to the table. “What happened to your friend, daeyari?”

Fi shouldn’t have brought this up. She shouldn’t have—

“My family ate him.”