"Ieajateo." Kieran O'Conner laughed as the woman swooped in through the open window, her small black feathered wings swiftly closing in behind her. He didn't even bother bowing or scraping. "Here to exchange pleasantries?"
She said nothing. She didn't even shake, didn't even bother unclothing herself. "Strip." She gripped the pommel of her sword and stared him down.
"Of course."
He did as she bade him. With all of his pride, he did, with all of his heart, he did, with all of his love, he did. He let her push him back, his heart thudding in his chest, knowing that this might be the last time he would lie beside her.
He had betrayed Ieajateo with the fertility goddess Necia, who reveled being the trickster god Amil. The god had managed to wheedle him powerless through sex, devoid of his magic, in exchange for immortality. He had wanted to stay with his Ieajateo forever – she hadn't told him she was immortal, but he knew.
He could see it in her eyes, the way she carried herself, the way she watched him as if he were fragile. He saw her magic – not the ordinary, yet powerful kind she performed in front of him and the public, but in the dark of night when she rearranged the stars and the landscape of the earth when she thought no one was watching.
When she slept and dreamed visions, when he held her, he could see them too, could feel the power thrumming underneath her skin. "My love," he would whisper, gently shaking her shoulder as her visions worsened, nightmarish glimpses of the past and future flashing through both of their minds. She would wake, holding him tight for comfort and love.
Now – now, she wanted to burn him alive, to rip him apart with her claws; she wanted to hold him and say it wasn't true – all this he could feel as she climbed on top of him and dug her nails into his back. All her agony, and he couldn't blame her, wouldn't blame her. He was drunk on her magic, dangerously drunk without fear. With her, with his Ieajateo, he was never afraid.
He was immortal now, and nothing stood in the way of him being with her anymore. He held her, and for a few moments, she let him.
Those few moments passed too quickly. "Don't touch me," she hissed, drawing blood from his skin. It stung, but not enough to truly hurt. She was gentle, he could tell with his new strength, so incredibly gentle. Her breathing was wild, and it frightened him – she was going to tear herself apart if she kept this up. He retracted his hands and bunched them into the sheets, watching her hike her dress up high only to straddle his thighs. Her legs were scandalously bare, her skin golden brown against the paleness of his skin. "I love you," he murmured in awe, forgetting.
She slapped him, her eyes tight with anger. Kieran choked as her hands wrapped around his throat. For a split second, he was afraid she really meant to kill him, but she let go so that he could breathe.
