Page 67 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

Nyx inhaled softly. “I could live to be a thousand and never forget that.”

Azaiah smiled wryly. “I believe you may have already lived that long, my soldier.”

Nyx snorted. “It’s rude to comment on an immortal’s age, you know.”

“I’m older than you are,” Azaiah reminded him. “I walked the world for some time, before your soul called to me.”

Nyx drew him close and kissed him again. “Can you try and explain to me why you’d want this?”

Azaiah wasn’t sure he could, really. “I told you before, my own mortal death was transcendent. It was the last time I felt pain—physical pain,” he amended, because their years of long separation had been an agony of a different sort. “I don’t feel it anymore, but the memory of it is…inspiring.”

“Inspiring, he says.” Nyx raked a hand through his short hair. “You were a submissive before you were Death.”

It wasn’t a question, but Azaiah answered anyway. “I was, yes. It was thought it made the sacrifice more amenable.”

“It doesn’t make you angry, that they did that to you for nothing? If your predecessor hadn’t chosen you as her successor, you would have just been dead. You yourself told me that you couldn’t stay your hand when the time comes, so what good is killing a healthy person going to do for the people left behind?”

“Nothing,” Azaiah admitted. “But it was the custom, then, one I am glad has fallen out of favor. There’s no need to hurry what is inevitable for all.”

Nyx’s serious expression eased into a smile. “Were you a masochist, too?”

Azaiah thought about that. “I don’t know. I was never with anyone as a mortal. I knew that I was a submissive, but that was as far as my understanding of my alignment went.”

Nyx turned from him and went back to the table, where somehow during the conversation, the other implements had turned to knives, as if the house was responding to both unspoken desires and uncertainties. “I was never a sadist,” Nyx said, picking up each one in turn. “As a soldier, I used to think there was honor in killing. But I was young, idealistic, even if I would have chafed at the word back then. And when I was Glaive…”

“You took no pleasure in it, I know that. You don’t need to explain, Nyx. I would never want you to feel badly about what we do for pleasure.”

Nyx turned and gave him a rueful smile. “You really are the kindest god of all, Azaiah. If this house is connected to you and not me, then the knives are here because you want them.”

Nyx’s gaze was sharp despite his smile, and Azaiah lifted a shoulder. “I can’t say the idea isn’t arousing, but that isn’t worth your discomfort or unhappiness. Those days are behind us. Just because the house provides doesn’t make it a requirement.”

“But do you want that? For me to use knives? Do you want to use them on me?”

Azaiah felt a pleasant little shiver, and he was sure Nyx could tell. “I would enjoy the sensation of you using them on me, I think, but I wouldn’t want that if it made you unhappy or upset.”

“We’re talking in circles. We should be honest about what we want, with each other and ourselves.” Nyx gave a soft laugh. “Your brother Arwyn wouldn’t have this problem.”

“Likely not,” Azaiah agreed. “Desire is his realm, after all, and I don’t think he’s ever felt shame in anything he wants, especially with Declan. But you are right. We should be honest, so I will answer your question. Yes, I would like to bare myself to you and the knife, but only if you enjoyed it. That matters more than a fantasy, Nyx.”

Nyx picked up the knife again, running fingers over the blade. “A fantasy.”

“Well, yes. You can’t hurt me here, but even if you could, I know that you wouldn’t.”

Something about that seemed to give Nyx pause. “Maybe it would help. I have dreams about it sometimes, what I did as Glaive. Once, the dream changed from me with some nameless unfortunate soul tied to a tree, and you on…a bed just like this one. You weren’t screaming from the knife. You were begging me for it. So maybe this isn’t just you. Maybe it’s a way for me to banish those dreams for good.”

Azaiah thought about that. Nyx still slept sometimes, for the pure enjoyment of rest, but Azaiah had no idea he’d suffered nightmares here. “It might have been Astra, or the house itself. It is an extension of my realm, and therefore, of me. It wants you to be happy just as I do.”

“I suppose we could try,” Nyx said, shoulders straightening. “We could always stop, if it was too much.”

“We could,” Azaiah agreed. “And we will.”

Nyx nodded, seeming to come to some internal conclusion. “Your storm magic—the lightning you used on me, the first night we were together here. Can I do that?”

Azaiah squinted, considering how that might work. “I don’t know if you can pull it from the storm, because I am the storm, but if I channeled it into the knife, then yes, I believe that would work. I think I might be able to share it with you, through a conduit.”

Nyx smiled. “Then strip for me, beautiful, and let’s see if we can’t give me some better dreams.”

“Always,” Azaiah said, and while he could have simply wished his clothes away, he took his time stripping, slow and careful, enjoying the way Nyx watched him and the appreciation in his gaze as he stood naked before him. “I’m all yours.”

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