Page 158 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

“You are not what I thought you were.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

“Why did you come back for me?” He could have been long gone. King Hadkiel would not chase him. The Azyr don’t want him. They want me, and he puts himself in danger by remaining with me.

He frowns. “Why would I not?”

“Really? Must we have this conversation yet again?”

“Oh, right. The whole ‘my family plotted against yours’ situation.” He tucks his arm behind his head. “Let me ask you something. Would your father have honored the arrangement made with King Barris?”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation.

Tyree purses his lips. “I spent my entire life hearing about Islor’s vicious and cruel immortals who enslaved and abused humans and punished Ybaris with their summonings. And then my mother went and did the same. By her actions, thousands of mortals have died and many more still will. And I helped her. Who am I to judge anyone else?”

“So what? Am I to believe you are suddenly a friend now?”

“I am your friend. If you will allow it.” He holds the jar out to me, his expression somber.

An overwhelming urge hits me. I coat my finger in honey up to my knuckle and then smear it across his face, painting his cheek, his nose, his lips. “There. We’re even.”

“You call this even?” His tongue slips out to catch his bottom lip, and then a look of grim determination takes over as his blue eyes meet mine.

“Don’t,” I warn, shimmying backward, out of his reach.

“When I am through with you—” He cuts off mid-threat, his head swiveling right.

Gruff voices sound nearby, just outside the barn door.

Diving on top of me, he reaches over and extinguishes the candle with his fingertips, throwing the loft into darkness. Our breath melds between us as we wait, Tyree’s body stiff with tension, his pulse a heady thrum.

I stare up at him brazenly, appreciating the design of his handsome face—the hard, masculine angles coupled with appealing features—knowing that his Ybarisan eyes don’t grant him the same ability.

Finally, the voices fade before disappearing altogether, the threat averted.

Tyree fumbles for the metal box, relighting the candle. “Just in case …” Bales of hay slide to form a wall along the edge of the loft, closing us in.

The way he uses his affinity with ease still enthralls me, but right now I’m focused on the fact that he hasn’t moved yet. “Is there a reason you are still lying on top of me?” I whisper. Not that I’m complaining. I don’t mind his weight at all, though he’s braced some of it with his elbows, landed on either side of me.

“A reason? No. A wish, perhaps.” His shaky breath skates across my face. “How many times must I save your life before you will begin to trust me?”

“I don’t know.” But that’s a lie, because somewhere along the way, Tyree became someone other than my Ybarisan captor and the person I most hate. “Why did you kiss me today?”

His eyes drop to my lips as if reminded of it. “Because I thought we might die.”

“And now that we are still alive?”

He leans forward a touch, until his nose grazes mine, leaving a splotch of honey on my skin. “I want to kiss you even more.”

My heart pounds in my chest at his frank honesty. “What if I still craved your blood?”

“Then I would regret ever having ingested that poison.” He pulls back to meet my eyes. “I know what it feels like, Annika. How good you can make it feel.”

Because it’s rarely ever just feeding when we take a tributary. My last one, Percy, would eagerly strip off his clothes and present his vein the second he stepped inside my room. But it was more than fucking. An intimate bond formed between us—between all of my tributaries and me. They were entirely devoted, which is not at all uncommon.

“You mean, with Jada.” The Islorian temptress broke his heart and turned him against the rest of us, and she wasn’t even feeding off him for need. It was all for lust. A spike of jealousy stirs inside me, knowing she had him in a way that I never will.

I never will.

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