Page 161 of The Demon Tide

“Then what’s a little bit more?” Vothe takes hold of Trystan’s hand, invisible sparks flying as Trystan moves to draw his hand away again, but Vothe holds on. “You’re not in Gardneria,” Vothe vehemently maintains. “And you need to break through this.Tonight.Let’s walk to the center of the square.” He angles his head toward the plaza beside them, a large stone statue of Vo in its center. “Kiss me there.Right there,Trystan.In the middle of the city. Where everyone can see us. That’ll cure you of Gardneria.”

Trystan coughs out a derisive sound. “You think it’s so simple to cure me of Gardneria.”

“No. I don’t. I know I’ll never truly understand. But that doesn’t change the fact that you should kiss me right there. Because youcanhere, Trystan. And I know you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you.”

Trystan holds Vothe’s impassioned stare, his fire power suffusing them both, lightning sparking just under his skin. “Vothe, you’re a storm Wyvern and I’m a Level Five Mage with dominant water and fire. Our affinities will fly right toward each other.” The fervid heat in his gaze deepens. “We’re likely to trigger true lightning.”

Holy Vo.

“Well, then,” Vothe says as he strokes the edge of Trystan’s thumb with his own. “We’ll simply have to find somewhere private, so we can keep everyone from harm’s way. Itisthe sacred tradition to kiss during Xishlon. So it is very important that you do kiss me tonight, Trystan Gardner. You wouldn’t want to insult the Noi people, would you?”

Trystan laughs outright, his words half in jest when they come. “My very presence seems to be an insult.”

Vothe’s lightning flares, a sudden seriousness taking hold. “It’swrongthe way they treat you,” he insists. “And it was wrong the way I treated you when you first came here. And...when I realized how wrong it all was, I’m sorry I remained silent for so long.” His voice breaks with emotion. “You once said that you wanted to fight for this intolerant, tolerant land.” Trystan gives him a jaded look, but Vothe is undaunted. “I think it’s time for something different. It’s time for a tolerant, tolerant land.” Vothe glances poignantly at their clasped hands. “Perhaps this is a bridge to that.”

Trystan’s defiance seems to soften, an edge of exhausted resignation now in his gaze. “It’s no matter if I’m never fully accepted. It’s still so much better here.”

“It’s not like you’re without friends.”

Trystan gives him the barest trace of a smile as his gaze darts toward the Death Fae. “The outcasts, you mean?”

“Nooo,” Vothe drawls with a look of mock censure. “Theinteresting peoplewho aren’t sheep. Trust me, the others grow tiresome after a time.”

Vothe releases Trystan’s hand, stands up, then holds his hand back out to him. “Come walk with me,”you beautiful, powerful, courageous thing.“Let me show you that there’s more to this night than righteous, bullying cowards.”

Vothe walks quietly with Trystan, their fingers intertwined, as they meander through the festive crowds, attracting stares of censure along with scattered looks of kindness, nods of encouragement, a few passersby calling out to Vothe in jovial greeting. They travel down to the First Tier and walk past the edge of the city to an isolated rocky inlet, the dramatic stone cliffs rising on three sides colored deep purple by the Xishlon moon, the moonlight turning the entire Vo River violet and black.

Vothe pauses on a broad rock, water misting up from the waves pounding on the black stones all around.

Trystan stands with his face toward the water, eyes closed, head up, and breathes it all in. The water. The glorious violent energy of it.

“I come here often,” Vothe tells him, pointing toward the towering, jagged bluff above them. “I fly up there and watch the tide. Feel its energy crashing through me.”

Vothe reaches for Trystan and grasps his hand, abruptly filled with the sense of a building storm. Lightning sparks through them both as their fingers tighten around each other and Trystan gives Vothe a look, sudden fire in it and a rush of water strong enough to rival the crashing tide.

“Trystan...”

Vothe is unable to finish the thought. Trystan grabs hold of him, his lips coming to Vothe’s. Lightning flashes through them both, sparking out in a forking explosion that sends a shock wave of heat through Vothe.

Trystan pulls back, trembling as he keeps tight hold of Vothe’s arms, hesitating, his look almost pained.

Vothe grabs Trystan’s tunic and yanks him roughly back, their mouths capturing each other’s once more as the full force of their power collides, stealing Vothe’s breath away.

Trystan’s muscles are taut under Vothe’s palms, his hands grasping, his hot breath cutting through the cool spray of water all around them as Vothe deepens the kiss, caressing Trystan’s tongue with his own, which seems to both shock and thrill Trystan. Vothe can feel the roar of Trystan’s power overtaking him, overtaking them both as they kiss and kiss. And suddenly, Vothe wants to possess Trystan fully and be possessed by him. Only him.

When they finally come up for air, Vothe’s back is pressed against the cliff, Trystan’s hard body pressed against his.

Trystan’s lips lift into a crooked smile. “Have I honored your traditions adequately, Vothendrile?” He glances over his shoulder at the lavender moon, but underneath his intense want, Vothe scents his vulnerability, his body’s slight tremor.

Vothe reaches up to caress Trystan’s face, then kisses him lightly on his cheekbone, his temple, his sharp jaw, his water magic flowing through Trystan’s lines in a caressing stream. “I’m falling in love with you, toiyanon.”

Trystan’s whole expression tenses and he starts to silently cry.

Vothe leans close and touches the tip of his tongue to the salty tears. “Let me court you.”

Trystan’s mouth gives a bitter twist. “Your family will disown you—”

“To hell with all of that. Let me court you.”

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