Page 30 of The Demon Tide

It’s not an idle invitation, to be someone’s Xishlon’vir—to kiss someone on the most sacred day in the Noi calendar. The night of the Sacred Lavender Vo Moon, when the Goddess Vo’s manifestation of Universal Love reigns supreme. It’s considered a great blessing to kiss someone on this night, and it implies the beginning of a serious courtship.

“Aren’t we here to fight a war?” Tierney sputters, her thoughts scattering. “How can you swing back and forth from...Xishlon whimsyto preparing for the end of the world?”

Fyordin scrutinizes Tierney as if she’s a puzzle he’s determined to figure out. He pivots against the railing to face her fully. “We deploy soon. We’ll likely be at war for a long time. But we have this one Xishlon.” He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes intent on hers. “I’d like to spend it with you.”

Tierney blinks at him, thrown by his bizarre, forthright politeness and all too aware of her flush heating to a scald. “Are you honestly offering, Fyordin Lir?”

“Yes, Tierney Asrai'lir,” he answers without hesitation. “I want to kiss you under Vo’s purple moon. Or...dive with me, right now, into the depths of the Vo. And let me kiss you there.”

Her pulse thudding warm, Tierney considers this. She imagines Fyordin is probably very good at kissing at the bottom of powerful rivers.

And he’s right. They’ll be in the thick of the fight soon. There isn’t a lot of time left for purple moon festivals or kissing at the bottom of kindred rivers, and yet...

It feels empty. Enticing but empty.

Because she doesn’t really know Fyordin, save what he looks like and how he barks out commands and utilizes his vast power as a weapon. And she doesn’t want her first kiss to be trivial, after having waited this long.

“I... I can’t. Not tonight,” she says, even as her magic yearns to stream toward his.

Fyordin cocks a brow. “Perhaps another night?” he presses invitingly.

He truly wants me, Tierney considers, the idea surreal.He’s like a maelstrom ripe for the taking.A shiver runs through her. But still, she holds back. Acutely mindful that there’s one young man here who hasn’t offered to be her Xishlon’vir. A young man whose offer she shouldn’t want. But increasingly, she finds herself imagining what it would be like to kisshim.

A glimmering awareness flutters through her mind, perhaps drawn in by her thoughts of Viger Maul.He’s here,she realizes.He’s been here all the time.

Surprise lights over being able to sense Viger’s Death Fae presence. She turns to find a spot of dark mist forming at the far side of the terrace, his tall, pale form materializing from it, his corporeal presence making her feel a bit breathless.

Fyordin follows her gaze, and Tierney can feel the spike of animosity shivering through his power. “Look at him,” Fyordin jibes, as if sensing that Viger has something to do with Tierney’s hesitation. “A Death Fae. So obviously besotted with you. Take care, Asrai’kin. There’s no such thing as a Death Fae who is truly on the side of this realm. Or any realm.”

“Are you saying that they’re traitors?” Tierney asks, a defensive flare rising.

“There’s a reason the Sidhe Fae courts shunned them. And a reason our religions mark them as evil—”

“Oh, you can stop right there, Fyordin.” Tierney shuts him down. “I just came from a place very free with tossing around the ‘Evil Ones’ label, so don’t even try to get me to pin it on anyone here.”

Fyordin’s power circles protectively around her. Which she doesn’t want. She’s not interested in being protected. “You’re Asrai,” he says, his energy taking on a covetous tension. “Just be sure you remember that.”

Tierney’s ire rises. “And what if I were Deathkin?” she challenges. “Or Gardnerian for that matter?”

“You’re not.”

“But what if Iwere, Fyordin?” she bites out, beating back her cursed water magic as it makes an attempt to surge toward his incredible power.

Fyordin’s lips twitch up. “It’s strong, isn’t it?”

“What?” Tierney spits out.

“Your attraction to me.”

Thrown by his accuracy, Tierney suddenly drops into the sensation of being pulled away from him. She glances in Viger’s direction to find the pale Death Fae’s focus intent on her, one black brow raised. He morphs to black smoke, disappears, then suddenly appears beside her, a visible aura of dark tendrils encircling him.

Tierney blinks at him. Viger seems almost refined at the moment. No horns or solid-black pools for eyes. His claws retracted. A pair of slim snakes curls around his shoulders and neck, purple tongues flickering.

“Good evening, Viger,” Tierney wryly greets him.

Fyordin shoots Viger an unfriendly smile. “Have you pledged fealty to the Vu Trin yet, Death Fae? Recited the Eastern Realm Oath of Protection?”

Viger’s eyes flick toward Fyordin. “Death aligns with no one.” His tone is as even as windless water.

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