His grin disappears, and in return Djinni smiles without mirth, revealing serrated teeth that are no less predatory than his own. Djinni has always preferred to hunt for amusement; she has never felt bloodlust toward any living thing. She has chased fish with their son, but she prefers her sustenance still, flat, and green.
Having turned now, she watches the sunlight dapple the forest floor outside the cave. It is easier to take in the way the wind ripples the water of the pond below than to wonder why he is taking so long to leave, easier to listen to the squirrels scurry overhead.
She has left the way clear, but he does not go. Djinni knows this game, she thinks, and raises her gaze to meet his pale eyes with her own dark ones, the smile having faded. Enough games he says, and though she does not scowl (does not let her face betray her), she does hesitate. His touch is smooth; it reminds her of the water, cool and still, it reminds her of Ivar and the moon. There is heat too, but that burns from inside her, fueled by his touch. It will only grow, she knows, spread from a slow kindling to a roaring blaze in the space of a heartbeat.
He kisses her throat and she pulls away, stepping back into the cooler darkness of the cave. For a moment she is almost gone, the indecision apparent in the faint shimmer of intangible golden sand that settles on the cave floor. She opens her mouth but nothing emerges but a quiet sigh. There is too much to say; too much to feel.
Life had been simpler before the Reckoning.
She had never wanted anything she could not immediately have. She has never felt, never been able to. She wants Stillwater; this she can say to herself. She even loves him (that is harder to admit). Hers is not a selfless love; she is a jealous creature that has been made predictable with her promise to Nayl.
She is responsible.
The grullo mare has not buried Karaugh beneath the mountains or lured Luster to the fires of Tephra. She’s kept Sylva safe and kept her word, but she’s not tried to truly keep Stillwater.
She is afraid that she won’t be able to, and her fear of failure is paralyzing. Vulnerability is terrifying, so she watches him with wary eyes.
If he were gone she would not be in this predicament, and the idea is more appealing than Stillwater would probably be comfortable with. But she can’t kill him; Ivar needs him. Still…
Her mind flicks from one possibility to the next: no, no, no.
“I want you to want me back.”
The words are short, clipped, and hard. Her brown eyes are no longer soft; Djinni had not wished – only wanted. She looks defiant, and for a moment it seems that is all she has to say. It is not.
“Only me.”