Warmth blew across his skin. With some shock, he realized he’d not clothed his form, perhaps because she wore nothing. In the realm from whence he came, such things were not needed. Everything was light and shadow and complete intimacy with every other scion. And somehow that still felt impersonal compared to the heat of the sun overhead, the chirp and buzz of insects and the soft whistle of wind in the reeds.
It was too much, and he stumbled, dropping to his knees. Beauty stepped towards him, concern overcoming her amused caution. “Are you ill?”
“Merely. . overwhelmed.”
“You truly do not spring from our world. Are you a god?” She seemed untroubled by that possibility.
Perhaps in her mythology, the gods regularly walked among humankind. Camael knew people entertained myriad theories about what beings populated the spirit world and the afterlife. None of them was correct, but it did not stop them from building complex theologies and rituals. Such practices offered comfort.
“No.”
“A messenger, then, for one of them.”
Near enough. Explanations would require more concentration than he could muster at the moment. He nodded.
“Is that why you’ve watched me? Need you to deliver me a message?”
“That I did for pleasure alone.”
“You would have me believe I own a beauty so great it distracted you from divine endeavours?”
“Yes.” And it was true.
Even now he longed to touch her, with a need so great it burned like an endless fire in his veins. His fingers curled. He had no experience with self-denial. In the sanctum there were no such desires. In comparison, sanctum existence was pure and sterile, all ideas with no passion to fuel them. He had never noticed the lack before.
He must pass the Veil again before he changed irrevocably. It would be uncivil to vanish without a word, but better than the alternative. Better than—
Oh.
Rei touched him. Her soft hand on his bare shoulder drove all thoughts from his mind. Longing surged through him in a maelstrom of bewildering heat. He had never been touched before. It did not matter that his physical body was only energy held together by his will. He still felt it, and that caress altered him forever.
“If that is so,” she murmured, “then surely I must reward you.”
His head spun, and all thought of escape fled his mind. “How?”
She pushed him back gently; it did not occur to him to resist. The bank beside the river cushioned him with soft grasses and moss. The tall reeds hid them from sight. Overhead, the sun shone gold, sweet and hot on his skin, and the sky blazed with a blue so fierce it filled him with wonder. He had watched her in innocent fascination, and she had caught him, against all expectation.
She gazed down at him, eyes dark and hooded. “You are quite pleasing too.”
Her hands travelled his body, stroking him with sweet surety. He gasped in shocked pleasure as she bent her head and set her lips on his skin. Camael had no words for how it made him feel. A soft sound escaped him, part arousal, part encouragement. He wanted — he did not know what he wanted.
But she did. She eased on top of him, slim and graceful in the sunlight. “You are passive for a godling. By rights you might have taken me as soon as I caught your fancy. Why do you hold back?”
Whatever he might have said, it was lost as her mouth claimed his. She was the goddess in this encounter, so sure of herself, so expert as her lips toyed with his. He did not even know how to respond, but she taught him with inexorable, rising excitement. When they broke away, she was breathless, her face flushed.
“I know,” she whispered. “Now I know. I am your first.”
“Yes.”
“Give me a son. With your blood in his veins, he will conquer all he surveys.”
Camael meant to tell her that was not possible, but she curled her hand around his shaft. The throb of pleasure nearly undid him. And this was only a close facsimile; how much more intense might he feel if he were, in truth, flesh and blood? He lifted up, pushing into her fingers.
She raised her hips and then sank down, claiming him with her fierce heat. The world broke apart and then reshaped itself. Like a force of nature, she rose and fell on him, head thrown back. He gazed up into her face, memorizing her features. Surely no creature had ever been so lovely.
“Rei,” he gasped.
“Touch me too.” She raised his hands and showed him how.
It was like being given a key to a secret kingdom. He belonged to her now as surely as if she had created him. She took him to a place where only her touch had any meaning, and by the time they both stilled, he knew he would never be the same.
She lay down on him, trembling, and he wrapped his arms around her back. Her hair felt cool in contrast to her heated skin. He closed his eyes and drank in her clean river scent and her womanly musk. He would remember this moment as only one of the host could — forever indelible.
“I must go,” he whispered. “They will be looking for me.”
“Camael. Come to me again.” It was a plea, but it settled into his spirit as a command.
“Yes. As soon as I may.”
Leaving her felt as though he had ripped himself in twain and left the other part, perhaps even the greater part, in her keeping. Yet he rose because he must — and duty drew him back to the divine sanctum. For the first time in Camael’s memory, he did not wish to return. It was no homecoming; it was a burden.
“You are late,” Kenzo said.
Rei had never liked him, though he professed to want peace. His sire had killed her mother in the last raid, not that her father seemed to mind. Isuke was already looking at village girls for a replacement, some younger than Rei herself. It was disgusting, but it was also the way of the world. He needed to sire a son instead of a worthless daughter. Now Kenzo was here on diplomatic terms, talking to her father, who was village chief, about a permanent solution.
She had only been a widow for four months. It was too soon to turn herself over to another man’s keeping, but she lowered her head as he fell into step with her, knowing she had little say in the matter. Rei led the way toward the wooden huts, the largest of which she shared with her father.
“Answer when I speak to you,” he persisted.
“I lost track of time at the river.”
“Have you taken a lover, Reika?”
How she hated for him to call her that. It was an endearment, and yet he dirtied it. Rei meant lovely and ka meant flower, but he meant it as a possessive, not a compliment to beauty. Her left hand curled into a fist and her nails bit into her palm.
“Would you not smell another man on me?” she asked in mock-humble tones. “Are you not the greatest warrior the Tanaka village has to offer? Surely your senses are superior to those of other men.”
“You would do well to remember it. One day, you will belong to me, Reika. Your father will not listen to your sighs and your tears forever.”
She smiled. “But today is not that day.”
It angered him when she gave him her slim back and went into the house, where her father waited for his dinner. Courtesy dictated that she should have invited him in, but he was not her guest. Isuke could fetch him, if he wanted Kenzo’s company.
“Have you given the marriage any thought?” her father asked, later. “Kenzo will rule Tanaka someday, and it would be good for our village, too. No more raids. No more death.”
“Perhaps not from Tanaka,” she said, stirring the pot. “But there is always death.”