Page 11 of His Human Believer

“Huh.”

I hate that sound. It is not a challenge. If it were a challenge, I would know what to do with it. It is the sound of a female filing something away for later.

It has gotten cold.

I brought a field burner out with me, because I intend to be at this wall until the fourth hour and because I am not an animal. I set it on the flat stone and crack my jaw and flame it alight without pausing.

She squeaks.

Actually squeaks — a small, entirely undignified noise — and puts her hand at her chest.

All three of the wulver’s heads flash flame at once in cheerful solidarity, which does not help.

“Oh, no not you too Skylo.” She is laughing now, batting at the air in front of her. “Nobody asked for backup.”

And I stand there in the dark looking at this female and remember that she has no flame. Humans are born without fire and live their whole lives without it and die without ever once knowing what it is to warm themselves from the inside. It is a sad disability. They cannot light their own way, warm their own dwellings or defend themselves with so much as a flash. They are blunt and cold and they have to be given every fire they will ever have by something outside themselves.

A new thought roars to life. I want to be the male who lights her flames. And puts them out. All of them. Every fire she will ever need, for the whole of her life, lit, banked and tended by me.

I set the thought down.

“You should go inside,” I inform her. “It is cold and you cannot warm yourself.”

She crosses her arms. “Do you talk to everyone abruptly like that or am I special?”

My brow furrows. “You are cold.”

“Not really.” She gestures at the burner. “And what’s that for, then? Ambiance?”

“Traq.”

“You brought a stove into a backyard at midnight to make hot beverages?”

“I intend to be here until the fourth hour.”

“Right. Well, is there enough for two?”

“Yes,” I admit.

She smiles. “Then, there is no need for me to go back. I’ve got Skylo at my side and he’s basically a furnace. And I’ll have plenty of traq. And it’s obvious you need company.”

I exhale, realizing I must tell her my real reason for keeping her at a distance. “I have taken a vow,” I admit. “And this vow makes it difficult for me to spend time with you, alone.”

She blinks. “...Okay. What kind of vow?”

“I have taken a twelve-month vow of celibacy.”

Her eyes widen.

Chapter Four

Margaret

Hold on. Did I hear him right? Did this virile, bare-chested Hyrrokin just say he’s taken a twelve-month vow of celibacy? How is this possible? Why would the universe put a male like this under lock and key?

“You cannot stay,” he says.

Oh hells. This is getting weirder by the minute. My head is spinning with a double whammy of intense revelations. First, he’s taken a no sex vow, like he’s a monk or something. And now he wants me out of here?